So now we're back in another lockdown and it's one which I don't think we'll properly emerge from until summer, or possibly later, I thought it was time I wrote down some of the details from my life, certain things about which I think I will have to sadly kiss goodbye to forever. By the time it's going to be totally and absolutely safe for me to have one of my lovely sexual adventures again (and judging from my recent photos), I'm going to be far too old, fat and dried-up for any self-respecting young and well-endowed black man to even consider sticking his cock inside me.
So, facts first. My name is Laura, I'm sixty-two years old, I'm married (my third husband) and I've been a slut since I was twenty-eight years old. I like big cocks. I like black cocks and I love sex with men in their twenties.
As I said, I'm now sixty-two, so over the last two years it's been getting noticeably less easy for me to get those initially willing young men into a big and hard and eager state to fuck me. Blessed as I am with my libido and my unstoppable sex-drive (and it is a blessing, but it's also a curse), I am more than willing and able to use a huge range of techniques to encourage really good performances from men, especially young men, who can readily give repeat performances. And, of late, I've had to use lots of those techniques.
Not that long ago, I could strip off and watch men's cocks getting hard and standing up to attention as those men inspected my naked body. Not any longer. I have to do some serious work now. Standing naked is no longer enough. I've not had any failures yet, but I know they're imminent. The first time it happens; that was going to be the day I was going to consider retiring.
Obviously I don't mind putting the work in because the rewards are many, besides, new experiences are always useful. And I know my body. I know what it can do and what it can take. Less than it used to, although it still craves more. My numbers game has never been about numbers at all - it's about the experiences. For me it's always been about experiencing what I've never experienced before. That's why I have my bangles. That's why I mark the experience with something tangible immediately after having it. The jewellery is a reward to myself for having had the experience, even though the experience itself is the real reward.
I look back over those thirty-plus years to the summer of 1986 at my twenty-eight-year-old married self and congratulate myself on taking that first bold step off the beach and going to a hotel room with two young black men. If I could go back in time, I'd do it all over again, but I'd make sure I did it better than I did in my young, very inexperienced, and very naïve way back then. I pretended to know more than I did, which was probably, at the time, very silly of me, but also sensible, as it turned out, because god, they really, really used me well. It was a total awakening for me. It was my moment of discovery regarding sex - sex was truly phenomenal! I hadn't known it until that afternoon in that hotel room. I made a decision in that room - I told both men they could do anything they liked with me. My heart was hammering when I said it, but it was absolutely the right thing to say because they did so many things I may not have experienced otherwise - and I'd definitely not have been confident enough then to have asked for them. In that room, once those men started using me, my core lit up, or came alight, or started burning, I don't know the word - ignited is nearest, but it's not that - and it's never stopped or dimmed, or cooled since. It is burning hot inside me as I write this and I know it'll only stop burning once I'm dead.
Those two young black men were very confident, very energetic, and very well-endowed. At the time, I'd never seen cocks as big, although I've had bigger and fatter ones inside me since then. But at the time, I was young, naïve, and sort-of-but-not-quite innocent. However, big black cocks were totally new to me. Two men at a time was totally new to me too and it was very, very exciting and very, very satisfying to have two cocks in my body at the same time. They did every permutation of cunt/mouth/anus double penetration there is. And I absolutely loved every one of them. Those two men knew what they were doing; they got me to do what I thought of as every depraved, perverted sex act imaginable, and quite a few more that I hadn't imagined too.
And it was delicious. Lovely. Totally perfect. I responded very positively with my body and with my mind. My body thrummed like a lightning rod. I was instantly reborn a natural whore. And I loved it. I totally embraced being a whore. That's how I labelled myself then. 'Whore' is a bit of an out-of-date word now, but I still think of myself first and foremost as a woman and a whore. I fully identify with and adore my whore status. I love being called 'whore' by dominant men.
I also lost any notion of shame on that day. I've not been ashamed of anything I do or have done for over 35 years. The moment those men pushed their cocks into my mouth, both at the same time and both of them telling me to suck their cock first, one calling me 'slut', the other calling me 'bitch', I felt as though I was in heaven. And I didn't make a choice. Instinctively, I sucked them both off simultaneously. And they absolutely fucking loved it. They thought I was something special. Which I obviously was. I learned a lot about myself that day. And how did I know to do that? I just did. It was my instinct to ignore their orders and do what I wanted, which was to suck both of their cocks at the same time. So I did. And I gargled with their come. And looked at them the whole time. No one told me to do those things; I just did them because my inner voice told me to. After that, I knew exactly who I was.
When it was time to leave that hotel room, the whole place smelled heavily of the men's sweat and spunk and of my well-used pussy. I don't know why but that heady scent was really turning me on. And even though we'd been fucking for over four hours and I'd had about seven or eight huge orgasms and was absolutely worn out, I suddenly wanted more sex. Lots more.
Obviously, I was very reluctant to leave, but I knew I had to. So I left that hotel in my skimpy bikini. I had my lightweight dress in my bag, but I didn't want to wear it. I decided I'd put it on outside my house. I wanted people to know what I'd done, even though they wouldn't or couldn't really know. So I walked through the town in my bikini, flaunting my body, flaunting my whore status. In my mind, as I walked, in time with my steps, I was mentally saying: I'm a whore, I'm a whore, I'm a whore... I've heard that the walk back home after an affair is called a walk of shame. Mine was a walk of pride. I could feel spunk dripping onto my inner thighs and I was incredibly proud of everything I'd just done. I knew I'd done something significant; something that was far more than just sex; something that was far more than just a threesome. I'd done something that had changed my life forever.
To my credit, I knew it and accepted it on that very day, July 19th, 1986, aged twenty-eight. And, on accepting it, welcoming it, I knew what I was. And what I was going to be. No man would ever dictate anything to me about anything. Ever. I'd let them think they were in charge, but they'd follow my script. I also promised myself that every sex act I did from then on would be photographed. I wanted a record of my development. I bought a polaroid camera and my first five rolls of film. I was ready.
After that first two-man experience I tried two black men again, then again. I got addicted very quickly to big black cocks. I divorced my first husband, because of his penis size. He was not big. I had thought it'd be okay, but once I'd experienced proper-sized cocks, his lack of size bothered me. He was a nice, decent, kind man, so I'm not going to disparage him to make myself feel better. There was nothing wrong with him apart from him having a small penis. Due to my lack of any real sexual experience, I didn't know he was small. It was only after those two lovely black men had fucked me that I knew what size I needed for my gratification and satisfaction.
Which brings me to my cunt. When I reached puberty it stopped growing. It stayed the same size. It was shaped like an f. Later in life, I affectionately thought of my cunt as my f-hole. Aged 18, I had it checked out by a gynaecologist and he said it was just one of those things that happened to some young women. Some vaginas stop growing at puberty. He suggested I use a 'marital aid', by which he meant a dildo or a vibrator, to stretch myself a bit, if it bothered me. It did bother me. So I bought quite a big vibrator and stuffed it into my cunt at every opportunity. I found that my fanny stretched out for about a day, sometimes two days, then it went back to its usual size. Small. Girl-size. That was fine when I was a girl, but as a woman, I wanted my own woman-sized cunt. So I set to work stretching it. Daily workouts with toys that got bigger and bigger. I soon found that the bigger they were, the harder I'd orgasm. And I started to gush when I orgasmed properly. And I drank it and I really liked how I tasted. By the time I got to the age of 19, I'd managed to stretch it a bit more. It was still small, but it wasn't that small.
So when I met the man who became my first husband, I didn't really notice he had a small penis. His cock fitted inside me and he said I wasn't loose.
However, after my experience with various men with big cocks, his lack of size eventually upset me and angered me to the point I knew we needed to go our separate ways. He's now married to a woman who clearly doesn't mind his lack of length or girth. Apparently, not all women are size queens. Anyway, I celebrated my divorce by getting two black men to fuck me double-vaginally, double-anally and double-orally (in that order) as their white friend took photos with my Polaroid camera. I bought six rolls of film for that weekend. They were all used. So was I. I have every photo in my archive.
I didn't limit myself to black men, but they were more to my taste. I loved my skin against theirs. I loved being sandwiched between two black men. I learned I was 'white meat'. I learned I was an 'Oreo-girl'. I let them 'train' me, but I simply did what my body told me to do. I discovered I liked men to be dominant and aggressive and rough. I loved being flung about and bent into shapes. I loved being submissive, a slave, being whipped, being led around on a collar and lead, being made to go naked in public places, being tied up, handcuffed, forced to do anything and everything sexual.
