A Little More Help?

Acknowledgment: It would be delinquent not to express my appreciation to eluckenbach for altruistically contributing time and editorial expertise. There may be editors that are comparable, but there can be none better.

*

Dear Reader,

As I mentioned in my previous letter, I had been told that the membership of this website were the foremost experts when it came to matters of human sexuality and this has been confirmed to me beyond any doubt. So many of you responded to my plea for "A Little Help?" that I would be remiss not to begin by thanking you.

However, I received such a varied range of advice, including suggestions that I would wager no human could survive, that I fear I may have ineptly explained my situation. Therefore, I must ask you for your input once again.

In order for you to provide your best advice, I believe you need to know that the events recounted in the last letter, was certainly not the only time that something similar has occurred. For instance, last Spring we had some vacation due. My wife Jo Ann told me that she booked us into the Flamingo Inn overlooking Daytona Beach. It certainly sounded like a wonderful relaxing time and I was looking forward to a week on the beach.

We arrived late at night and it was mid morning of the next day when we grabbed a blanket and some towels before heading to the sand and surf. The place was teaming with twenty year olds and I soon realized that it was Spring Break.

It was obvious to both of us that Jo Ann was being blatantly examined from head to toe by the Spring Breakers as we walked past them. At first I experienced a bit of pride in being married to such a "head turner." Then I realized that they were eye screwing every female.

Luckily, we found a choice spot on the crowded beach and spread the blanket before walking down to the edge of the Atlantic. It was a perfect day, a sea breeze around five knots, temperatures in the low eighties, seas under three feet, and just an occasionally puffy white cloud. We walked along the waters edge letting the ocean's breaking surf periodically wash over our ankles. Jo Ann is always such good company, that time flew as we walked and talked.

When we got back to our blanket I laid on my stomach and wiggled until the sand perfectly fit my body. Soon the warmth of the sun and the sound of the surf made me drowsy. Although Jo Ann was sitting on the blanket next to me, her voice seemed far away as I heard her say that she was going to walk back down to the water.

Evidently I fell asleep, because she gently awakened me with her hand on my shoulder to let me know that she was going up to the room to use the bathroom. I waited a long time for her to return. I began to worry that I was getting too much sun so I went back to the room myself. I was somewhat surprised that she was not there.

It seemed like half the sand on the beach was stuck to the sunscreen that I had applied to protect my skin before venturing out that morning. I showered and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. I picked up the television remote control and settled in to one of two chairs that were beside a small round table. I smiled as I thought that these tables are so pervasive that they must be a building code requirement for hotel rooms. I was suffering from March Madness, so I tuned the television to the basketball tournament, which of course is the only cure and waited for Jo Ann to return.

I was looking at the television, but not seeing it. My mind kept wandering. You see, I was like every other male in Daytona. It seemed that all the prime pussy in America had gathered within a few square miles. Pounds and pounds of pulchritude. More like tons and tons of it! The place was absolutely crawling with "creamies" who were dressed in swimsuit tops that barely covered their nipples and swimsuit bottoms that were nothing more than anal floss. Well you get the idea. It was enough to even get your tongue hard.

I began to wonder what was keeping Jo Ann and a picture of her flashed into my mind. I smiled as I thought that she was more than a match for any of the other females. Not that she was dressed in a t-back. She was wearing a skimpy black two piece, but in some ways it it was even more appealing. It left just enough to the imagination.

If you will permit me to apply to sex, what Yogi Berra said about baseball. "Sex is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical." He has a rare knack for expressing himself, but I totally agree with his sentiments. For me sex is mostly in the mind and somehow does not seem limited by the one hundred percent barrier. It crashes through it and careens well beyond.

I think of the mental component as the "mind fuck." Feeling a breast should be no more enjoyable than feeling lots of other shapes or textures. But nothing else is comparable. Forget touch, what if only a sense that is a distance detector is involved. For instance, suppose a woman lifts her skirt and pulls her panties aside exposing the Promised Land to you. Is such an act simply processed in the visual cortex? Of course not.

Messages speed through neural pathways to glands that commence secreting hormones. Now add a chemical detector, the nose. You smell things: perhaps perfume or even far more intimate smells. The olfactory lobes become stimulated by pheromones and other stimuli. Add another chemical detector, taste. Suppose she lets you sample her with your tongue. Her mouth, her nipples, and her most intimate places. Now pile on the auditory component. Your ears hear sounds of breathing, maybe even panting, and squishing noises.

To me it seems that these sensations involve every neuron in the brain, even the Brain Stem becomes affected and the spinal chord becomes a river of sensory flow. Soon it feels like every neuron in my body is releasing neurotransmitters that quickly diffuse across the synaptic gaps and stimulate other neurons to fire wildly. They reach a crescendo at climax and I enter an altered state of consciousness until the convulsive spasms subside. At least that is what it feels like to me. It may not be the same for you, but I most sincerely hope that it is.

As I sat in that hotel room overlooking the Atlantic, the thought occurred to me that human sexuality is analogous to an ocean. For instance, you can choose to only watch. You can dive in and swim. You can go fishing without ever being completely certain of what you might reel in. It is an immense ocean that is large enough to float anybody's boat--even some that I find very strange.

Once while Jo Ann was dressed in a short denim skirt. I happened to be walking past a couple of guys who were beyond the range of her hearing. I heard one of them say that he would eat a turd a foot long just to bite it off next to her pussy. I assumed at the time that his comment was hyperbole. But then again, it is a large ocean.

I have never been able to quantify it, but some women seem somehow more shapely than others. As the old saying goes, "they have curves in places that other women don't even have places." Jo Ann is clearly in this category. She competed in cross-country until she graduated from college. No doubt this is responsible for her athletic appearance and those curvy muscular legs that give me the shakes when she dresses for me in a garter belt and stockings or in thigh highs.

I suppose it should be no surprise that her breasts draw frequent attention given the number of breast men inhabiting Earth. I remember one particular occasion when she was playing the slots at Harrah's Casino in Reno. An elderly gentleman, who must have been a poker player, stopped as he was walking past her and drawled, "Honey, you got a pair that'll beat a full house." He courteously touched the brim of his ten gallon hat in a little salute, and continued on his way. When she told me about it she mentioned that the comment had instantaneously affected her. She said that had he looked back, he would have seen gnomes.

I cannot remember who first told me about the gnomes, but I will never forget the peculiar look Jo Ann gave me when I told her that I was afraid she had gnomes in her bra. Or, how hard she laughed when I explained that gnomes were little guys that hid in women's bras and stuck their noses out when it got cold.

She has a beautiful face. And while I suppose that there is no such thing as a bad blowjob, some are certainly better than others. A beautiful face goes a long way toward that end and I surmise it is a primary reason that society places so much value on beauty. The same is probably true of a terrific body. How else can one explain phenomena such as trophy wives?

I especially like Jo Ann's eyes--big bedroom eyes. Moreover she is fully aware that she can give these looks that seem to express complete vulnerability. With about half of my penis in her mouth she frequently watches my face until my eyes happen to meet her eyes and then she goes to work on me with facial expressions. She gives me looks that are erotic almost beyond description. She seems to be saying, "Look at me. I'm completely cock crazy. Do me!"

She is an absolute master of the mind fuck and I am an aficionado. As far as I am concerned you can throw beauty right out of the window if a woman is intelligent and has a pleasing personality. For me, what matters in the final analysis is always the mind fuck. Especially when colored by love. But please forgive my soliloquy.

It was late afternoon and they had begun televising the second game before Jo Ann appeared. She smelled like the brewery at Busch Gardens and she was still dressed in her swimsuit and wrap. Let me tell you a little bit about this wrap. It is a rectangular piece of rayon that is five feet long and three and a half feet wide.

The color is a uniquely eye pleasing shade of dark blue with subtle black accents that are slightly suggestive of a paisley pattern. It has a two inch fringe at each end. I have no doubt that it was designed to be a modesty cover for skimpy swim wear. However, Jo Ann does what seems like magic with this wrap and it completely fails its intended purpose.

For instance, she often wears it tied at her waist with the knot just below her navel, yet slightly above her swimsuit bottoms. In front it gapes open and provides only the slightest attempt at concealment. From behind her it looks like a calf length skirt, but it so dramatically enhances the shape of her hips and the narrowness of her waist that invariably you are convinced that you are being blessed with a vision of the perfect female physique. Once, a would be philosopher regaled her when he saw her dressed this way and commented, "Maybe there is a God."

Sometimes she drapes the wrap completely around herself and ties it above her cleavage. When she wears it like this it covers her from her chest to her knees. However, when she walks or moves about, you get tantalizing glimpses of her body covered only by a swimsuit that actually conceals less of her than would a bra and panties. That is the way she was wearing it now.

She put her index finger and thumb under the elastic of her swimsuit and pulled out a plastic sandwich bag that contained several "home rolled" smokes. I asked her where she got those as she opened the bag, selected one, and proceeded to light it with a Bic lighter that she had apparently been carrying in her other hand. She inhaled deeply and held her breath as she passed it to me.

She finally exhaled and explained that some people at a party had given them to her along with the lighter. "What party?" I asked. She explained that after using the bathroom she was on her way back to the beach. While walking down the hallway she glanced into a wide open door to one of the rooms and someone called out for her to join the party. She had gone several steps past the door before she could react, but after a short inner debate she decided to accept the invitation.

She backtracked those few steps and entered the room. It was full of Spring Breakers. Each of them had a Budweiser in one hand as though it were part of a uniform. Apparently drinking a beer was mandatory if you wanted to belong. She remarked that someone immediately stuck a beer in her hand too, and with this action she felt ceremoniously accepted into the group.

It was a raucous bunch. She laughed almost without interruption at their antics and hilarious conversation. Every time she finished a beer someone handed her another. Eventually, one of them told her that they were going a couple floors down to sneak a quick smoke in their room. They asked her if she wanted to go along. It sounded like a terrific idea to her and she accompanied them. She said that they were the ones who had actually given her the smokes and the lighter.

Then she began to walk toward the door as she told me to enjoy watching the game and that she was going back to the party. I asked her for the room number of the party. She claimed that she did not actually know the number. She, just knew the way. I was still seated in the chair beside the table while listening to her. I told her to come over beside me for a minute.

When she was within reach I untied the knot that was holding her wrap. I unwound it from her body and put it in a clump on the table. She stood motionless beside me until I took hold of her wrists and guided her between my knees as I continued sitting in the chair. I let go of her wrists and she stayed standing there facing me.

Her swimsuit was made of some sort of black shiny cloth that covered her, but paradoxically revealed everything. The air conditioning had stiffened her nipples and the material of her top clung so tightly to them that I could make out their exact size and shape. I looked down at the slight bulge caused by her Mons Veneris and I had this sudden urge to lean forward and put my mouth on it. That is when I noticed that she was soaked all of the way through the lining of her suit and the outer material.

I thought I saw red marks on her body, but she had spent quite a bit of time in the sun and I could not be certain. I pushed her top up exposing her breasts. The stark contrast of her white breasts with her sunburn reddened skin was striking. Another thing that was striking was that her nipples were red and swollen. There were several abrasions that I felt certain were caused by facial hair stubble. Obviously, she had let somebody play with her breasts. In fact, judging from the apparent mauling that they had been subjected to, it was most probably more than one person.

I looked up at her face and we maintained eye contact as she continued to stand between my knees. I lowered the bottoms of her swimsuit to mid thigh. When I looked down I immediately noticed semen in the crotch of her swimsuit. I could even smell it. I spread her Labia Majora with my thumbs and saw pretty much what I expected. Her clitoral hood was swollen and her Labia Minora were red and open as they hung down at least a half-inch. I continued to spread her as I remarked, "Must have been some party."

"OK, OK let me explain," she said. "I was having such a good time hanging with these college kids. I felt like I was still in college and on Spring Break myself. I drank quite a bit of beer, and I was pretty drunk before we went down to smoke. We were in the elevator when I realized that it was going to be just four guys and me. But they are really nice guys and we were having a terrific time. Also, I had my wrap knotted under my armpit so I was pretty well covered.

They had a cooler of Budweiser in the room and we each began to sip a beer as we lit up one of a handful of pre-rolled smokes. My bladder was full because of all the beer. I went to the bathroom and I retied the wrap like I usually wear it, with the knot in the middle of my chest.

I cannot remember their names, but one of them noticed the difference and asked me how many ways I could wear that thing? I told him lots. He seemed interested so I retied it several ways as they all watched. One of them cleared some luggage off of the low counter that provides such convenient access to a suitcase and suggested that they could see better if I stood up there."

She stopped talking at this point because she noticed a tent in the front of my shorts. She had been standing between my legs, but now she knelt between them without ever taking her eyes off my crotch. Her top was still pushed up above her breasts and the bottoms remained rolled down at mid thigh.

She unzipped my shorts and wrestled with my underpants until she was able to free the tent pole, so to speak, and the tent instantly collapsed. She slipped her left hand under my testicles and cupped her hand holding them gently. With her right hand she clasped my penis at the base of the shaft so that her hand rested lightly on my pelvic bone.

Without fail, once she has my erect penis in her grasp, she gets a half smile on her face. Then she gives my erection this loving look that has become so familiar to me. She always studies it for awhile in complete fascination before seeming to summon enough willpower to force herself to release her gaze and almost reluctantly glance up at my face.

Often she smiles at me as she gives the shaft a little squeeze. Then she appears to give in to overpowering internal urges and her eyes drop down to focus on my erection again. She studies it some more grinning whenever it throbs or twitches. Sometimes I wonder who she loves more, me or my penis.

Finally, she took up the story where she left off, "A couple of the guys held my hands and helped me step up on the counter and I showed them some more ways that the wrap can be worn. Without realizing it I effectively put on a little show for them.

I tied it in different ways and modeled it for them until I suddenly noticed that all four of them had erections that were straining against their swimsuits. At this point my wrap was tied around my waist and one of the guys said that he wanted to see it without my top. Another one agreed saying, "Yeah, take your top off."

Well I was pretty stoned and being in a hotel room with all of those college guys and their over abundance of hormones was too much for me, so I reached behind my back and unhooked it. I felt my tits bounce several times as I tossed it to them. The guys instinctively jumped up and scrambled to catch it.

Then they came over to where I was still standing on the counter. The movement of my tits swinging freely had caused my nipples to get so hard that they felt like someone was lightly pinching them. They all began feeling my tits. One of them untied the wrap and draped it over his shoulder. Another pulled my swimsuit bottoms down and I reflexively stepped out of them.

They felt my tits and stuck their fingers in my pussy while I continued to stand on the counter. They got me so horny that I was shaking and in danger of falling. They realized this and two of them helped me down. My knees were so shaky they literally tapped against each other a couple of times.

I was afraid to take a step so I knelt down on the floor where I was and began pulling down the nearest guys swimming trunks. His hard cock almost hit me in the face as it popped out of his swimsuit. It was right at eye level and the head was already turning purple. The sight of it so affected me that I slid all of it in my mouth. It was deep in my throat and my lips were pressed against his pubic bone.

Two of the other guys went over and sat in the chairs while the third got comfortable on one of the beds. I realized that I was still putting on a show for them and I had one of the most intense orgasms that I have ever experienced. It convulsed my whole body time after time. It racked me until I began to fear that it was never going to stop.

I was incapable of keeping his cock in my mouth. I just held onto it with one hand for support as I bent forward with my face mashed against his leg and his balls resting against my temple. When the orgasm finally subsided I lifted up enough to put his cock back in my mouth and I immediately orgasmed again-spasm after spasm. It was so intense and prolonged that I needed a few minutes to recover when it subsided.