(This story is a prequel to The Wedding stories. The characters are the same, yet the story is written from a different perspective)
My name is Cynthia Preston. I live in Pittsburgh, PA. In four weeks I'm getting married to a wonderful guy named Kevon Simpson. He's everything any woman could want. He's handsome. He's smart. He has a good job and a nice car. His tastefully decorated (by me) apartment overlooks a lake. He ain't no slouch in bed. I can't tell you the number of women I had to fight off in order to hook him. I got game.
I also have three other lovers stationed in various cities around the United States--one in Seattle, one in Detroit, and one in Las Vegas.
Don't get it twisted. I ain't no ho.
Rather, I have a biological imperative that compels me to sample different men with different qualities. The men know nothing of each other. I'm fairly sure that each of them has a woman stationed in different cities that satisfies their biological imperatives.
Does this sound familiar? If you are a man reading this, it should. I have yet to meet a man that doesn't have women stashed in different cities. He visits them. They go out to dinner. They fuck. And then it's c'est la vie until next time. Everybody's happy, right?
Except I'm a woman doing the same thing. That's right, I have a man's sex drive. I have to masturbate in the morning before work. I sneak into bathroom stalls to quiver my clit into submission regularly. I like the smell of my pussy on my fingers. The aroma ignites my sex drive. I fuck the men who I think can best subdue my raging libido.
Kevon handles the job nicely. He has the size and the stamina to keep me interested. However, 'nicely' doesn't always feed the baby. Sometimes I need bigger. Sometimes I need faster. Sometimes I need smarter. Most times I need more often. If that makes me a ho, then you probably don't want to read any further. Because I'm going to describe some shit that will twist your cap back.
Read my lips: I...LIKE...DICK.
You name the dick, I've got a hole for it. Pussy, esophagus, doodihole--it doesn't matter to me. Ram it in there. And keep ramming until I say stop. I don't want to get old and say I left some of my youthful passion on the table. I don't want my pussy to dry up from inactivity. If I went a full week without fucking, well, you probably would take me for supercunt. I wouldn't be a nice person to be around.
A woman becomes a ho when she allows men to use her sexual capacities to THEIR ultimate benefit. They call her. They fuck her. They send her on her way.
That's not me. I MAKE the calls. I don't take the calls.
I'm kinda like Nola Darling, you know, Spike Lee's girl from "She's Gotta Have It." There's things I need. Men have those things. (Some of them, anyway.) I've become an expert at picking out which men have the things I need.
Again, don't get it twisted. I'm no material girl. Rather, I'm fully capable of satisfying my own material needs. I'm a Vanderbilt graduate, with a major in economics and a minor in English. I left school with a six-figure job in hand. I drive an Audi S5 coupe. I own a two-bedroom town home, again, exquisitely decorated. I own several properties (in conjunction with my father) in the 'hood, from which I derive a pretty penny. The properties are all paid for. I rent to poor people. The state pays their rent every month on time, no questions asked. That's right, my father and I are slumlords. I pay a guy to go out and fix plumbing and doorjambs and A/C and heating issues. I'm not driving MY car in THAT neighborhood.
I also drive a '73 Dodge station wagon. Why, you might ask? Because men can be ho's, too. I like to be underestimated. I don't like to play all my cards up front. I damn sure don't want a man seeing my portfolio and thinking he can push up on me and have me take care of him. Fug dat. Kevon and I dated for a year before I invited him to my townhome. He saw my station wagon and thought I was...needy. That gave me the opportunity to assess his character. He took me out to dinner. I took him out to dinner. He thought I was struggling to cover.
I was not.
He was with me the day I picked out the Audi. I paid for it--cash. No haggling. No "Let me go talk to my manager." You should have seen his eyes bulge. That same day I took him to my townhome and fucked his brains out. He kept asking whether I'd won the lottery. No, son. I got it like that. And if you're smart, you'll keep a lid on it, the same way as I did.
But I digress.
I knew early on that I was different from other girls. While my college girlfriends were giggling and running game to attract attention from boys, I saw no advantage in that strategy. What did boys want? Obviously, it was what I had under my bra and panties. Conversely, I had a fixation on what men had between their legs. Penises always fascinated me. I didn't have one, and it amazed me how they seemed so small at first and then, if I showed them mine, all of a sudden these amazing appendages ballooned into this steely arc, draining all the blood from its owner's brains.
I had a small penis at the top of my slit. It would get hard, but it never stretched upward the way a man's penis did. No matter what I did, my clit just bobbed there between my pussy lips. I would rub her and rub her. It felt good, but it didn't spray jism out, like a man. The thing about me was, my clit seemed to be hard all the time. I could be sitting in class and BANG!, she's preening up, begging to be seen, rubbed, kissed or sucked. I could be swimming laps in the community pool and BANG!, she's awake. Let's not talk about riding a bicycle or attending aerobics class. It was ridiculous.
I wondered whether this happened with other women but, of course, I was too scared to ask. It seemed that my little girly penis was always demanding attention, the same way my girlfriends pranced about demanding attention from boys. I went from twiddling her several times a day to inserting my fingers to inserting various penis-shaped objects. Finally I dredged up the nerve to go downtown and purchase a good-sized rubber dildo. How old was I when I finally decided to entertain a real penis? You figure it out.
This went on for years. At some point I realized that I was effectively suppressing my libido. I was not dealing with its source. Even boys don't masturbate 9-12 times a day. I don't know how I got through college. I had this....this thing....hanging over my head. I had to force myself to concentrate on my studies. It was not easy.
Finally, I went to a doctor and described my plight. He told me that my symptoms seemed to suggest Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder (PGAD). Basically, women with PGAD suffer from the same libidinous knuckleheadedness as men. We get aroused if the wind blows, the only difference being cultural. Women who assuage their biological imperatives are not viewed as heroically dominating their sexual milieu, like men. Those women are viewed as ho's. I grew up as a good girl from a good family. I spent years in Jack 'N Jill. My parents threw me a Sweet 16 party. When I went off to Vandy I was still a virgin. I couldn't afford to be seen as a ho. Despite this, my doctor advised me to stop masturbating and to start fornicating.
I took his advice to heart.
I also joined a therapy group for women with PGAD. There I met two girls who were destined to become two of my closest friends: Lisa Winchell and Nicole Hanson. The two women were sisters. Lisa was a black woman. Nicole was white. Without getting into too much detail, Lisa was "adopted" by Nicole's family after her mother died. Lisa's dad was in prison.
The three of us had one thing in common--our pussies dominated our lives. At the time, I was still looking for Mr. Right. I wasn't going to give up the scootie to just anybody. Lisa and Nicole were well past this delusion. It was they who advised me of the "keep your men in cities where you DON'T live" strategy. The two of them lived in Seattle. They came to Nashville regularly to visit their men. They told me that this strategy is the best defense against being known as a "ho".
One night the three of us were sitting around their hotel room smoking a joint. Lisa pops on a porn video. I was shocked to see Nicole and some big black guy fucking up a storm on the TV. The black guy's dick was humongous. And that wasn't the end of my amazement. I look over and both sisters are blithely twittering their exposed clits as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They were using the video as a masturbatory aid!
I'm not gonna lie--this aroused me to no end. This guy's dick was as big as my favorite dildo. And to see two other grown women unashamedly masturbating? Well, I was in my element, let me tell you. I eased out of my panties and joined them. We started competing to see which of us could cum fastest! It was hilarious. That kinda bonded us as friends.
I asked Nicole after her video lover.
"Oh him? That's Sacramento."
"That's his name?" I asked.
"No. That's where he lives. I don't really remember his name."
I laughed.
"You made a porn video with a guy whose name you can't remember?"
"He calls me 'Baby'. Why can't I call him 'Sacramento'?"
It made sense. I continued:
