Prologue
The imaginary ramblings of this aging but still very sexually active man sometimes wander to his partially true but mostly imagined past. This is the tale of that mostly imagined life. I leave it to the reader to distinguish fact from fantasy. The names and places have been changed or most likely invented so that the reader is left with the thought that it might be he or she who is a part of this ramble.
Along the way, we have done one of two things with our limited years where sex is concerned: we have denied our capacity to excel in our sexuality and, at times, even denied its existence, thereby reaching the end with the nagging question, "Why?" Alternatively, we took full advantage of what we received at birth. Whether male or female, we have experienced the delights that sex alone offers. Experiencing orgasm with another human is understood only if indulged in frequently and with as much creativity as possible and with a willing partner who shares the quest for the most intense orgasm.
I cannot imagine the man or woman who, on his or her deathbed, has to wonder what sex with people who were available would have been like and how it would have changed his or her view of the world if prudishness was let go. They must wonder why they gave in to the dictates of fear, family, society or religion and sacrificed a huge part of whom and what they were: primarily sexual beings. This caution is directed primarily at the female reader since I have found in my travels that the female of the species is much more sensitive to their sexual nature than are men. It has been rare that I have found a woman who wasn't willing to initiate sex and then follow through with some of the most erotic techniques imaginable.
Just know that I will not been one of those who will leave this earth with any questions about sex unanswered. When I am breathing my last, it will be with the memory of the many woman with whom I have shared that which is at our core as humans: sex, or just plain fucking.
This story explores the sex life of Bill, an imaginary character who had the luxury of growing up in a family that did not adhere to the sexual mores of "normal" society. His mother died when Bill was very young, and his father remarried. His stepmother came into the marriage with a child who was several years older than Bill. By the time Bill became a slave to his overactive libido, his stepbrother was in the military. On the rare occasion that he returned with his wife for short visits, Bill was talking to a stranger. I guess one could say that Bill was an only child. His stepmother guided his trip through childhood, adolescence and early adulthood. He would thank her right to the grave.
Chapter One
"It's about time," she said as she walked slowly toward me with the towel covering the critical parts of her body, parts that I had seen only in glossy magazines. She was naked under the towel that did not do such a great job of hiding any of those critical parts. I sat on the edge of my chair with an increasing bulge showing under the towel covering my now raging hard on. When it no longer served any purpose to attempt to hide the obvious, I pulled the towel from my lap and from under my ass, letting it fall to the floor, something I would never have dreamed of doing until that moment.
She continued to walk toward me, stopping just long enough to direct her attention to my cock and to lick her lips. She then lifted one leg over mine and straddled my legs, sliding her body down my front while pressing her breasts to my chest. The towel covering them did little to mask the sensation of her breasts as they pressed against me. Her towel had ridden up to her waist, leaving her vagina exposed and open to my cock which was now poised at its entrance. Slowly and deliberately, she slid down onto my cock, all the time looking into my eyes. She said nothing as she impaled herself with the help of one hand.
It took all of my concentration to keep from coming. This was the sexiest thing that I had ever experienced, although my experience was limited; I had never actually had my cock inside a woman, although my prom date had her hand around it. She sensed this and sat still while I settled into the sensation.
She began to move her breasts in a slow circle on my chest. Her nipples grew even more rigid, if that was possible. I took hold of the bottom of her towel and pulled it up. It caught for a second when it reached the underside of her breasts. They were firm and bigger than I was used to; my prom date had let me feel her breasts, but I had to reach under her dress to do it. I pulled harder and the towel slid over them. They bounced once then settled into their natural state, which gave no indication of sagging. Given her age, I found this unusual but very appealing. They looked a lot like some of those I had seen in glossy magazines that made the rounds of guys my age. When her towel was on the floor and her breasts completely exposed, I cupped them with both hands then lowered my head and played my tongue over her nipples. She finally gave out a low moan and began to move herself up and down on my cock, which was beyond anything I had experienced in my somewhat abbreviated sex life.
Eighteen years was not long enough to have formed the sort of experiences that would allow comparison with what was happening. She had sex down to an art form, and she was not reluctant to satisfy her needs.
Betty was my stepmother's best friend. She was younger than my stepmother by about ten years which made her about 38, but they seemed to have a lot in common. Her body was the stuff of a boy's wet dreams. She was about my height: 5'9". She must have weighed about 130 pounds. Her hair was short; it came to the bottom of her neckline. As I said, she was everything a young man could dream of in a woman. Naked, she was beyond the dream state. Now I know that she had the same sexual appetite as my stepmother.
As I look back on those times from the perspective of a middle-aged man, I view them with new appreciation for what Betty and my parents did for me. Some may have seen what we did and what I learned and from whom as perverted. I view it as nothing of the kind. It was an education that led me to a fulfilling life, a life that I might have missed without the early education offered by Betty, my parents and some other very significant and willing teachers.
My education began at Betty's house on the lake on one particularly memorable day. Betty asked my stepmother if I could help with some things that she needed done. I guess, in retrospect, me fucking her was high on her list of this she needed help with. We were going to take her boat out of the water and pull it into the boathouse where she would scrape it and put on a fresh coat of paint. As I left the house that morning, my stepmother reminded me to take my swimsuit and told me to have a great day.
When I arrived, Betty was in the yard raking leaves. She was wearing shorter shorts than I recalled seeing her in, not that I was complaining. A tight white T-shirt covered her breasts. I noticed that she was not wearing a bra, or maybe the bra she was wearing did not hide much. Whichever the case, her breasts caught my attention. I think she noticed that I was in a tit trance and asked if there was anything I would like before we started. I assumed, being the naïve kid that I was, that she meant a soft drink. I declined anything and managed to focus on her face in an attempt to get my over active cock under control.
Betty put the rake away and told me to follow her down to the lake where the boat bobbed in the water. She suggested that I wear shorts or a swim suit today because I would be in the water. I wore a loose pair of tan shorts and a pull over shirt. I followed Betty to the lake, all the while trying desperately to watch the trail and not her ass.
Betty lived on a lake near us. She had a cabin that her father had built many years before. It was right out of a book of beautiful cabins of the north. It was rustic and modern at the same time. It was made of logs but had all the modern conveniences. At the lakeshore were a sauna and a boathouse. A dock with diving platform and ladder extended out about fifty feet from the shore. There was a small gazebo up from the beach and slightly hidden among some trees. I always loved her place.
When we reached the lake, Betty suggested that I get in the water behind the boat and push it up onto the beach as far as possible while she pulled on the mooring line. The boat was heavy; it was made of wood and had been in the water all summer. As we began to work together to move the boat up the beach, the mooring line that Betty was pulling on broke and she fell backward onto the sand. Her shorts rode up on her legs and I got an even better view of her crotch. A slight flash of panty came into view for a second or two before she recovered and stood up. She brushed herself off and smiled. After a short discussion about how we should proceed, we decide that we should both get behind the boat and push. We stood very close together behind the boat, our hands on the transom, and began to push.
When we reached the sand, the boat came to an abrupt stop and our feet went out from under us at the same time. It was turning into a comedy act. The plunge into the water had a beneficial consequence, however. The thin T-shirt that Betty was wearing became semi-transparent. My earlier question was answered; she was not wearing a bra.
