My Sexual Memoir Ch 01

Author's Note: As the Freyja Club narrative continues to evolve, I find that it's impossible to simply chronicle my own journey. The original series is now approaching thirty chapters (!) with no end in sight. To bring some context and flesh out some of the main characters, I started to chronicle their journey as well in a companion series entitled Other Voices of which there are eight so far. Recently, and by happenstance, I met Elizabeth Boyer in the club. She figures prominently in the story of Travis and the role of stewards in the Freyja Club and as we talked she confided that she had begun to write a memoir of her sexual life. I was fascinated and thrilled when she agreed to let me read it. Unlike the stories in Other Voices, Her memoir is entirely her own. It's probably a series in its own right, but we'll see. Here are the first ten pages which I'll call chapter one. Enjoy.

Prologue

So I have chosen to write. Having a memoir has a certain appeal, perhaps it is merely my vanity. Perhaps it is to have some evidence of my existence to leave behind as I have no children. Perhaps it is that I have reached the time in my life where I am looking at my future through my past, and a memoir is my method of re-finding myself. Affirming my identity, if only for myself.

I am not sure how one goes about writing a memoir; I am not given to reading such things. Is it appropriate to consider the present and reflect upon the future before moving to the past? Or should I begin, "Once upon a time...?"

I have no true idea, so I will simply work my way about it. Supposedly a memoir ought to be entirely written by the autobiographer, but I will include the correspondence I've had with my lovers. The letters that were written to me, and by me. There is prose that has been dedicated to me, poetry as well. Shall I include these things? Perhaps I might, perhaps not. My memoir does not have to be written by me entirely, it is my memoir. I am writing for my own gratification and I have been known to be capricious. I think I shall also include my fantasies. In moments alone I have played a few so often in my mind that I have come to regard them not as fantasy but rather as memory.

Yes, there's definitely a place for those.

The question is now, where should I begin? So many things crowd to the front, things that were life-altering, or stand out in my memory as special. In my mind, of all my lovers, one stands above all others and I miss him terribly. My most vivid memories and fantasies are about him. Perhaps I should begin at the beginning, where I lost my virginity and discovered that sex was a wonderful exploration of the senses. Such innocence in my almost juvenile paintings. I still find myself smiling fondly at the thoughts of my naive and delighted virginal love.

No, now that I think about it, the loss of my virginity was not the beginning of my sexuality. It was before that. I guess it begins with my curiosity about myself.

I was my parent's only daughter but I had two older brothers, so I was reminded daily that boys and girls are decidedly different. I often observed them naked and I believe that I had acquired a general understanding of the function of the appendage that they had between their legs, but which I didn't possess. For some reason, it seemed that it was okay for me to look at them naked, but all hell would break out in our house if it was discovered that they were looking at me.

One day I had a long talk with my mom. She asked if I ever played between my legs. I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say, so I lied. My mother just smiled and said that I didn't need to be afraid. All girls do it and it's normal. She said it in such a casual and nonchalant way that all my flimsy defenses just crashed and we had a conversation that I'll never forget.

She told me that I was coming of age and she had promised herself that she would not be leaving me to figure out things for myself, rather she would tell me everything that she said that she wished her own mother had shared with her. For over two hours we talked and no subject was off the table.

She told me how my body would change and what to expect when it did. I had a couple of friends who had begun to have their monthly periods, so I already had learned some of the things she said, but there was ever so much more. Perhaps the most memorable part of the conversation was when she talked about sexual attraction. A woman's body is designed to attract male attention and she emphasized that men would almost do anything to have sex with me. Oh, I would be attracted to them too, but she said that it would be nowhere near the animal need that nature has designed in the male of the species, and if I understood this simple fact, I could get almost anything I desired. She emphasized that I would find my greatest happiness when I understood that God has created us female to complement men, not to compete with them. Time has proven her to be correct.

She told me how sex would feel the first time and she warned me that it might initially be disappointing, but the pleasure would increase with experience. She even described the feelings she had when she fucked my father and sucked his cock and more. I know that for most of our conversation, I probably sat open-mouthed and wide-eyed, but I will always be thankful for my mother's gift.

Nudity

If I am honest, I have always been an exhibitionist, I think I was born to like it although I did not recognize it about myself until I was grown up. I have always had a thing about enjoying taking my clothes off. I adore swimming in the nude and I've discovered that I find exhibiting my body arousing and I love the thrill of teasing men and sometimes even women!

I love the feeling of being naked and fondling myself. I particularly like to feel the curve of my hips, my soft butt cheeks, my thighs, and most of all, my breasts. From a very young age, I've loved the sensation that I get when I squeeze my pussy between my thighs. At home, I prefer to be naked or nearly so. I often wear a short robe, but most of the time I leave it untied. I have posed naked for a college art class and I have a friend who has photographed me and I have several albums of erotic pictures that I enjoy sharing with my lovers. I am ever thankful for the gift of my femininity and I remember singing the song from the musical A Flower Drum Song, "I enjoy being a Girl." indeed I do.

I've decided that I will include five photographs of me which were taken at a hotel in Dallas when I was fifty-one. They are among my most cherished memories.

In the first photo, I'm standing and leaning against a doorway. The shot is from the back and shows the curve of my back and hips with my butt prominently displayed. One arm is raised and grasping the door frame and I'm looking back over my shoulder. I think my look is mysteriously erotic with my head tilted back and my shoulder-length blonde hair touching my back. Below my raised arm, one breast can be seen in profile.

The second photo is full frontal. I'm still in the doorway, but I'm facing the camera. Both arms are extended to the edge of the door frame and I've crossed my ankles which give me a decided 'crucified' look. I've cocked my head to one side, as if questioning something just said. I love the way my breasts look jutting with just a hint of sag, but the focus of the photo is my pussy. Crossing my ankles emphasized the curve of my hips and the eye is drawn to the center where my pussy forms a V between my thighs. I am wantonly naked and it's one of my favorites.

In photo number three I'm leaning over a low coffee table with my hands and one knee on it. It looks like I might be ready to get on. I'm looking directly at the camera and licking my lips. The shot is from the front quarter, so my breasts, which are hanging from my chest, are displayed in a sort of semi-profile. The pose accentuates my hips and though somewhat in shadow, my pussy is visible and the curve of my mound is silhouetted in front of my raised leg.

I had to put on a skirt, blouse, and heels for photo four. I was posed on the sofa and my feet were raised and rested on the edge of the coffee table. My blouse is open and my breasts can be clearly seen resting on my chest. The skirt has been raised to my hips, baring my legs. My head is forward and my eyes are raised to look at the camera. One hand rests on the sofa but the fingers of the other are raised to my lips. Again, the focus of the shot is what is revealed between my spread legs. The moist slit of my pussy can be seen through my sparse pubic hair. My friend calls it my 'nothingness' and I'm quite enamored with it.

The final shot was unplanned. I think my friend had taken about thirty shots of me, and the more the camera clicked, the more aroused I became. I was sitting on the sofa and I just pulled him close, unzipped his pants, and exposed his firm cock which I eagerly took into my mouth. He took several photos of me sucking him, but this one is my favorite. He was able to hold the camera far enough away to the side to frame me from the waist up. My breasts are visible as are my slim shoulders and arms. I'd just reapplied lipstick so the point where his shaft was engulfed in my mouth, the red oval of my lips clearly marks the demarcation line between his flesh and mine. A few minutes later, I was rewarded with a mouthful of his sweet cum, and this picture reminds me of that wonderful moment.

I think that in this section of my memoirs, I should mention the Freyja Club. My friend was responsible for introducing me and paying for my membership in this most exclusive club. In gross terms, it's a sex club, but more sophisticated than any I've ever heard. For me, its most attractive feature is also the most unusual. While in the club, every woman is required to be naked at all times.

For obvious professional reasons, my exhibitionism has always had to be circumspect. I am employed in a line of work that, let me just say, frowns on this kind of behavior. So, my public exposure has always been confined to vacations and trips far away from home. The Freyja Club has given me the perfect answer to my deep desire to be seen and I will always be grateful to the man who made this happen. The moment I walk out into the club completely naked, I'm aware that dozens of eyes are on me and I crave the looks of admiration and desire that I see. It never fails to arouse me and I love to feel the wetness between my legs. I'll have more to say about some of my experiences in this wonderful club later but it deserves an introductory mention here.

Sex

When you read my story some of you may be shocked or appalled at some of the things I have done but I want you to know that I do not consider myself to be promiscuous or loose; I have not had that many sexual partners compared to what you hear is the norm for young people today. My condition, if you want to call it that, is that I am a compulsive exhibitionist-not a slut.

I need to have feelings for a man I have sex with. I do not believe in pure physical animal sex and get no pleasure from it. Ok, I have broken this rule on a couple of occasions through being drunk or exhausted and tired but these experiences have only affirmed my beliefs. I do not like to simply have sex. I need to 'make love' to a guy with all the kissing, foreplay, emotions, and cuddling that goes with it.

I have made love with women too and that feels natural to me. Every once in a while I need to look at myself as others see me. When I'm with another woman I can admire the softness of her skin and the subtle mannerisms that are distinctly feminine that I sometimes fail to recognize from the inside. In no way do I think that I am a lesbian, I crave the masculine hardness of men far too much, but I need to acknowledge this subtle side of my sexuality as an important adjunct to those desires.

The men that I've chosen to share my body with have all been cut from the same mold. They have been successful in whatever they chose to do and all of them have interesting personalities. They're well-read and can hold a conversation on many topics. I have felt their quiet confidence in their masculinity and it fuels my desire to share myself with them. I've felt loved and protected in their arms and I'm eternally grateful that they've been part of my life.

Perhaps this is a good place to mention something that will permeate my memoir, so I should address it now. The clinical terms for genitalia are penis and testicles for men and labia and vagina for women, but in foreplay, I may fondle your dick and tickle your balls, and conversely, you play with my pussy and finger my hole but rest assured, when you are fucking me it will always be that your cock is thrusting into my cunt.

I've been blessed to have a clitoris that is prominent and largely unencumbered by a clitoral hood. As a result, I can achieve multiple orgasms and I lubricate easily. I'm told that this is unusual, but I'm enamored with the space between my legs and I think my sex life has been enhanced by the way nature designed me.

My First Time

I never really dated in high school and though I thought about sex constantly, I was still technically a virgin. I say 'technically' because I had my gynecologist clip my hymen. I was told that the membrane was thick and fibrous enough that intercourse would be extremely painful. For me, it was an easy choice. Concerning my virginity, not only had I not been penetrated by a male penis, I'd never even touched one. I was both fascinated and scared considering the act. I desperately yeared to feel the closeness that sex offered, but I was terrified of the prospect of an unwanted pregnancy. Thankfully, I soon began taking 'the pill' and with that, I gained the confidence to explore my sexuality.

I became involved with a young soldier. He was my first love and even though he was about to be deployed to Vietnam, I was stricken and I allowed him to be the first.

It occurred when I met him in my hometown of Savannah which was only a half hour away from where he'd been posted. We arranged a date and even though I was eager, I was also clueless about how to entice him to bed. Fortunately for me, he'd already figured that out himself. After a beautiful day at the beach, he took my hands in his and he said that he needed to ask an important question. I nodded and looked into his eyes expectantly.

He said that he had no idea that today would turn out to be the most perfect of days, but just in case he had taken the liberty of renting a hotel room in Savannah. At this point the sexual tension between us was palpable. He paused a second to let me process that piece of information and then he asked the critical question; "Would you like me to take you there?"

I remember that tears welled up in my eyes and my lips began to tremble. Words didn't seem to want to come, so I just nodded my head. I remember that my hair fell across my face, and I was having trouble getting it to behave. He placed his hand under my chin and lifted it until our eyes met. He kissed me gently and continued; "Do you understand what I'm suggesting?''

Suddenly, the tears really began to flow. I remember that I grabbed his shoulders and pressed my breasts into his chest. The kiss that I gave him was so violent and demanding that when I pulled away I tasted a small amount of blood. My final answer to the question was just a nod as I tried to choke back the tears that just kept flowing. We walked back to get our shoes and my purse, while the whole time I had both of my arms embracing one of his, only releasing him to wipe my eyes. Before we left, I went to the ladies' room and tried to put myself back together.

Our room was on the 4th floor of the hotel he had chosen. The room faced east so we had a great view of the Savannah River and the harbor. Three fairly large double sash windows covered the entire eastern wall. Each window had its own blind that could be closed if desired. Like most port or river towns in the 60's the waterfront was mostly ship repair yards, docks, and warehouses, but since we were so high all of this maritime ditrus lay below our line of sight. There were two twin beds with blue blankets, a small dresser, a table with a lamp, and one cranberry-colored easy chair. The surprise was the bathroom. Not very big, but no tub. Just a shower. The shower was set into the corner, so it was triangular. Raised tile formed a barrier so water was prevented from flooding the bathroom floor. Today this kind of shower would probably have a glass door, but then it was just a regular shower curtain. The curtain was apparently for privacy because it was obvious that one could use the shower without it. There were two glasses actually made from glass with little paper lids, an ice bucket, a plastic hair cover in a cardboard tube, and a few bars of soap wrapped in paper. The white towels seemed to me smaller than normal but they all had the name "Savannah River Hotel'' woven into the fabric. I noted that the sky, which had been clear all day long, was beginning to build up a few clouds.

I had been staring out the window when I felt his strong arms encircling me and I enjoyed the feel of leaning back against his body, but soon he pivoted me so that we were face-to-face and wordlessly we began to kiss. Very gentle in the beginning but as our tongues touched, the passion began to build. He was holding me around my waist and I was conscious of grasping his broad shoulders.

As we kissed, I felt one of his hands slip to my hip and then cup my ass. It felt good. It rested there for a moment while he felt my softness and the curve of my bottom but he quickly pulled me hard against him. I was immediately aware that he was highly aroused because I could feel his firm cock pressing against me. I think I murmured my approval before our kissing became more enthusiastic and demanding. I had a sense that if he tarried too long in this seductive foreplay, I would have to take charge and move it along. In a way, I guess that I did, when I stretched to my full height and was standing on my tiptoes I was able to get my forearm completely around his neck and when I dropped back down my weight pulled his head down which crushed our lips together. Had he not been supporting me, both of us would have taken a spill.

For a while, we just held each other without speaking. I could feel wetness on my cheek and I became aware that I was starting to tear up again. When he pressed his mouth to my ear he said in a tone that was both gentle and insistent, "I want you naked." My heart leaped and I felt a tingle run through my body. Never in my life had I wanted anything so much as to be naked for him. Perhaps I might have thought of a more eloquent response, but I looked up into his beautiful eyes and just whispered, "Make it so."

He took a step back tilted my head up with his fingers and kissed me again very gently on the lips. I had assumed that he would probably start disrobing me by unbuttoning my blouse, so I was surprised when his hands dropped to the zipper of my shorts. His gaze was fixed on my eyes as he released the one brass button and slowly started the zipper on its journey downward.

When it reached the bottom he took a step backward and looked at me. While he hadn't revealed everything he had discovered that I wasn't wearing panties. I chuckled to myself and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "I had to take them off in the ladies' room back at the beach, they were soaked." It seemed that my confession just served to fuel his passion because he dropped to one knee as he hurried to pull my shorts down and off my legs. For years I had trimmed my silky pubes and I enjoyed looking at his face as he beheld my charms and I hoped that my milky white thighs would accent the triangle of hair between my legs. I felt moist, and I could even smell the musky odor of my arousal and I was she that he could as well. This thought had barely registered when he suddenly leaned forward and buried his face against my mound. On first contact, my hands flew and I pulled his head even more strongly against me, and then when he Inhaled deeply, I widened my stance, and with a little more room he took the hint and his tongue was able to slip between the folds of my pussy.