Adventures Unfinished

First: (1) All the characters in this story are 21 years of age or older. (2) This story is intended for adults only. (3) Unlike the real world where it's important to know who your sexual partner is and to practice safe sex, in all of my fictional tales, no one has any sexually transmitted diseases. (4) In the world of fantasy your proclivities are just that: yours. In the real world, mutual respect is essential.

About the story: If you're looking for a story loaded with masturbatory material (i.e., "stroke stories") this might not be your cup of tea. It may have more story and less sexual activity than you're seeking.

If you're interested in this main character there are three previous stories that precede the first Adventures Unfinished

tale. They are (in order):

What I Did for Love, Over Cum Addiction

and

After the Crash.

= { O } =

Although it was the middle of the night -- well past the middle, actually -- with all the surprise and excitement of the last 12 hours, neither my closest friend Maya nor I could surrender to sleep's sweet solace. The huge, multimillion dollar home,

my multimillion dollar home

, given to me earlier that day by a man whom I'd helped with a sexual dysfunction issue, was only part of the problem.

"Surrender to sleep's sweet solace"? What was I thinking? The pompous puerile poet in me apologizes for attempting to add some much-needed class to this screed.

The other part was that I'd begun to open up to her about my rather wanton history (Some might understandably leave out the qualifier "rather" and replace "wanton" with "slutty" to more accurately tell it like it basically was.). And just relating some of the many sordid stories had been exciting for her -- and for me. Not the thing to make for a restful night's sleep, without any immediate possibility for frustration relief. Yet, my memory recollection machinery was operating on all cylinders, impossible to stop.

That past life was something I'd thought I'd left behind, or mostly so. And I'd tried to move on. I even managed internally to gather some hope of finding "the one" someday: That one special guy with whom I'd settle down and start a family.

Although it was perhaps a pipe dream.

Maya expressed her skepticism at something I'd told her earlier. I'd mentioned that at one time I'd discovered that I had three things or activities I did that men found mesmerizing. As she laughed, thinking I was blowing my own horn, I had been reminded of a fourth thing that some men sometimes found mesmerizing, but I didn't think it was of the same ilk.

"Watching a woman drinking the combined ejaculations from a large group of men is not exactly something I'd consider 'mesmerizing'," Maya said. "And something I'd never imagine myself or any woman I know doing."

She looked at me as though she were going to ask me a question. Then she seemed to think about it. Finally, she added, simply, "In fact, yuck!"

She followed this up by sticking out her tongue and doing a faux retch.

"So now you've told me about this guy, a guy whose cock you 'gleefully' sucked quite often for several months while you were still living in Chicago, who made this fetish video just for his masturbatory pleasure. But then—"

"First," I interrupted her, "let me say that you now know a woman who's drunk large quantities of semen. OK? I just want you to know, as long as I'm being honest.".

"OK, well, perhaps I need to rethink our friendship. Or maybe I just need more wine. I don't know. So much of what I thought I knew about you is just so... I don't know. What I thought turns out to be not what the truth is."

She started to say something about the logistics of how one might get a quantity of ounces of semen. How, she started to ask, does one go about getting a large group of men together to produce said ounces. Then she again stopped, apparently nonplussed by the very nature of the question. She just stared at me.

It looked like she was trying to wrap her head around how you'd actually get that much semen. After pondering for a bit, she seemed to decide that it was one of my many revelations that she couldn't deal with at the time.

"So, you said that semen drinking was not quite one of your apparently far-from-holy trinity of things you do that can mesmerize men. So, what are the real three things about you that you think mesmerizes guys?" Maya asked me.

Before I had a chance to answer she started hitting me with even more questions. I decided to placate her with some tales of The Nerds, a group of friends about whom I'd kept her in the dark for all the months I'd known them.

Just thinking about the fun I'd had with that self-proclaimed Justice League of America gave me a rush of happiness and warmth. I smiled stupidly.

Maya asked me what I was thinking.

I started to tell her what a bewildering and challenging, but endearing and brilliant bunch this gang was. My life was richer for knowing them. And they coincidentally came along at a time when I was lonesome. Maya and I were becoming friends, but she was seeing a guy at the time. We only got together once every few weeks. Hence my desire for developing more friendships.

"Hold on a sec," Maya said. "Tell me about the mesmerizing stuff."

"I'm getting to it. Promise."

1. BFFs

And so as promised, I returned to my history with The Nerds. It began when I met two young women, just a couple years younger than I, at a home goods, fabrics and crafts store. I was looking for some help altering two new bras I'd purchased on sale. They were not quite right for me, but I thought I could modify them enough to get some wear out of them.

The two women were arguing about the lyrics to a song I knew, an oldie, "Gimme Some Lovin'."

"It's 'We made it, baby,'" the attractive tall one said.

"No, it's 'Wait a minute, baby,'" argued her shorter but no less attractive friend.

In my youth I heard a lot of oldies. I didn't remember if I ever mentioned it to Maya, but there were no men in my household when I was growing up. No permanent men, at least. It was just the three of us: my grandmother, my mother and I. Both of them, while each in her own youth, had become pregnant with her one child so today they were relatively young. Since my grandmother had grown up contemporaneously with rock 'n roll music, songs from the sixties and seventies were played almost non-stop in my house. (When I was practicing my music lessons though, thankfully it was turned off.)

Anyway, to the girl's argument, I almost blurted out that "Wait a minute" was correct, but it wasn't my place -- They didn't know me from Eve! -- so I kept my mouth shut. And while I was still thinking about old rock lyrics, they'd already moved on to Hollywood connections and who were whose parents. It was a subject I knew little about other than the things that most people knew.

Then a clerk helped me and I lost track of the two of them. When I returned to the aisle where I had been looking for material I found the two of them discussing what

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

would have been like if "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Penny Lane" had been included on the album. Apparently, that had been a possibility at one point.

How did these young'uns know this much old media trivia?

They appeared to be such close friends and their banter was infectious. I just had to meet them. So, completely unsolicited, I blurted out to the taller one, "I'm pretty sure your friend's right, you know. It's 'Wait a minute.'"

She gave me a fast and overwrought Who-the-hell-are-you look, which quickly morphed into a warm and friendly smile.

"I figured as much. I'm often better with movies and TV, but she's solid on music. You should hear her opine about classical music, conductors, soloists, orchestras... My ears begin to go to sleep," said the taller in one breath. "Hi. My name is Dinah and my esteemed pain in the ass colleague is Pam."

After some brief background they told me that they almost always had friendly arguments about trivia. It was a thing for them. I was just surprised that they knew the Spencer Davis Group and lesser known facts about

Sgt. Pepper

, music released decades before they were born.

I learned that they were there to find out how to make superheroine costumes. When I asked what that was about, they told me that they were into graphic novels, heavily into them.

Each had an appealing, for lack of a better word, presence. Dinah was rather tall and trim. As the material she was looking at was black, I asked if she were the Black Canary and if she were planning to make a costume like hers. She was shocked that I knew about Dinah Lance, Black Canary's alter ego -- I had made an immediate friend. Pam was shorter and Asian. I didn't want to do any stereotyping, but she told me she was making a Motoko Kusanagi costume. They were going to a Comic Con later in the year and wanted to get their outfits right, hoping to at least place in a costume contest.

They invited me to meet their other superhero/nerd friends and the next weekend I had dinner with the two of them and five guys, all of whom had decided to go the typically white Justice League route even though the five of them were 60% non-white. They introduced themselves as Bruce (who looked Indian), Clark, Oliver (an African American), Barry and Hal (an East Asian). All otherwise known as Batman, Superman, Green Arrow, the Flash and Green Lantern, respectively.

With the wide array of superheroes, I always wondered why so many go for the traditional, overdone, line-up. But that's just me.

What was so odd was that none of the guys physically even remotely resembled a superhero. Supergeek, yes. Superhero, not even close. Regardless, they were likely all geniuses. Each worked at a Seattle company as a programmer or an engineer or some other creative designer in technology.

A few drinks into that first get-together I learned that, though they were all in their mid- to late-twenties, due to their stereotypical nerdy shyness they had never dated much and were not terribly knowledgeable in the area of sex, specifically in the hands-on area. I asked if any one of them had ever gone out with another and that made for some uncomfortable silence. I let it go.

"I met Dinah and Pam while they were having a fight about oldies music," I casually mentioned during dinner. "Are you guys into that?"

"Don't ask Clark," said Barry. "As someone once said, 'He's got Van Gogh's ear for music.'"

To which Clark replied, "'You are a sad, strange little man, and you have my pity.'"

"Wait," said Bruce, "I know that. It's from

Toy Story

, right?"

This exchange elicited some more wisecracks.

Topics circled around the group. At one point they stayed on the topic of music.

"'Michael Jackson's album was called

Bad

because there wasn't enough room on the sleeve for

Pathetic

.' I think Prince said that," said Hal.

Then Clark belatedly began a tirade directed at Barry ending with, "I can't bear fools."

For the moment the fun at the table had stopped. The group looked around, embarrassed and at a loss for what to do.

Soon, Pam looked at both Clark and Barry.

"You two," Pam said to them. "When someone said, 'I can't bear fools' at a dinner party she was attending, Dorothy Parker responded with 'Apparently your mother could.'"

Titters from most, plus a couple of sarcastic "oos." Then all agreed to stop with the invidiousness and to return to their tight-knit camaraderie.

After a delightful dinner with stimulating conversation and sharp wit, as we were walking to our cars, Dinah and Pam told me some interesting details about their relationships. They'd all been friends a long time and were very close. That apparently kept all of them from acting on any pent-up or latent desires. Although I'd never had a large group of long-time best friends, having such a close-knit support network would have been nice when I was growing up, always the outsider. I told them I understood.

Of course, being me, I had a hard time believing they could actually maintain that much control of their desires. In the looks department, Oliver was probably the hunkiest. With his dark skin, sinewy height and naturally broad shoulders he might have been a male model. Unfortunately, his smile while pleasant enough made him just shy of handsome. Bruce, with his huge, toothy grin, looked more like the Joker than Batman. He also could have benefitted from losing twenty-five or thirty pounds. The rest of the guys were similarly atypical superheroes. Barry, the Flash, was thin, but with virtually no muscle tone. He did have beautiful, curly dark lashes the likes of which most women would be jealous.

And speaking of the women, the two of them were just as brilliant as the men. Outwardly, it was a different story, night and day actually. In addition to her height, Dinah could definitely pull off a tight-fitting superheroine costume. She had a body for the movies: tall, slender and strong without looking overly muscular. She looked like a dancer. Pam was shorter with wide-set pretty eyes, a winning smile and breasts large enough to cast a good-sized daytime uniboob shadow. Not anywhere near my all natural, yet ridiculously oversized torso, but each one of her round breasts seemed to be a nice handful.

They were apparently taken with me because when we got to our cars, Clark asked if I wanted to join their League as Wonder Woman. I was going to ask if he meant one of the recent, thinner incarnations or the older, buxom ones, but I just thought I'd take the compliment. And, he said (with zero sarcasm, something momentarily surprising me) I didn't have to change my real name from Patrice to Diana. (Whew! Dodged a bullet there.)

Apparently my

sub rosa

ad hoc application for membership into the JLA was tacitly approved and they accepted me into their circle. As I said, I wasn't dating anyone at the time and each time we got together I left feeling happy and good about myself -- and somehow smarter.

Without going into too much detail we shared our basic life stories. I left out all my peculiar sex maniac parts, of course, but when I mentioned that I'd been raised by my mother and grandmother, I learned that a few of them also came from single parent households and didn't seem any the worse for it.

The subject of dating, or almost anything related to dating, rarely came up in the discussions, although I did hear again that none of them went out often. Why they didn't date one another made me curious, but if they didn't want to share those parts of their lives, I could understand. To my mind, they seemed to be so at ease with each other that some casual sex might have done wonders for any natural hormonal surges.

Can you say, "fuck buddy"?

We got together every week or two. As I said, each gathering provided me with some of the most enjoyable experiences. Those guys were all smarter than I and made more money than I. Yet, they never once made me feel in any way "less than."

So now, sitting opposite Maya on this couch,

my new couch

, I realized I'd been telling her stories almost nonstop. After so many of my past sexual activities, which barely scratched the surface of all of the totality of my licentious experiences, these pleasant memories began to provide me with the relaxation I'd been hoping for all night. They were in my mind just as I thought I might head back upstairs to try to sleep.

Unfortunately, they brought to mind the troubling thing that had been nagging me all night, resting just below the surface of my consciousness. Once before I had the pleasure of sleeping on a bed whose comfort and luxury were in the ballpark of the one here in my new home. That night was one that I really should never forget: It was the night that finally caused me to leave Chicago. And to never see Steven again.

Steven. Just the name brought back so many memories some good, most bad. Steven. The man who molded me into a woman obsessed with giving blowjobs.

Deciding that it was enough to simply remember what had been troubling me, I chose to ignore as much of the other crap that it brought up. Maybe that was another story to share with Maya. For the time being, the last thing I needed was to start another tale. All of the events of that luxurious weekend's sleep were best shelved for another day.

Back to the JLA and my telling of the tale to Maya. Although I'm not one to make a long story short, I'll skip the parts where the Nerds and I got to know each other.

After another sip of wine (more like a swig, but who was counting? After all, this was the good stuff, which -- as previously mentioned -- I could now afford.) though, my mind wandered to the first day I dared to start to share my obsession with sucking cock with Pam and Dinah. I had already hinted at the fact that I was a sexual creature with them, but until that strange, unexpected day, they had no idea about the depth of my obsession.

From her body language, it was clear to me that Maya was enjoying this story, even though I'd kept the JLA a secret from her for all those months. I apologized to her once more, but she basically told me to shut up about it and continue with the story. (It was kind of a "Yeah, yeah, just get on with the good stuff.")

As I said, I just knew that my stories were turning her on because just hearing about all this stuff was exciting me. And I'd been there so I knew they all happened.

Then Maya interrupted me again. As I had expected earlier, she wanted to know about how these parties had been arranged so that so much cum was collected. It was a reasonable question. It's one thing to see all these guys in a porn movie shoot. They appear to be well-organized with enough aides or production assistants helping things stay that way, almost like a book signing at a popular SciFi convention with big name celebrities.

However, in a non-professional, casual, blowjob party things were considerably different. Steven arranged most of the ones when I was seeing him. I didn't have much to do with them. I just showed up, sucked and played with the guys and they gave me their cum.

In the beginning it took a little time to get used to dealing with dozens of cocks. Later, though, "the group" became many of the same guys. To spice things up they offered many fun suggestions and even some competitions. I think having contests is just so typical of many guys. They want to know some of the things that'd be included in a record book: the biggest, the first, the most, the fastest and the like.

It was kind of fun. That's not exactly correct. It's more of an understatement. It was so much more than fun.

At that point, Maya questioned me about love and if I ever loved any of these guys. It was easy for me to explain that nothing about these parties was in any way about love, caring, tenderness or any other similar romantically inclined things.

As I said, these parties were about me often using my mouth and its neighboring parts to get these guys to come for me. Period. When there were just a few guys I'd focus on given each one a serious blowjob. Sometimes the guys brought their girlfriends. When the other ladies and I felt comfortable, we would talk about technique. Some even wanted to try swallowing a large quantity of cum. A few kept at it and eventually were able to, but no one said she ever really enjoyed it. Of the few who seemed to have the most fun, basically each did it for her boyfriend. On the other hand, once the girlfriends and wives were on-board with the essential tenor of the evening, they frequently helped some of the guys get close to coming, almost like amateur fluffers.

A few times word of these get-togethers would circulate to some people from very different social circles and there were occasional confrontations. Fortunately, they never led to any violence.