Pauline French

Pauline French - The Interview

Author's Note: I emailed Just Plain Bob for permission to use his character, Pauline French, but received no reply. Since he has been generous to others in granting permission, I took the liberty of going ahead and using her. I promise that she won't be harmed, but if I have overstepped my bounds, a sincere mea culpa. This is in "Loving Wives" because, well, it is where Pauline French belongs.

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Interviewer's Note: Pauline French was first "discovered" by prolific Literotica web site writer Just Plain Bob and has become one of the most cited characters on that site in the "Loving Wives" subcategory of erotic fiction. She is variously portrayed as being anything from a promiscuous young woman to a cheating wife or girlfriend, although she is always described as physically beautiful and sexually rapacious. Some aspects of her life are less clear as various writers have ascribed numerous, and sometimes conflicting, details to her persona. In order to get a better understanding of who Pauline French really is, Crusty Minge magazine has sent me to interview her and get a closer look at this somewhat mysterious, amorphous person. In the interview that follows, I will be identified by the abbreviation "CM" and Pauline French will be identified by the abbreviation "PF". The interview took place on 31 July 2023 at a park near her home.

CM: First of all, I'd like to thank you for taking the time for this interview and for agreeing to be totally open and honest with your answers to my questions.

PF: You're welcome and thank you for your interest. Is that a hard-on in your pants?

CM: Ahh... no, it's not an erection... Before I start with the questions, I must say that you truly are a beautiful woman and I can see why you have no problem attracting men and some women as sexual partners.

PF: Thank you, but it's not like I did anything to earn my looks; that's all on my mother and father. Or at least the man who I think might be my father. Are you sure that's not a hard-on?

CM: Ahem... First question: Why were you so insistent on this interview taking place at this park and not at your home or some place like a Starbucks?

PF: This is a fairly small town and if anyone who knows me sees me with a man they immediately tell my current fictional husband that I'm cheating, whether I actually am cheating or not. I figured meeting here at the park, since it's so open and public, couldn't be any worse than anywhere else and might give me the rare chance at making it to dinner time without my husband filing for divorce.

CM: So I take it that you are currently married?

PF: I am ALWAYS married unless I am in the middle of the usual hysteria-tinged divorce or am single and being a predator for another woman's husband or I have been abandoned by everyone to live out a lonely old age in a small, drab apartment. I also get a lot of shitty "walk on" parts - one of two sentence appearances - where I am mentioned, but play no real part in the story. Things like "I figured since my wife cheated, I'd fuck Pauline French - she never said no to a hard cock", or "I had Pauline French hooving the Pink Steel Avenger within five minutes of meeting her."

CM: You seem pretty fatalistic about your lot in life.

PF: Well... it's a living, I guess. Still, I do find myself wishing for something else at times.

CM: Such as?

PF: OK, take my present story situation. I am currently in a marriage with a great guy named Dave. He "loves me more than life itself". He's gentle, loving, kind, a hard worker, generous, a great father and a pillar of the community - a real boy scout. His cock is average size, but he's great in the sack. He's gotten a bit soft around the middle, but not obese, just soft. We have two girls, "Skankanella" who's a wide-eyed eleven and "Sluttina" who's thirteen going on twenty-five. We own our home, free and clear. We have a female cat named "Tsuris" - Yiddish for "heart-breaking trouble" - who not-so-secretly hates me, and a rescued male Chinese Dhong dog named "Priapus" who has a staggeringly bad farting problem worthy of an epic poem. My parents are alive, healthy and love me. The same for my in-laws. We have lots of loyal and fun friends. I have a good job as a nurse at the local hospital. I'd be more than happy to end the story right there, maybe minus the farting dog and that miserable cat made into a can of dog food, but no, that's not the way it's going to be.

CM: What do you mean?

PF: Very shortly, my husband is going to find out that I'm cheating on him with a professor at the local community college who teaches a nurse's continuing education course I'm taking. The guy's name is, of course, "Jamal", and he's black, has a 13 inch cock, the sexual stamina of a draft horse and the morals of a male mink.

CM: How will Dave find out?

PF: Dave's going to notice that my vagina suddenly is stretched out to the size of Carlsbad Cavern and that you can drive a Ford F-350 truck, with the crew cab, into it. He'll be suspicious, and will "trust, but verify" by hiding micro cameras in our bedroom, obtaining some videos so obscene that they can only be viewed while wearing welder's goggles and a lead X-ray apron. I'm not sure if I am supposed to bad-mouth Dave while Jamal and I have sex or threaten to cut off Jamal if he bad-mouths Dave. Maybe the author will just have me ad-lib it - I don't know.

CM: So does that mean you are a size queen?

PF: Hell NO! Whenever you read about a woman fucking someone with a cock longer than about 8 inches, you know the author is a guy because much longer than that and you end up with a cervix that looks and feels like it's gone 10 rounds in a steel cage death match with a rhinoceros. Not to mention that if the bastard tries to shove it up your ass and won't take "No" for an answer, you'll spend the next week feeling like you birthed the Seattle Space Needle out your shitter. No woman would ever want that or would write that crap.

CM: Yes, but in the last story...

PF: OK, I know what you're going to ask: If I'm a not a size queen, why, in the last story, did I go to that convention of Boy Scout leaders, asking each one of them if they knew how to make their cock 10 inches long, then rejecting each one who said "No" or "How?" until I ended up banging the guy who said, "Yeah. I fold it in half", while smirking? Short answer: Wish fulfillment fantasy by an author whose cocktail wiener wouldn't show up under an electron microscope.

CM: So what's your motivation to cheat in this case? Is it because he's black?

PF: Somewhat, but keep in mind that he has to be black because he's got a 13 inch cock. Apparently there is a law that requires anyone with over 8 inches of trouser trout to be black - not white, not Hispanic, not Asian, - black. As to my real motivation, well it's hard to come up with something that hasn't been done ad nauseam. In this case it's that when I was young I saw Sidney Poitier in the movie "To Sir, With Love" and became obsessed with the fantasy that he was porking his age-legal, white female students. Admittedly, it's kind of weak but, like I said, it's hard to come up with anything that hasn't been flogged to death and the author isn't the sharpest pencil in the drawer.

CM: You mentioned that you had 2 children...

PF: Yes, but that's two children by this marriage only - I do have other kids. You know, that sure looks like a chubby in your pants to me...

CM: Oh, how many?

PF: Chubbies? Why, do you have more than one? Be still my heart!... Oh, you mean kids... Honestly, I'm not sure of the exact number. Quite a few. As a rough estimate, if you take the number of times I've been married and multiply it by an average of 2.5 kids per marriage, you get a truly stunning figure, but one that's probably close to the mark. I should probably note too that at least 50% of the kids are not by the guy I was married to at the time they were conceived, as DNA tests have shown.

CM: Wow!

PF: Wow, indeed. In fact, I get a Christmas present from the local DNA testing facility every year in appreciation for being their largest customer. Several of the ancestry website have entire sections devoted to me. I might also mention that when we have family reunions we have to rent a baseball stadium to hold all the kids, my ex husbands, the ex in-laws, the real fathers and their current wives, the kids' cousins, uncles and aunts and the various private investigators currently skulking around and trying to get evidence against me. Unfortunately, pretty much everyone, including the kids, shun me or are only cursorily polite, but I guess that goes with the territory. In every case the kids, even the cuck kiddies, were given to the fathers in the divorce since I was judged to be a morally unfit mother. It always makes me laugh when they do that and one or more of the kids is an infant. Everyone knows that guys won't change a diaper and by now some of those kids are in their teens and still wearing the diaper from the day of the divorce. At the local courthouse they have a standardized protocol to handle any case involving me in a divorce, unless I am trying to actually delay the divorce. It saves considerably on lawyer fees, my time and the court's time. Last I heard, the yearly amount of my various cheating and divorce expenses constituted 3.7% of the G.D.P. That doesn't count the cost of work days lost due to my lovers getting medical treatment for STD's.

CM: Speaking of sexually transmitted diseases, with having sex with all those men, aren't you worried about contracting STD's?

PF: Yes and no. No, because I've had all of the common STD's, such as syphilis, gonorrhea, herpes and HIV, so many times that I am now immune to them. My immune system has manufactured antibodies against them and my vagina now has developed the consistency of Kevlar covered with vulcanized tire rubber and nothing can penetrate the walls. On the other side of the coin, Yes, because you never know if a new STD is going to appear, although for it to get through my vaginal walls, a bacteria or virus is going to have to evolve with something like a tungsten carbide can opener attached. But even that has an upside as the federal Center For Disease Control has me on a monetary retainer to take monthly vaginal swabs from me to see if any new STD's have cropped up. I also get significant Christmas presents from many of the major pharmaceutical companies.

CM: So, have any new STD's appeared?

PF: I don't know because the C.D.C. doesn't tell me much, although I will mention that the last time they came to test me, they were in Hazmat suits, used long titanium tongs to hold the swabs and had a guy standing there nervously fingering the trigger of a flame thrower that was pointed directly at me. That's never happened before and when I asked them why, all the guy with the flame thrower said was, "Have you ever seen the move 'Alien'?"

CM: So what do your friends and neighbors think of all this?

PF: Well, my best friend, Sharon, is all for it since she is, of course, a many-times divorced skanky slut who encourages me to cheat because "I owe myself some fun and extra-martial sex will make our marriage stronger." Honestly, I don't know how she can keep saying that story after story, because it always ends up as a train wreck, but I also don't know why I keep believing her and acting on it. It must be a best friend kind of thing. As to the rest of our friends and neighbors, it's a mixed bag at best. At the start, many of the husbands and some of the wives flirt shamelessly when their spouses aren't looking, suspecting that I guard my virtue about as well as a midget could guard a basketball hoop one-on-one against Michael Jordan. After a while, as the rumors start circulating, I find myself pushed away from the circle of decent people and having to install one of those take-a-number delicatessen ticket dispensers outside our bedroom for the not so decent people. Finally, once the shit hits the fan, mostly everyone cuts me out of their lives, divorces their spouse for sleeping with me and spends two months or more being given intravenous drips of every antibiotic and anti-viral medication known to man. By the way, I'm going to give away a "girl secret" here - I know that men don't understand why women always go to rest rooms in groups of two or more and I'll tell you that you can blame it on me.

CM: What do you mean?

PF: They go in groups so that if I am in the rest room having sex with one or more of their husbands, they have at least one wife to separate us, kick the husband(s) in the balls, then bitch slap me and call me a whore. It also means they can have at least one wife there to use her phone to video the whole thing and post it to Facebook later.

CM: In the current story, is there reconciliation or at least some forgiveness?

PF: I don't know. The mush-wit writing it keeps revising it between RAAC and BTB. I think he's schizophrenic as well as stupid. A somewhat worrisome possible clue is that in the story I am Catholic and after my affair is exposed, I go to confession at the local church to seek divine forgiveness. Once inside the confessional, I start to tell the priest what I have done and then the scene shifts focus from inside the confessional to among the people waiting in the pews and looking towards the confessional. Of course, with the focus shift you can't really hear what I'm saying, just an indistinct murmur, but all of a sudden you hear the priest clearly shriek out, "Jesus fucking Christ!!!! NO ONE in the history of the world has EVER done THAT before, you sick, sick bitch!!! Say one million "Hail Marys", ten million "Our Fathers" and I'll kill you myself if I ever see you set foot in a church again!!! Now get out!!!" I then rush out past all the waiting people who, of course, are videoing the whole thing with their phones and it goes viral on Facebook later that day. Sounds like part of a BTB to me.

CM: So with all these bad things going on time after time after time, why do guys keep on marrying you?

PF: It's pretty simple really. As you were kind enough to mention, I am attractive. I am usually written as personable and fun, sluttiness and diseases aside. During the dating period and early part of marriage, I am generally sexually insatiable and try to fuck my boyfriend/fiance/husband to death regardless of whether or not I am cheating on him with the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir at that time. Let's face it, between that and my looks, guys wouldn't care if I had been convicted of murdering my lovers by sticking molten knitting needles into their eyes while they slept next to me.

CM: True, but then with the cheating and subsequent complications it gets really grim for your husband, doesn't it?

PF: Yes, it does, but then things turn around for him in a big way. He gets some form of revenge on me and the clown or clowns I've been cheating with, I get ostracized by everyone including my own parents who have viewed my husband as "the son they never had." He goes to a gym and gets in the best shape of his life, meets a supermodel who becomes his hopelessly devoted sex bunny and he invents or does something that causes him to become richer than the entire Rockefeller family. So by putting up with some admittedly heavy shit for 6 to 12 months - 12 months only if the STD he gets from me is medication resistant or I am being irrational and fight the divorce tooth and nail - he gets all that. Plus, keep in mind that I will always be jealous and regretful for the life I threw away when I see him at the kids' landmark life events and I end up living alone for the rest of my life as I get fat enough to have my own noticeable gravitational field.

CM: Do you know how David, your current fictional husband, reacts on finding out about your cheating?

PF: Not really. As I said, the author keeps vacillating between RAAC and BTB. In one draft, which was a BTB draft that the author decided not to use, I was cleaning out my lover's pecker snot from my vagina with a douche to which David had added very finely cut up fiberglass insulation, hydroflouric acid, ghost pepper hot sauce and anthrax spores. My lover got kidnapped, taken to a remote area where David and his friends jammed a large weather balloon up his ass, filled it with hydrogen and then let him loose to float away. As he starts to drift off, they light an attached fuse and when the fuse ignites the explosively flammable hydrogen, my lover is rocketed into orbit where he is killed when he collides with the International Space Station.

CM: Dear God, why didn't he keep that draft?

PF: He thought it was too ordinary and not nearly nasty enough. He was afraid that the Anonymous comment posters would call him a sissy fag cucky commie pussy-whipped ass- felching momma's-boy homo jerk-off spuzz-guzzling bed-wetter who should be killed by having a cactus shoved up his ass until the needles were flossing between his teeth. Then he was worried they might say some really nasty things.

CM: My goodness... Anyway, on a more personal note, in your spare time what do you do for relaxation?

PF: (laughs) Well, I really don't get too much spare time, but when I do, I'm really pretty much like any other woman: shopping, gossiping with my girlfriends, charity work and thinking up ways to make my current husband's life an unbearable, living Hell.

CM: Oh, what charity work do you do?

PF: I hang around public park men's restrooms in racial minority neighborhoods and give out coffee, donuts and blowjobs to the homeless. It's quite fulfilling, or maybe just filling, and I'm sponsored by one of the lip balm manufacturers. They use it in their ad campaign, claiming that if their product can protect my lips, it will protect anyone's lips. They also claim that it proves that the product can be used to lubricate automotive pistons without seizing even at the highest engine temperatures.

CM: Pauline, you've been very patient and forthcoming, so here is the last question. If you could change anything what would it be?

PF: Hmmm... Two things, I think. First of all, whenever my husband catches me in the act of being given a vaginal or lower-colonic baloney injection by some loser, I'd like it if I wouldn't be made to say stupid things like, "It's not what it looks like, honey", "I can explain, sweetheart.", "It doesn't mean anything, baby", "But I love only you, he's just recreational sex, dear" - all that usual crap. I mean, come on - I'm a slut, not a retard. Secondly, for once, just once, I'd like to get that forever monogamous marriage to a loving husband that I adore, the 2.5 kids, the pretty little house, loving family and good friends, although you can skip the dog with the paint-stripping farts.

CM: Thank you for your time and candor.

PF: Thank you for your interest. You know, I could swear your pubic protein pump is ready to erupt with some man magma; do you want me to check for you?

Interviewer's Note: At this point, I began to put away my recorder and note pad as Pauline seemed to stare wistfully off into the distance, wiping a tear from her eye while trying to affect a brave smile. Suddenly she noticed something unusual.

PF: Oh my God! Is that guy videoing us?

CM: It's probably someone just videoing the park on this lovely day.

PF: No - it's a PI. I've been tailed and recorded by so many of those turds that I can tell them a mile away. Besides, I recognize him as the bastard that got the goods on me for the divorces in my second, seventh, fourteenth and twenty-third marriages.

CM: Just ignore him. We aren't doing anything wrong.

PF: Yeah, but that's just the problem.

CM: What do you mean?

PF: My current contract requires me to engage in explicit public extra-martial sex when any PI is videoing me. The supermodel they hired for David to replace me with has a time limit on her contract as she has other obligations and so far no one has been around to video me when I have been unfaithful. The cheap bastard author is using cut-rate PI's who only work banker's hours. The penalty clause in my contract for me not being caught within the supermodel's contract time limit requires that I be sent to a whore house in Tijuana where I will have to do twice daily "burro shows" for 5 years. While that has a certain school girl fantasy, romantic appeal to it, the reality is probably a bit much even for me. So help me out and do a girl a favor! Please?