My roommate Jocelyn and I are lovers, have been since the night I returned early from a disappointing date with my then-boyfriend Terry. It was then we also discovered we were both infatuated with and passionate indulgers in the scat fetish. When I walked back into the apartment that night, Jocelyn was engaged in a solo scat session on her bed: she had defecated and was in the process of smearing her waste all over her body, carried away with the pleasurable sensations and erotic stimulation this act provided her. It thrilled me so much to see her like this, and I soon convinced her to let me join in with her. That we shared the same scat cravings and at the same extreme intensity soon became apparent as we made love to one another covered in each other's shit and piss. That sounds blunt and crass and maybe even disgusting, but it's what we did, and what we enjoyed beyond measure. It brought us to the heights of sexual fulfillment, as it continues to do every time we engage in it. It is the glue that has bonded us together. Jocelyn has had the opportunity to reveal how her love for scat came about; this is my story.
My father died in a car accident when I was two, and I never really knew him. My mother doted on me and we were always very close. Her best friend Carol and her husband Mickey lived just across the road, and they were like an extended family. When I was a freshman in college my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died the following year. After her diagnosis she made sure her finances were in order and that my college expenses would be taken care of.
Carol and Mickey were so like family to me that we all agreed I would move in with them when the time came; since I would be going away to college this basically meant I would be living there only when school wasn't in session. Mickey owned a string of successful clothing stores throughout the Mid-Atlantic region, and offered me a part-time position during the school year (full time during the summers) in one of the stores so I could make money for myself. One summer he allowed me to work behind the scenes in the bookkeeping department, which actually earned me a couple of college credits, thanks to a special program they had.
But it was Carol I naturally gravitated to. She was in her early forties, looked twenty years younger and beautiful (top-of-the-shoulder length dirty blonde hair, green eyes, gorgeous skin and figure), was outgoing and vivacious. She and my mother were like sisters, and as I got older, I was made to feel like one of their cohorts. It was always a lot of fun and very grown-up for me. To walk into her house, say "Hi," and give her a big hug and kiss like I would my mother was not at all unusual. A few times late in my teenage years, I walked in at "inconvenient" times when she and Mickey were making love in their bedroom, and she would hear me and just holler, "Go away, you!" and I would laugh and apologize and leave. No big deal, just a fact of life. But that was typical of our open and relaxed relationship.
She took a great interest in me after my mother died, especially regarding my experiences at college, which went beyond how well the studies were going. She also wanted all the dirt regarding my social life: who I was dating, were they sexy, how wild were the parties, and so on. I often thought she was reliving her own college memories through my experiences, and got the feeling she thought college was a time and place to be a little crazy and not be afraid to explore new things. Sexual things. Not to be reckless and self-destructive and totally irresponsible, but to discover things about yourself that may prove useful. I found I could tell her everything and wouldn't be judged, and even better, not lectured to. I told her once about an off-campus party I'd gone to that turned into a near-orgy, and she countered it with a story of her own very similar and with all the graphic details included that made my story, despite some pretty wild sex scenes, look tame.
I remember how interested she was in the time I went camping at a state park with three other girls where we all slept in the same tent and spent most of the nights having sex with one another. Carol (and Mickey, too) was not at all prudish, and same-sex relationships did not faze her at all. She often wondered how women sharing rooms in college dormitories, for example, weren't more sexually active with each other, if just in an experimental capacity, than survey figures seemed to indicate. I recall I was half-lying on the couch with my bare feet resting on a stack of magazines on the coffee table (my mother would have yelled at me for that, even at my age now), as I was telling her all about that camping trip, and how she moved next to me and slid my bare legs (I was wearing cutoffs at the time) onto her lap. She hung on my every word and stroked my legs. She might have been trying to be discreet, but she was failing miserably. I liked the feeling, though, and had no compunction to move away. Carol had always been on the lovey-dovey side with me, but it seemed obvious that she was openly testing the sexual boundaries. Nothing more happened with us then, but I thought I would be willing if she decided to go down that avenue sometime in the future.
One summer night after a party that wasn't that terrific, and that culminated in rather unsatisfying bang-bang sex with a half-drunken guy, I went home. Mickey was out of town on a business trip, and Carol from her bedroom heard me come in, saw I wasn't in the best of spirits, and invited me in. It seemed clear she didn't want to just talk and comfort me, but I was pretty sure I wanted what she was going to offer.
"Are you decent under that dress?" she asked offhandedly, as only Carol would.
"Yes, of course," I replied, chuckling.
"Good. Take it off and get in here with me. Let's talk." So I slipped it and my shoes off and, wearing only my bra and panties, crawled into bed with her.
We talked about this, that, and whatnot, so easy for us, and after a pause, she kissed me. I kissed her back and we hugged, and I felt like I was outside myself looking at myself being guided by Carol. She suggested we get naked, and we did. She always had a way of making me feel she was bringing me into her world; she never condescended to me in terms of age or experience, just assumed we were equals. She was very confident and sure of herself, and made me feel that way, too. She quickly pulled off her short nightie and helped me with my bra and panties.
Although it wasn't the first time I'd seen her naked body, it was the first time I'd been in such intimate proximity to it. We hugged again, our bodies making contact much more than the first time. Our tits touched and our nipples grew hard. She rolled partly on top of me and kissed me forcibly, her tongue going deep in my mouth, our hands rubbing each other hungrily. We began making love, our bodies sliding against each other. My tits were on fire from her sucking and handling. I tried to remember camping with those three other girls and realized this was a thousand times better; Carol did things with her mouth and fingers I'd never experienced before. I was learning new, sensual things about my body as well as what to do to satisfy her. I never felt so thrilled and sexy in my life.
She worked her way down my torso with her mouth and tongue until she reached my pussy. She licked all around my sopping lips before plunging inside me. She tongued me softly and then hard until I thought I would scream to wake the neighborhood. Then she licked my asshole, putting her tongue deep inside. No one had ever done that before, and I wanted to scream even louder. When she finished, with a deft move she arranged her pussy over my mouth facing backwards, and told me to lick her. My tongue was bathed with her cunt juices and I licked her pussy walls and then her clit. She moaned softly, then louder, and I felt her cunt shudder on my face. This just made her more fired up and ecstatic, and she spread open her ass cheeks and moved back a few inches to place her anus over my mouth. "Fuck my ass with your tongue, Amy, tongue-fuck my asshole." This was another first for me as well, and I licked all around her rosebud, apprehensive at first about what I would encounter taste-wise, and then plunged inside. There was no taste to speak of, other than a little sweat. She fingered my pussy as I did this and soon we both climaxed again.
Exhausted, we got into each other's arms on the bed and spent the next few minutes telling each other how wonderful it was (certainly true for me, though I don't know about her, considering her experience and my basic lack of same). It was very pleasant holding her and being in her arms, very soothing while at the same time thrilling.
Our emotions slowly subsided and our caresses became less exuberant until we were just holding hands. "Can I tell you a secret?" Carol said to me, putting her arm around me again and stroking my hair. "Considering what just happened, how wonderful it was, at least for me, and how I hope it continues, this is something I think you should know. It's about your mother."
"What about her?" I asked.
She looked at me carefully, as if weighing a decision in her mind. "Betty spent many an hour in this bed right where you're lying now."
It was a little shocking to hear that, but not devastating by any means. Knowing how close my mother was to Carol, how so much of their lives intertwined, it made sense that two such sexy, outgoing women might have a relationship deeper than just friendship. I've already said how brazen and unabashed Carol was, how most things sexual didn't bother her. My mother, now that I thought about it, must have shared her views or why would they remain such close friends? That they had sex together, two women, did not concern me, and acting like it should would only make me a hypocrite, seeing I was lying in Carol's arms myself right then. "You and she were lovers?" I said.
"Yes," Carol answered, relief and trepidation mixed in her tone. "Sometimes with Mickey, too, the three of us."
"Ah," I mumbled, not knowing what else to say. That certainly added to the dynamics of what she was asking me to comprehend: my mother engaged in threesomes with her best friend and her husband. I felt the news sink into my consciousness like a weight, but no emotional bells sounded. Perhaps if I had known my father better that protective outrage that daughters can exhibit defending their fathers when they feel they've been exploited, especially if it's by their mothers, may have kicked in, but that wasn't the case here. So I said, "And you are telling me this now because..."
"Well, as I said, if we're going to begin a relationship deeper than ever before, I don't want any secrets interfering with its development. They can be very destructive. Besides, we talked about it sometimes, she and I, and I'm pretty sure she was going to tell you herself when you turned 18 and went off to college. She wasn't ever a big fan of secrets, either. But then she got ill and her time just slipped away before she could."
