Happy Birthday 22

It was my son's eighteenth birthday and we were having a party. How many people turned up for the affair I do not know, I lost count about half way through the night.

It was a warm night with a full moon shining down, and the "Guests" had retired to the garden were they were dancing and generally making a cacophonous noise, no doubt to the irritation of the neighbours.

I had spent most of the evening funneling food and drink from the kitchen to the garden, but around one o'clock in the morning the demand seemed to diminish, and I could relax a bit.

My alcoholic husband, who had been well and truly inebriated even before the party began, had gone to bed about eleven o'clock. He would no doubt wake in the morning with his usual headache and sick stomach.

To give a proper setting to what follows, I should explain to you about my husband and I. About five years into our marriage Keith began to lose interest in sex. He had started to drink increasingly heavily, and this resulted in what is known locally as "Brewers droop," that is, the inability to get or maintain an erection due to excessive consumption of alcohol.

I am a very passionate woman, and I used to try to encourage him to have intercourse with me. He would fend me off irritably, and I would spend half the night crying with frustration. The outcome was, we decided to sleep, not only in separate beds, but separate rooms. You see, I am the sort of woman who, if she has a man lying beside her, she needs him sexually.

To try to get some relief from my sexual urges I had from time to time had affairs, and also resorted to the use of a vibrator. I do not know if Keith had any idea about these activities, but if he did, nothing was ever said. I don't think he would care anyway as long as I left him sexually alone.

So back to the party. The calls for food and drink having slowed down, I took a walk around the garden, having a few words with those still capable of coherent speech. During this perambulation I observed the ruins of the feast, and began to pick up various glasses and plates, and take them into the kitchen for washing.

I had just begun the weary process of washing, when four young men burst into the kitchen. I looked over my shoulder and saw they were some of my son's longstanding friends, and as such, I had known them since they were children. They did not seem to be very drunk, just at the joyfully aroused stage. I thought to myself, "They want more food and drink." I turned back to the sink, and as I did, I felt two arms go round me and hands cup my breasts.

I grabbed the hands and tried to push them away, saying, "Stop that." I saw that the perpetrator of this breast grab was a young chap called Ken. I struggled to release myself from his grasp, but he was too strong for me. He laughed at my efforts to be free and said, "Don't struggle, were not going to hurt you. The others gathered round me, and I felt myself being lifted up vertically until my feet were off the floor. Hands went up my skirt and pulled down my pants.

It had all happened so quickly that I had hardly time to take in what was happening to me. I suppose I could have screamed, but I was too bewildered to do anything but make feeble efforts to free myself.

With feet off the floor, and four strong young men holding me, I had little chance of escaping. Ken was still behind me and he must have had his penis out, because I felt him press himself against my buttocks, and his penis probed for my vagina. He found my entrance and his length slid into me. As he did this those holding me began to lift me up and down slowly, so Ken was moving inside me.

He must have been quite worked up because he came quickly. I heard him grunt and felt his sperm spurting into me. I was lifted off him and someone said, "Let's go somewhere more comfortable than this." I had stopped struggling by now, and I was picked up and carried into my bedroom and laid on the bed.

The boys were still holding me firmly, so I said to them, "You don't need to hold me, I'm not going to struggle or try to run away. If you are all going to take me, then let me enjoy it as well." They looked at me doubtfully. Tentatively letting go of me, they remained ready to grab me again.

I must confess that I now wanted it to happen to me. I wonder if any of you ladies have ever fantasised about being raped by some healthy young men? Perhaps, if you are like me, a passionate woman frustrated in her desires, you have. Now, beyond all my expectations, it was actually happing to me.

It is my contention that there are many negative situations that can be turned into positives. I decided that I would turn the negative aspect of my rape into a positive one of pleasure. I did not think the young men were engaged in a power game, what they wanted was sexual pleasure, and they wanted it with me, so it might as well be a pleasing event for both them and me.

Had my rapists been people who revolted me in some way, perhaps I could not have turned the situation around, but these were boys I had known and liked for years. In a sense, they were paying me a compliment. There were plenty of young women at the party who would no doubt have been willing to accommodate them, but they chose me, a woman of forty.

As they saw me spread my legs to take them, they became more confident that I would not flee. Instead of just carrying on entering me, they started to undress themselves and me. Soon we were all naked and I was being kissed and my nipples sucked, and clitoris licked. Son I was nearly mad with arousal and begging them to enter me.

Poor Ken, who had been the first to enter me in the kitchen, had been the one to have the most uncomfortable time. I thought it a shame he should have missed a more satisfying time with me, but I need not have worried. I saw that he was becoming erect again, and this presaged a second round with him.

Once we had settled to something approaching consenting sex, I think my body felt more alive than it had ever felt before. I felt I was desirable, wanted, even needed. I wanted to be generous, to give myself. I suppose it could be described as an act of love. It certainly seemed like that at the time, because I wanted to give to these boys.

The second boy came into me, and like Ken, he was well and truly down the track to his orgasm. As I was lying on the bed and comfortably open to him, I could work with him and meet his rhythm as he came.

I took the third and fourth boys, but had still not had my orgasm. They had all been too urgent in their need, so it was quickly over. But Ken was ready for me again, and having unloaded his sperm into me in the kitchen, he now took much longer to come again. It was he that brought me to orgasm.

I suppose it was the thrill of what had been done to me, the pitch of sexual excitement they had induced that brought me to the most explosive orgasm I have ever experienced. I held back until I felt him about to come, and then gave forth with howls and clawing that must have frightened the poor boy. I noticed afterwards that I had lacerated his back in a few places.

It was over, and their sperm and my fluids had soaked the bed. We lay around, me and a couple of the boys on the bed, the other two on the floor, recovering from our sexual activity.

Eventually I rose and dressed. The party noise had diminished to a whisper. I said, "I'd better start the clearing up." Ken came to me and kissed me very gently and said, "Not tonight. We'll all be here to help in the morning."

I waited until the boys had dressed and then opened the door. My son was saying goodnight to some of the guests at the front door, and he saw me come from the room with the boys. "What have you been up to," he asked suspiciously. "Just looking at some old family photographs," I lied quickly. "Oh, yes!" he said. Whether he believed me or not I did not know, and still don't.

As good as their word, the boys turned up about eleven o'clock in the morning. It was Sunday and I had not long been up myself. My useless husband was still snoring his latest alcoholic binge off. My son, as usual, leaving me to do all the work, had cleared off somewhere. If it had not been for the boys, I would have been left to tackle the ruins by myself.

As it turned out, I did very little of the clearing and washing up. In our back garden, we have what we call, "The Sleep Out." It is an additional room built at the time my husband and I decided to sleep in separate rooms. My daughter until her departure from home to go to a job in another city used it. It was now used occasionally if we had visitors staying overnight.

It was this room the boys and I used for another session of lovemaking. This time I had them one at a time while the others got on with the work and kept an eye open for my husband awakening. It really was a rapturous time, but not as much as it was to become in the following months.

The boys never came to me as a foursome again, unfortunately. At most, it was two of them. It could not be helped, as timing had to be just right with my husband and son absent and the boys not always able to be with me at those times. It did, however, give opportunities to expand our sexual repertoire considerably.

If you mature ladies have ever had the pleasure of sex with a young man; you will probably have experienced their willingness to experiment. The time with my young men has been wonderful. Their youthful, healthy and virile bodies have brought me the most satisfying sexual experiences ever, and I do not think it is going too far to say that real love has grown up between us.

One other point I wish to make is that they first came to me as a foursome. As our sexual relationship went on I was fearful there might develop jealousies between them. One of them might want to have me all for him self. This has not happened. They seem quite happy to share me, and in my time with them, I have always been willing and able to treat them all equally.

I am not sure how I shall go on when they can no longer come to me, and this will happen for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps I shall have to hold a twenty-first birthday party for my son!