The Alphabet Story

This is a true story that took place in San Francisco, in the early Eighties.

I love San Francisco -- a great party town. They have all these great bars and restaurants in the North Beach district, which is the Italian part of town, and also the old beatnik part of town. Jack Kerouac & crew used to hang out there, about ten or fifteen years before the Haight-Ashbury scene happened.

Of course by the time I got there, the happenings in the Haight Ashbury were long gone & forgotten, the Seventies had come and gone, and the gay scene was the big deal. In those days, it was not unusual to be having a conversation with a woman -- not necessarily in a bar but anywhere; in a coffee shop, a delicatessen, a department store, a bank even - and at some point in the conversation, she'd put her hand on my forearm and say in a quiet voice, "God, I hope you're not gay," and bingo there and then I'd know I was getting laid. There was that much a shortage of straight men in that town; women were literally starving for cock.

It was a Friday night and I was down in North Beach at the Savoy Tivoli, and for some reason I was wearing a suit. I can't remember why, because I didn't ordinarily wear a suit for my work -- I was a working as a draftsman at a civil engineering office and it was business casual, even back in those days. Well for whatever reason I was wearing a suit and I was making quite an impression on this lady.

She was older than me - I couldn't tell how much older in the dark bar, she was in her thirties at least - and she was with this guy who seemed older than me but younger than her; late twenties perhaps. He was wearing a suit and looked like what we'd call a 'metro sexual' these days; the kind of guys who worked in the financial district.

Never mind him, more about the lady; brunette, her hair cut short in what used to be described as a 'pixie' cut, kind of long in the back but not quite a mullet. She had a narrow face, narrow nose; quite beautiful, she made me think of Sheena Easton who was big at the time. She was shorter than me, which is not extraordinary as I'm a big guy, taller than most people I meet. Anyway we were talking and I could tell she was really interested in me when she put her hand on my forearm and said the magic words; "God, I hope you're not gay." Bingo!

I was a bit confused, however, because she was with Neiman Marcus. I thought maybe he's gay and they're just friends or something, although they seemed to be a couple.

I replied, "I can assure you, ma'am, that I am not gay. I am one hundred percent straight, and I'm only interested in chicks, girls, women, dames, babes, broads, and members of the female sex."

This earned me some laughter. Her escort was in the men's room at this point and she said, "Do you have a pen?" I handed her a ballpoint. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Huh?"

"Roll up your sleeve," she repeated, "I'm going to give you my phone number."

I pulled up my suit coat sleeve, unbuttoned my cuff and offered her the inside of my left forearm. She wrote her name and her number. Her name was Sheila, which is Gaelic for woman, of course.

"There," Sheila said, "call me tomorrow morning." All I had to do was shake my arm and my sleeves were back in place when her date showed back up.

Long story short I called her up Saturday morning; we got together the next day and went out for Sunday brunch, and ended up at her place in the late afternoon. Sheila lived in an apartment in one of those old Victorian row houses that are all over the place in San Francisco.

Needless to say we spent the evening banging the night away.

This is what I learned of Sheila; she told me she was 45 (she could have been older), she was New York Irish, she'd lived in San Francisco for almost twenty years, she was studying to be a nutritionist, and she loved my cock.

Sheila had a great body. Very white skin with a sort of soft-but-not-smooth feel to it, like the way red-haired freckled people's skin sometimes feels. Her boobs were nice and semi-firm, a bit more than handfuls. I've got big hands; I'd estimate them at about 34C. She had a bit of weight on her ass and thighs but not unpleasant, even though she was a bit self-conscious about it.

"You have a beautiful body, Sheila."

"Oh, I need to lose weight. My ass is too fat." "Not really," I said honestly. "It's nice to have something to hold on to."

"Oh, you're the nicest guy, Sean." This was followed by a big smooch, a long, slow wet French tongue kiss. We were naked in bed as this took place. I moved down to nibble and kiss her nipples, which were as hard as a pair of acorns. Sheila held me in her arms, sort of like she was nursing a baby, as I paid attention to her pert pair.

My lips traveled further south, licking and kissing my way down to her mound. Sheila's pussyhair was cropped close, narrowed down to an inverted, truncated triangle; she was shaved completely bald from the clit on down. I had never encountered a 'Brazilian' before and I was quite taken by the brazen sexuality of the way Sheila chose to groom herself down there.

I nibbled and licked at her nether lips. Her clit poked out of her puffy pussy lips; as I gently tickled and licked her clit, her pussy opened up and her juices flowed.

Now her clit became hard and erect like a tiny, prehensile penis. Sheila moaned as I sucked on her clit, and as I sucked I began fingerfucking her wet hole with two fingers. Sheila began thrashing about as I tortured her lovebutton. She had her fingers run through my hair, pressing my face against her pussymound as she rode my face. I sensed at least two powerful orgasms as her pussywalls clenched about my fingers, and her lovejuices flowed like water.

Sheila finally pushed me away. "Enough," she gasped, panting. "It's too sensitive."

I wiped my face by kissing her gently all along her inner thighs and her neatly trimmed pubic hair, before moving up to kiss her on the lips. I was up on my elbows over her, Sheila had her arms about my neck as we kissed long and slow, a true soul kiss. My hard rod prodded at her wet pussy.

The feeling was fantastic; I just kept it there, poking in just the head, not even to the ridge, and then pulling back to poke against her clit and torture her some more.

We broke our kiss. Sheila looked in my eyes and pleaded, "Please, Sean . . . please . . . fuck me . . .?"

With that I rammed my rod home. Sheila gasped, and then she took straight off, riding my rocket ship to Planet O.

The girl was totally orgasmic; entering immediately into the multi- phase. She interlocked her legs about mine; her pussy was spasming around my cock and squirting juices in all directions as I piledrived her into the mattress.

Finally my moment was near; the pressure was building up in my cock and balls. I buried my fingers knuckle-deep into her asscheeks and roared like a lion as I unloaded what felt like a gallon of white-hot cum deep into her.

After a rest and our respective runs to the bathroom, Sheila licked and kissed my cock back to hardness and we did it again -- this time Sheila rode on top, moving up and down on my pole, holding my hands as I squeezed her round tits and pinched her nipples.

In the morning I had to move out early to get to work, but we managed to knock out a quick session nonetheless. I left her freshly fucked and totally thrashed. She couldn't even get up to see me out the door.

It was after our first night of lovemaking that things got interesting. Monday night she cooked dinner for me at her place, and after the plates were put away, over coffee, Sheila revealed a little bit more about herself.

"So, what's going on with the guy you were with Friday night?"

"Oh, he's a neighbor; he lives across the hall."

"He DOES?"

"Sure."

"Well, uh . . ."

"He's a stockbroker," she continued, "and he's been trying to get into my pants for the past six months."

"Uh-huh . . ." I wasn't sure where all of this was going.

"And now I'm going to tell you something about myself, Sean, it's important for you to know."

This REALLY got my curiosity going. "O-k-a-a-a-y . . ."

"So finally he just came out and asked; 'what does it take for me to go to bed with you, Sheila?' and I said, 'The rent.'"

"W-H-A-A-A-T-?-?-?"

"That's how I'm financing my college education," Sheila shrugged. "I'm an escort. A thousand dollars a night."

I was just taking a sip of my coffee just as she unloaded this bombshell on me and you can imagine my reaction. When I recovered, Sheila was smiling at me.

"Does this change anything between you and me, Sean?"

"Well, uh, no, not really. I think I can handle this." I was a pretty sophisticated guy, been around the block a few times, seen quite a bit of the world. Even still, this was something new. "Want to talk about it?"

"Sure." Sheila seemed relieved I was handling her non-standard career path, and was pleased to share with me. "My clients are usually older guys; rich, successful businessmen who like a bit of domination."

"You're a dominatrix?"

"We're talking S&M light; no whips and chains, only a bit of humiliation. I walk on them with my high-heeled boots, make them lick my boots, sometimes they want me to golden shower them, that sort of thing."

"Whoa."

"This is San Francisco," Sheila shrugged. "This is what goes on."

I'd already experienced some of the weirdness of the place; one girl I'd dated right after I'd arrived wanted to take me to a club where there was open nudity. She wanted to get me into the group scene with her, but I backed off. I wasn't quite ready to deal with hanging around with my dick swinging in the wind, the whole concept of doing it with spectators around.

Sheila continued. "Anyway, these high-powered businessmen spend their days pushing people around, telling them what to do, pissing on their underlings. At the end of the day, what they want to do is unwind. That's where I come in. They want me to push them around, tell them what to do, piss on them . . ."

I laughed at that, and shortly thereafter we ended up in bed.

* * *

Going back over these memories - over two decades ago -- there are moments which remain with such clarity, and then long swaths of time that I strain to recall what we were doing, what Sheila was wearing, what got us to the moment that I remember as if it were yesterday.

The moments I recall as clear as day are all the times we were in bed; or wherever it was we were having sex at that particular time; in the bathroom, in the hallway, on some cushions on the living room floor.

Going back over what I wrote earlier; try as I might I cannot recall what Sheila was wearing the first time we were together in her apartment. I remember it was a Sunday -- but that's only because of what I now know of her - ahem - 'extracurricular activities'. It was a Friday when we'd met downtown, she was wearing a dress and her, uh, 'date' was wearing a suit. Saturday night we couldn't get together -- I guess she was -- ahem -- working, so we didn't get together until the next day; ergo, a Sunday.

I do remember we went out, had Sunday brunch and then tooled around some of the scenic parts of San Francisco; explored the shops and boutiques on Union Street and then went down by the docks where they an ancient clipper ship, the Balclutha, which is part of the maritime museum. We ended up at Sheila's place and I want to say she was wearing a dress but that can't be right -- she would have been wearing jeans and some kind of light jacket; in San Francisco the air is fresh and cool practically every day of the year.

As I write this now it comes to me; I recall we ended up on the living room floor of her apartment. Sheila was underneath me with her jeans undone and pulled halfway down her thighs; I'm pretty aggressive at ripping the clothes off damsels. I remember her panties, in fact. This was the era immediately before The Thong took over the world; Sheila wore a white string-sided number with a little lace up front. I remember as I regarded that lace over her mons de Venus and contemplated what lay beneath that thin layer of fabric, Sheila commented about the open curtains and the view we offered to the people across the way in the buildings opposite. We repaired to her bedroom.

By the time we made it to the bed I'd stripped her down to her bra and panties. Sheila sat on the bed and undid my belt, unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. My cock was straining for release from my shorts of course and when she pulled them down the old John Thomas bobbed up and nearly knocked her in the eye.

Sheila continued pulling my pants down while at the same time she parted her lips, took my boner into her mouth and began a nice, slow, wet blowjob on me.

This was before Sheila had revealed the nature of her work to me, but it was already obvious I was in the hands of a totally sexual creature.

Remember; I was twenty-two at the time, and as beautiful a woman as Sheila was, she was also old enough to be my mother. Looking down, I regarded a woman very much like the teachers at my school or the women executives I'd encountered in the business world . . . a fully mature woman . . . with my cock in her mouth.

Sheila had a certain look about her as she sucked my cock -- again it may have been her maturity and the gap in our ages. She had this look of studied concentration; if she'd been wearing half-reading glasses she'd have looked like a librarian refilling the card catalogue or something. Her eyes were on her work, which was running her red lips up and down the length of my rigid pole, occasionally glancing up at me as she filled her mouth with my meat.

The event ended up on the mattress of course, and I described this in the first part.

More about Sheila's look; she was beautiful, brunette, slim but not rail-thin, sophisticated and sexy. Any man would be proud to have her as a wife and I often wondered why she was not married.

Marriage of course was out of the question for Sheila & me - given the age difference -- but I certainly would have been game if she was younger or I was older. Who knows? Maybe she was a bitch when she was young, and now she was at the other end of the age spectrum in a town loaded full of hot-to-trot women and desperately short of males willing to service them.

Whatever the reason for her circumstances, she was available, willing & able to service ME - in many wanton, wild and wondrous ways.

Like I said, memory has faded around many of the details, but none of the details of us together as lovers elude me. I recall one wonderful morning; for some reason it seems it was a weekday, not a Saturday or a Sunday, but I obviously had the day off. We were in her sun-drenched bedroom, Sheila was on her hands and knees - stark naked -- with me slinging it into her from behind. I was holding onto her hips, fingers sunk knuckle-deep into the cheeks of her ass as I rammed it home and I'll never forget the look on Sheila's face as she turned back to regard me. Raised eyebrows, eyelids almost shut, lips parted as if caught in the middle of uttering an exclamation; she looked like a starlet in a pornographic movie, and yet she wasn't acting.

This was all her; this was the look of hers that I described; sophisticated, sultry, sexy. I even liked the look of her short, dark hair down the back of her neck, not even to her shoulder blades, like tail feathers; very exotic. Sheila was a total sexual being. I couldn't imagine anyone more perfectly suited to the profession she had chosen.

We were doing it doggy-style of course, and besides the view of the bay and Alcatraz out her bedroom window, I was treated to the view of her pretty puckered little browneye staring back at me as I rammed my log home up her love tunnel. Wondering if it would lead anywhere, or maybe pushing the outer limits, I placed the palm of my hand flat on the small of her back and pressed the flat of my thumb on her anus -- she was clean back there, otherwise I wouldn't have done anything. I guess I just wanted to see how far into the outskirts of Weirdsville my mature lady friend was willing to take it.

Sheila pushed back, surprisingly enough. At first I thought it was the rhythm of our lovemaking, but no; the woman was distinctively pushing her anus back against my thumb. Well now it was obvious where this thing would go, so I removed my thumb, brought it to my lips and deposited a huge gob of slobber and replaced my thumb right back on top of her asshole.

Sheila pushed again and then a moan, "O-H-H-H-!-!-!" as my thumb slid inside her 'backdoor'. So now I was fucking her, and thumb-fucking her asshole at the same time; Sheila had essentially achieved dual-penetration on herself, and judging from her sighs and moans SHE WAS LOVING IT.

Well this was pretty exciting; even more so when Sheila went face down into the pillows as she reached down to diddle her clit. It was all I could do to hang on to her hip with my free hand as I slung cock into her wet hole. Her pussywalls were clenching about my shaft and she was squirting lovejuices, splattering my thighs, and the fingers of the hand she was diddling herself with were reaching back to tickle my balls as they slapped against her clit. Meanwhile Sheila had worked herself back onto my thumb; I was in past the knuckle.

Now the cum was boiling up in my balls, my cock was getting big and huge inside her; it was any second now. I could barely hold on -- I had hooked my wrist about her hip, holding onto her thigh and pressing into her as deep and close as I could. I cried out, "Ah! Ah! A-H-H-H-!-!-!" as my cock erupted, flooding her insides with spurt after spurt after spurt of hot jizz, and fireworks exploded inside my skull.

Sheila was still cumming as I leaned forward, panting from my exertions and dripping sweat on her back. Sheila's pussy was pulsing, gripping my still-rigid cock as tight as if she had it in her fist, and her juices continued to pour. Head down in the pillows, her face was to the side, eyes closed tight, mouth agape, crying, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" in little cat-like mews. I had given it to her good and she was cumming like never before. When I finally pulled my thumb out of her ass there was an audible

and Sheila cried out again, "OH!"

We lay in the afterglow, of course, and when we'd recovered some of our strength, Sheila led me by the hand to her bathroom. I've always been one for good clean fun in the shower; little did I know what pleasures awaited this time.

Sheila's bathroom was unique; it was large, high-ceilinged, which is a feature of the Victorian architecture in San Francisco. There was a claw-footed tub, and off to the side a rather large, tiled area with a wide showerhead, the kind that makes the stream of water seem like rain coming down. There were some bars for holding on; the place must have been modified for a handicapped resident. It was more like a small tiled room with a drain in the floor. Hanging ominously from a hook on the wall was a rubber water bag and hose -- basically, a douche bag.

I'd been in her bathroom and seen it before, but this was the first time I had regarded this artifact in Sheila's presence. I looked at the thing, knowing its purpose of course, and then looked at Sheila, who gave me a knowing smile. She opened the valve and ran the water until it was hot enough for us to get in, and we frolicked beneath the shower.

For some reason I find a woman attractive with her hair plastered down by the water, or at least Sheila was one of those women who looks good with her hair wet and flat against her scalp. I was looking down, enjoying the view of her naked body as she soaped my cock and balls. Being young I was quite hard again, of course, and Sheila couldn't resist going to a squat before me, taking my length in her mouth again.