At Sweet Sixteen, Linda had never been kissed, at least not THAT WAY. By the time she got to be Sweet Thirty-Two, things were unfortunately still the same. But like everyone else, even those who have taken vows of celibacy, she found the traditional way to keep her sanity, until ... until...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the grand scheme of things, no matter what you feel in the matter of religion or the absence thereof, it is imperative that every living thing, animal or vegetable, have a method of reproduction, in order to continue the species. Be it an amoeba splitting itself into two amoebae, a female turtle burying her eggs in moist sand and hoping that some horny male turtle will come along to fertilize them, or a male and female fornicating with each other to screaming orgasms, if they are human at least, there must be a way, or the species will die out.
For most of us, belonging to the group known as human beings, or homo sapiens, we are most familiar with the last of those examples. You know what I mean; egg, cunt, sperm, cock, opportunity, timing, maybe a little kiss, with or without tongue. But you also know that the interlocking of cock and cunt is not always done for reproductive purposes. In many if not most situations, that interlocking is merely done for the physical and perhaps mental pleasure – or power trip - of one or both of those parties. Getting off, they may call it.
In fact, among human beings at least, if it were not for the pleasure expected to be received, neither gender would (voluntarily) fuck, and humanity would disappear more quickly than dinosaurs under the flaming meteor of long ago. Well, that's not technically true, but you get the idea.
So the system, whether you call it God or Mother Nature or Higher Power or something else, with or without Evolution (this is not the place to argue that issue) has determined that the reproductive act should be pleasurable. From talking to various acquaintances, of both genders, it would seem that more males than females seek that pleasure, and certainly more often. However, females by biology cannot contribute to the reproduction process other than at limited times, but men are still able to enjoy the act full time – except of course for the time he takes to piss and the wait for his balls to fill up again. Alas, our grandmothers still think that sex is only for making babies. Males of course, depending on age, are ready, willing and able 24/7.
Where is this going? The problem is that male and female sometimes do not have the company of those members of the other gender when they crave the pleasure of release, of orgasm. I'm told of a Biblical man named Onan, who was reported, in negative terms, to have 'spilled his seed on the ground'. The poor man had blue balls but no access to the cunt, mouth, ass, even the hand of a woman (or man) and therefore had to rely upon (choose one) whack off, jerk off, jill off, spank his monkey, choke his chicken, wank (for those of you across the pond), use his palm and five sisters, etc. And thus the act of masturbation came down through the centuries as a no-no. In the same context, women back then had the same urges, and though often restrained by their mothers – and grandmothers -, also needed to get off, and could not find a man at that moment to help her. So she too had to resort to what the attorneys among us refer to as 'self help'.
Finally we come to the story as told by Linda.
Voulez-vous couche avec mo ice soir? I hope I got that French quote right, but in any event the answer is, you bet your ass that I'd love to go to bed with you.
My mother taught me that little girls are sometimes named Linda because that word in Spanish means something like pretty. I don't know; my parents are Belgian and my High School language was French, not Spanish. Anyway, Mother must have been trying to make me feel better, because my face is simply not pretty. Don't get me wrong. I'd call my face OK, not scary, but not pretty either. I don't frighten little children or go Trick or Treating without a mask, but neither do I receive job offers to model lipstick or face powder. Nor crotch-less panties or open nipple bras, nor thong bathing suits. Nor are my name and phone number scrawled on sundry lavatory walls – I hope.
A medical report might refer to me as 'well nourished' but I'm not fat as that expression sounds. Five foot two, one hundred forty-five pounds, I should spend a few dollars on dieting, but fuck it. My tits are 36D. Already thirty-two years of age, I've never been kissed, never had my pussy licked nor even felt up but I've seen eyes focused on my fleshy tatas often enough. They are definitely my best feature. The only cocks I've ever seen have been on my computer screen. Dammit, I have never tasted cum, nor felt it sloshing around in my pussy, much as I'd love to.
It's not as though I have no friends. As a teacher, I spent enough time in the Teachers' Lounge shooting the breeze with both men and women, drinking awful coffee, bitching about those little bastards they called students. The male students feasted their fantasies on my jugs, sometimes their fathers did also, but the latter never made a move on me. Likewise with the male teachers in school. I was invited to all the faculty picnics, rolling and giggling as we lay puffing on the ground after a lost co-ed three-legged race, but none of the men ever tried to get a quick feel. I danced with some of the stag men at faculty weddings, but always chastely, our chests never touching.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I resigned myself to dying a virgin (masturbation doesn't count, even with a cucumber) but I hated the idea of never having been asked out on a date. Whenever I slid a fresh tampon inside me, I wanted to cry, and I sometimes (read 'often') did so.
I was the first, last and only child of my parents, who themselves were without siblings. Thus, they were my closest – and only – relatives.
When I say closest, I mean whatever distance is the non-stop flight from Atlanta, where I live and teach, and Houston, where they have lived forever. I support them but only slightly, as the two of them are able to eke through with Social Security and minimal pensions. Though I rarely see them, we speak often, especially Mom and I. When I bitch about my celibacy, she consoles me with talk about meeting 'the right man'. "Fuck that", I say, shocking her with language I never used at home, "I'll settle for anyone with a cock." She gasps but says nothing. I think that when we hang up, she cries for me.
Alas, life goes on. To school and back home on the MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority) at almost rush hours, I wait for some sleezeball to grope me but it never happens.
My most exciting hours are spent in front of my television screen, fed wirelessly from my laptop, from the end of the school day up through bedtime, except for dinner and marking papers. I'm a paid-up member to four porn channels. I close the blinds, but I doubt that anyone could see in anyway. I get down to bare skin and pull on a robe, the weight depending on how cold the landlord feels. Ass on the couch, feet up on the table, a single glass of white wine which I nurse all evening, it's time to pleasure my clit.
All four channels are the same. For the most part, they show snippets of hard core videos, ranging in length from 30 seconds to 5 minutes. Then you get the message that only paid-up members get the rest, and all one would need would be a valid credit card or bank account. As one of those, all I need do now is to enter my signup name (PlainJane) and my password (Wetcunt4you) and I automatically get the entire video.
By the way, folks, don't bother to try that name or password. They may accidentally belong to someone else, but definitely not to me.
I usually start by looking for a straight man-woman fuck. Most of the women have fully shaven pussies (mine has jet black hair) but that doesn't matter. I want to see that fully erect cock. In her mouth or in her cunt, or even giving it to her up the ass, it doesn't matter. As long as I get to see a money shot, his cum splashing somewhere over her body, I'm happy. So are my fingers, which have been exploring my insides as I watched, bringing up the raunchiest of aromas.
One particular evening, I was sitting on the MARTA just opposite a tall, muscular black man, probably about eighteen. My pussy began to drool as I imagined a full nine inch monster under his tight jeans. I guessed at the length, my awareness of cock sizes limited to estimates based on what I saw on one or another of my favorite websites.
As soon as I was ready, after dinner, I fired up laptop and television and went exploring. That night, I needed a nine-incher to stimulate my libido. I skimmed the thumbnails quickly, looking for a picture or at least words that suggested something I required to bring on my first orgasm of the evening.
The man was already naked, black skin glistening as he walked into what looked like a living room. The girl, white and likewise naked, was sitting sideways on a couch. She was resting against the sidearm of the couch. Her knees were up and spread, open to the camera aimed at her bald crotch and to her invitingly busy fingers, exploring. A television set was on, facing the couch, but the screen was out of focus, though one could see that she was surely watching and listening to some sort of pornography.
.... There is more of this story ...