First I created the free Hotmail account, it was a separate one from the other two email accounts that I use all the time for work and to converse with friends. In a perfect world I would not care if anyone knew I was here writing stories, but I have noticed that this world is pretty far from perfect. Then I used the new e-mail to get an account here. I just need to write this, to tell someone. I have previously sent messages back and forth with two other members here. One guy and one gal who have given me much advise that I will probably eventually ignore, that’s me, I’m a bit pig-headed.

I filled out the profile, I mean it’s just common courtesy, and I am a bit (okay a lot) extroverted. But how hard is it, and its anonymous, I dislike it when I don’t know anything about the guy sending me a picture of his dick. (At least I think it’s a dick, I’ll double check when I find my magnifying glass. You know he should really see a doctor about that lump, it could be serious.)

I’m female, been one all my life. That’s a good thing for our kids, because while their dad is a great dad, he really sucked at producing milk. I was born on a Saturday, the very first one of 1964, January 5th to be exact, somewhere in the United States. That means that I am 55 as I write this in 2019. I graduated a year late from high school, because I took about a year and a half off during my school years, but I had a perfect 4.0/4.0 GPA. I went to the same University for my MBA that I received my baccalaureate from.

I mentioned a husband, I married him in my late 20s, that was a little more than 25 years ago. and we had five happy, well adjusted children. All of them are now grown-up, in or have already graduated from college. A couple of them are married. My husband and I are somewhat separated, he sits on his rooftop patio and watches the world go by, fishermen fishing and sailboats sailing and children playing. I still have things to do in this world.

The profile asks about pets, but it wont accept my honest answer. I’ll call my husband John, John was very attached to our pet Amy. She was a rescue, and felt such comfort with him, they bonded right after we decided to keep her. She was affectionate to me, but she really loved John, unzipping his fly and fellating him at any and all possible moments. I don’t have a penis, but if her cock-sucking was anywhere near as good as her cunt-lapping, well I could understand John’s desire to keep her.

Since I was kind and left him our slave-girl when we discontinued our cohabitation, I had to find another for myself. Another rescue, Preeti did not come from as desperate a situation as Amy, but existential pain is like an expanding gas it fills available space completely. Really is her broken finger less of a personal tragedy than Amy’s broken leg, philosophically speaking.

Preeti’s metal chastity belt is slightly different than Amy’s. (Preeti had a heavy leather one too, with nice wrapped leather phalluses for when we fly.) While both Amy’s and Preeti’s hold a nice metal plug in their respective vaginas, Amy’s had a gate in the back for John to Sodomize her. We could and did put butt plugs in Amy and then lock that door, but there isn’t a purpose for the gate.

I can put a nice long snake up Preeti’s ass, or a big thick butt plug in there and just leave it. I don’t have a penis to Sodomize her with. Preeti has an excellent technique when it comes to cunnilingus, but one should not forget she can read Mallanaga Vātsyāyana in Sanskrit. Sometimes she longs for a penis, and we go and find a couple, I will write about that too.

There are those who disparage the young these days, but I find young men in particular to be very kind and generous. While Preeti being in her mid 20s is more their age, they have no problem accepting oral sex from, or even fucking an older gal who is in trim physical form. Sometimes they even point out small drops of semen on or in me that she missed when she uses her tongue to clean me up after they have ejaculated.

Hobbies, well again mine were not on the menu, but don’t worry I will talk at length about them in coming stories. There are some constant themes. Number one is my father, yes I was in love with dad, too bad he was married. (That brings up a salient point, the misogyny in daddy-daughter incest stories where mom is a cruel bitch or is killed off as a pretext for hanky panky. Really, why not send mom to the spa or Wal-mart?)

The stories I will write about screwing my dad are all totally fiction, dad was mom’s catch I couldn’t do that to her (as much as I really wanted to). I will write about fucking my sister, my brother, my cousins, and my mom. But for the record I don’t have a sister, and I never ever fucked my dad, my cousins or my mom. Honest ... See what I did there.

My dad was a John W. Barriger III, or a William Deramus for his industry, no not railroads. As a result we moved from town to town dad’s last success story to dad’s next success story. From Kindergarten to graduation I went to 14 different schools growing up, the longest for two full years and a semester. I graduated at nineteen, a full year late because of the many “vacations” from school I took moving around. I might have been my classes Valedictorian at two different high schools, but fate intervened twice there. That taught me to ignore what I could not affect.

Growing up stability was my grandparents, whom I visited in Florida every summer. When I was 19 I wanted stability, so I did something different, I picked a place and stayed there for over thirty years. I earned my MBA from the same U as my BA, and lived in a suburb of that same city while working for a big corporation. I mentioned being attracted to older successful men like my father. Well I think that most of us, we sow the seeds of our own destruction.

He was plenty “kinky” and adventurous when I met him at 25, he was recently divorced and 45. The irony here is that right now he is his ex-wife back then. She didn’t like me, but I know from him she wasn’t a bad person, she was a good mother to his two kids with her who had just gone off to college themselves. (I was almost five years older than his oldest.) She wanted to retire early and play shuffleboard and he had things to see and people to do.

I don’t find submissive men attractive. My male correspondents here says that sexually dominant men tend to be weak in real life, while men who are strong in real life fantasize about being submissive. I’m not a guy so I can’t really say what is in the 5% of their brains that isn’t busily figuring out how to get laid tonight, but if you change his wording a little I agree. Strong men (and women) tend to keep their guard up during the business day. It’s nice to be able to unwind and not worry about what the ramifications of this that and the other is. Maybe to be a bit vulnerable, not a wimp or a sissy, but to relax.

John was fun, I was willing (hell, I was eager) to do all of the kinky things that he had done with his ex-wife before she stopped being fun, and then we went on to things both of us had only dreamed of. At first my parents were flabbergasted, my boyfriend, come fiancé, come husband was seven years younger than my father. The tension was broken by a private conversation I had with my dad, which I will relate in a story. I confessed to my father that I was marrying John because I found him to be so much like my father, whom I would bed that instant had he not been married to my mother.