Part 1

1.

Amy's finger massaged her clit as she sat on the toilet reading the "Letters" column in her husband's magazine. She had gone into the bathroom for a quick pee but noticed it in the mag-rack amongst the others: House and Garden, Money, Fishing and other more benign periodicals. It was funny how she had never noticed it before but it had somehow snagged her attention this time.

She recognized the name as a mainstream men's publication but she was curious to see what was inside. As she thumbed through the pages, occasionally checking out the pictures, she came upon a column called "Letters." In slightly smaller text just below the title, it read "Readers experiences," and then went on to explain how "you" could send in yours.

What had kept her reading though were the titles, such as "I gave hubby a blowjob at work," and "How my boss got what she wanted," and of course the first one that she read, "Cum inside."

Cindy, was the author and had a lot in common with Amy: they were both dinks, double income no kids, and their husbands had insisted that they stop all forms of birth control except for the withdrawal method. Cindy went on to explain how her husband would taunt her into holding him inside her vagina to the point of his orgasm, but would always manage to break away at the last possible second.

She was about halfway through that letter when she decided to close the bathroom door so she could start "digging". Digging was the word that Amy and her friends had used to describe masturbation before they knew there was a name for it, and it had stuck.

John, Amy's husband, had never asked her to hold him in but everything else sounded familiar. In fact, he had tried to get her off the pill even before they got married, but Amy would have nothing to do with it. She had told him that if they got married, it would be because they wanted to, not because she was pregnant.

Amy pushed her panties down to her feet and kicked them off. She had removed her bra earlier as she usually did when she got ready for bed. Clad only in her t-shirt and sitting on the toilet, she continued to read—and dig. Cindy went on in her letter to describe her feelings as frustrated, and a relentless desire to be pregnant. She also missed the feeling of her husbands cock "going off" inside her. "The warm explosion of semen when he ejaculated," she wrote.

2.

Amy's finger dipped inside her vagina as she recalled the feelings that Cindy described. She remembered John's cock pumping warm cum inside her as he did that last hard push and held it deep inside her.

She opened her knees wide as she sat on the toilet, and watched as her finger moved in and out of her wet vagina. Amy inserted a second finger and rubbed her clit with her thumb. Her red pubic hair tickled her upper thigh as her fingers distorted the flesh around her hole. Removing her fingers from her sex, she cupped her vulva with her hand and continued to read the letter.

3.

Cindy, the letter continued, had carefully calculated the date of her ovulation and it was due. She came up with a plan to seduce her husband that night and take the top position where she could be in control. Starting with his favorite meal and a sexy negligee, she then maneuvered him to the couch and began to undress him.

After Cindy had removed his clothes, she wrote: "I got down on my knees and took his cock into my mouth. My tongue gave special attention to the underside where the foreskin joined and split the head into two parts. I sucked him with passion until I could taste his precum and knew he was on the verge of orgasm."

Cindy climbed up onto his lap and pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, and then she inserted his cock. She locked her feet to the underside of his calves and worked her arms under his and around his back. Later in the letter, her husband would confess that he knew what her intentions were, but he had been too excited by her sexual aggression to stop it. Cindy went on to describe, in graphic detail, the rest of the story.

"'Cum you fucking bastard, ' I screamed through clenched teeth as I fucked him heatedly. My husband's hands gripped my hips and assisted my pumping movements. I could feel my own orgasm approaching and sat all the way down to his balls. I started a front to back motion not giving up one inch of penetration.

"I—I'm going to cum," my husband sputtered as he tried to lift me off his cock, but it just made me bare down that much harder.

"Cum—cum—cum!" was all I could manage as my orgasm overtook me. My husband's hot sperm flooded my vagina and I screamed unintelligible words that neither of us would be able to recall later."

4.

Amy put down the magazine and looked between her legs. Her vulva was inflamed and her groin felt heavy, as if something was inside her vagina. She put the tip of her finger at the entrance of her hole and then pulled it away. A long string of clear fluid clung to her finger and then attached itself to her thigh. She used her wet digit to dig at her clit as she relived an experience that occurred months before and had never been repeated since.

John had just finished making love to her and had ejaculated into her pubic hair. He had gone to the bathroom and she grabbed the towel, the one they always brought with them to bed, to clean herself up. But in a moment of weakness, she lubricated her finger with his cum and started digging at her clit.

It was exactly the middle of her cycle and not a safe time for sperm to be anywhere near her hole—and that excited her. At first it was just a game of dare. How far would she go?

While she rubbed her clit, a finger from her other hand dipped into John's cream. She raised and spread her legs. Being careful not to penetrate, she smeared the cum around her hole, but like a thirsty kitten at her mother's teat, her pussy demanded more.

This time, she used two fingers and scooped up a good lot of it and held it up to her hole. The finger at her clit dug in just under the little bundle of nerves, rubbing the length of it. Amy's orgasm was upon her as she struggled with the moral dilemma—but lost. At the last fraction of the last second, and just before the very peak of her orgasm: she shoved the two cum-covered fingers in her cunt

5.

A shiver ran through Amy's body as she sat on the toilet thinking back to that night. It wasn't an orgasm, but it was as close as she ever got without going over. It wasn't uncommon for her to have several mini-gasms, as Amy would call them, before the real thing.

Amy looked over some of the other tittles in the column hoping to find another letter that interested her. There were about ten in all and most were topics she wouldn't want to read about. When she came to the last, the title was mysterious enough to make her read a little further.

"Two plus one equals fun," was the title and a woman named "Twobivirgin" wrote it. Twobi was a woman who had been married for over ten years and had grown bored with life, especially her sex life. Like Amy, she married young and had never had sex with anyone other than her husband.

There similarities were enough to make Amy want to read on. Twobi describes herself as a woman in her thirties, a little round but not fat, small breasts and what others tell her is a cute face. She goes on to write that, "Judging from the attention I get from men, other than my husband, I am acceptable to most as a sexual partner." A rather odd way to put it, Amy thought, but curiosity kept her reading.

Amy skimmed through some of the other facts that were mostly geographical in nature and moved on the juicy parts. Once again she let her finger do some digging while she read.

The letter starts to get interesting when Twobi complains to a woman, Vicky, whom she works with, that her husband had to fly to fly to Miami on business and would be gone for the entire week— including the weekend. She invites Twobi to spend a few days with her and her husband, David. After Vicky's assurance that David wouldn't mind, she accepted her invitation.

6.

Twobi writes: "When I showed up at their door Thursday night, both Vicky and David greeted me with a warm smile and salutations. David took my small suitcase while Vicky wrapped her arms around me and hugged my body. Her breast and groin pressed into me and she gave me a peck on my cheek. I remember thinking at the time that it was a bit much. David shook my hand; his right hand in mine as his left gently squeezed my wrist, and then he too gave me a kiss."

The letter goes on to describe the first night as nostalgic and great fun. Except for the wine, it was very much like the sleepovers Amy had when she was a young teen. Even David had a roll to play in this; Twobi had a crush on her friend's older brother and now she found herself very attracted to David. Not that she would ever do anything to hurt her friend, but a girl can fantasize—can't she?

7.

"Yes," Amy thought out loud, "a girl should be allowed to fantasize." Amy turned the page.

8.

Twobivirgin continues; "we road together to work and Vicky was at the wheel. Somehow, the long commute to work didn't bother us one bit. We laughed and flirted with a carload of teenagers in a Mustang that played tag with us the whole way. Suddenly we were teenagers again ourselves; thirty-year-old high school girls winking and blowing kisses out the window.

One of the boy's in the Mustang shouted, "show us your tits." I covered my mouth and blushed and was about to yell something back at them when Vicky pulled up her shirt and bra and exposed herself to them and, not to mention, anyone else that might have been looking. Luckily we were bogged down in morning traffic at the time and the car wasn't moving very fast. The boy's whistled and applauded as we pulled up ahead of them a car length.

"Go ahead," Vicky said.

"I couldn't."

"Why not, it's all in fun?"

It wasn't that I didn't want to; it's just that I'm a shy person and have always been a little embarrassed about my small breasts. But—being around Vicky and her bodacious personality can drive you to do things you wouldn't normally do.

"Come on sweetie, join in the fun. When I slow down, give them a peek."

When she slowed and we were even with the Mustang—I did it. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and hooked my bra with my fingers on the way up. With my nipples erect and a tingle in my clit, I displayed my tiny breast to the world. The sound of the boy's hands slapping together and their wolf whistles sent what felt like a thousand bumblebee wings buzzing in my groin. Out of the peripheral vision of my eye I saw a man, he must have been in his seventies, with a big grin on his face. Several of his fingers were applauding silently as if not to let his wife, hunched over the steering wheel and engaged in a white-knuckle death grip, hear or see what he was doing."

9.

Amy's finger on her clit produced another mini-gasm inspired by Twobi's story. The magazine rested on her knee as she closed her eyes and dug at her sex. She let out a soft moan and her body began to relax. Amy opened her eyes and looked down to her chest. Her nipples stood proudly.

10.

The second night, Twobivirgin writes, was a weekend night, and no one had to get up in the morning.

"After work, Vicky and I stopped to pick up some Chinese food and wine for our festivities. A nice Sauvignon Blanc that Vicky had tried at a trendy new wine shop in town. I would have been happy with beer, but when in—France?

When we arrived at Vicky's, I needed to pee in a bad way and Vicky had made me laugh so hard on the way home that I had wet my pants more than once. She almost busted a gut over my frantic departure from the car. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants while I rushed to the bathroom and had even begun to pull them down by the time I blasted into the bathroom.

"Hi..." David began until he noticed who had entered the room.

I had no choice but to continue with my mission, and that was to pee. It would either go in the toilet or on the floor, but it was going to happen.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said as I urinated. "It was an emergency."

It was then that my mind cleared enough to realize that he was nude. All that had registered in my mind when I burst into the bathroom was that he was shaving. The fact that he hadn't been a gentleman and left is what made me look up. My face began to burn with embarrassment as I noticed he was naked—the splashing sound of my urine in the toilet water didn't help matters either.

But—it wasn't all embarrassment; before me, stood a very attractive body, and it didn't help any that I was already attracted to him. Although he wasn't tall, maybe five-foot ten or so, he was in very good shape. His proportionately sized muscles rippled under his skin and I don't believe there was an ounce of fat anywhere. And tucked between his legs was, what I considered, the cutest little penis I have every seen. Not that I'm any expert, mind you, but I know what I like.

I pushed aside my wistful thoughts and apologized again—and then looked away.

"Could you throw me my towel please?"

My puzzled look must have told him I had no clue as to which towel he was referring to because he then pointed in front of my legs. On the floor was a towel that I must have tossed when I lifted the toilet lid.

David wrapped the towel around his waist and as he sidled by, between my knees and the wall, the tent-like bulge in the towel brushed my head—ever so slowly. He then left the room and closed the door behind him.

There was a moment of bewilderment as I thought about what just happened. I was torn between disgust and sexual arousal. Disgust in that he had rubbed his dick on my head, and sexual arousal in that— he rubbed his dick on my head. I reached down between my legs and squeezed my clit, but the guilt of betraying Vicky prevented me from masturbating."

11.

Amy reluctantly withdrew her hand from between her legs; the letter was continued on page one hundred and thirty-two. She cursed in a low, almost inaudible, voice as she searched through the magazine. She came to a pictorial of a man and a woman engaged in what could only be described as "we are about to have sex" pictures. The woman of course had big breast and the man was hung like a banana tree. His cock was semi hard and had a slight upward bend.

The young attractive man held his cock an inch or so from the woman's mouth; her tongue set to lick the monster before her. The small slit in the head of his penis was open and a thick clear liquid filled the space. Amy's finger went back to digging as her eyes moved from frame to frame, but became frustrated when she had to turn the page once again. On the following page the woman's legs were bent at the knees and spread wide and the look on her face was that of a woman waiting for penetration. The man was poised over her with one hand supporting his upper body and one holding his cock. He was about to shove it in.

Amy dropped the magazine to the floor and dug at her clit. She took a short detour to moisten her finger at the entrance of her vagina and when she returned to her clit she new she was about to go over. Her finger moved faster and harder as she made little circles over her clit, and then dug for gold by concentrating on a back and forth movement that brought her to her orgasm. It started in her groin and spread quickly throughout her body causing her to stiffen and close her legs tight and entrapping her hand. She remained stiff with sporadic spasms that jolted her entire body and caused loud inhuman-like sounds to escape her lips.

There was a soft knock at the door. "You okay in there?" the voice from behind the door said; it was her husband, John. Amy tried to think quick but her mind was still locked into the afterglow of the endorphins that had just been pumped into her bloodstream. "Yes— I'm fine."

"You have been in there for a long time. What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm reading a magazine, do you need to go?"

"No, I was just concerned, that's all. Go back to..." He had ended the sentence with a pause, as if he were going to ask a question and changed his mind.

Amy wondered if he would still say that if he knew what she was reading. She took that thought a bit further and wondered what he did when he read the magazine. The corners of her mouth slithered up and formed a kind of sardonic smile when she remembered the old cliché, "I buy it for the articles."

Amy turned to page one hundred and thirty-two.

12.

Twobivirgin continues: "After the bathroom episode, I went straight to my room and changed into something a bit more comfortable, and not to mention, into some dry panties. When I finished dressing, I stood at the door and paused, afraid to go out. How would I be able to face David again? It was bad enough that I had to pee in front of him, but then there was his nudity—did he notice that he turned me on, and that I peeked at him?

I shook my head and couldn't believe how juvenile my thinking had become and I felt like a schoolgirl who had just been caught with her panties showing. My need to urinate had been an absolute emergency and as for the other, how could he know what was in my mind—and what of it. It was no accident when his penis slowly raked across my head. He's the one that should be afraid to face me.

When I entered the living room, which also joined the dinning room seamlessly, Vicky had set the table and all the small boxes of Chinese food were strategically placed within reach for all. A glass of wine was set beside each place setting and the re-corked bottle of wine was in the middle. The soft jazz that played on the sound system coalesced with the twenty or so candles they had placed around the room, and induced an atmosphere of warmth and sensuality. Red and gold light from the day's last moments shown through the large westward facing window, and just over the horizon a small sliver of the sun seemed to struggle to keep the day alive.

After the first few awkward moments when David sat down beside me, dinner went quite well. I felt relieved that the toilet encounter hadn't come up—but the morning commute did. David had asked us how our day went and Vicky let it out that they had an interesting drive to work. At that moment I realized that Vicky was the kind of person that just couldn't keep her mouth shut. A secret to her was like a pimple on a teenager's face. It would grow and grow to painful dimensions and then—explode.

Suddenly I felt like a spectator at a ping-pong match. She said, and then he said, and then the rush of blood to my face when Vicky had said, "and she did it too!" My arms crossed both breasts in an attempt to hide them as a serious blush, nearly as red as the earlier sunset I'm sure, colored my cheeks.

"May I..." I started to say, but it came out strange and my voice jumped up an octave. Trying again, I finally succeeded. "May I have another glass of wine ... please?"

Vicky and David laughed, and each placed a hand on one of my thighs, and then they both gave me a kiss on an apposing cheek at the same time. At first, it took me by surprise and I wanted to push them away, but the feeling of invaded space quickly faded and was replaced with a warm glow. Their lips felt like feathers as they scarcely touched my face. There was another kiss, and again. Like synchronized swimmers, they moved in a slow sensuous movement that ended at the nape of my neck, and then they kissed each other.

They stood and each took one of my hands and led me to the couch. We sidled between the coffee table and sofa single file like young children at school on their way to lunch. They pulled me down between them and I turned to David to object to whatever it was they had planed but before my lips could form the first word; he kissed me. Vicky had moved close behind me and I could feel her warm breath on my neck. What happened next left no doubt in my mind that David— and Vicky wanted to make love to me. They were a team. Neither male nor female, but one mind and two bodies and they worked well together. The left hand always seemed to know what the other left hand was doing.

David's first kiss had felt more like a question than a kiss, and my answer had been to kiss him back, but it wasn't meant to be a yes. I was in a state of confusion and arousal, and I felt like the proverbial dear caught in the headlights of an on-coming train. David kissed me again but this time his tongue challenged mine to a wrestling match— and his was winning. A hand had worked its way under my shirt and was massaging my breast. I reached for David's arm to protest his forward advances, but realized it wasn't his hand that was rubbing and tweaking my nipple.

My first thought was to stand up. To put an end to this before it all went too far, but my legs wouldn't move, and my arms didn't push David away, and the most surprising thing of all, I hadn't removed Vicky's hand from my breast. Those inner voices that seemingly come from nowhere, ghosts of parental warnings and indoctrination perhaps, were shouting hysterically now. "Get up—stop this now!" I wondered how many self-imposed rules I could break in one day: exhibitionism, voyeurism, infidelity, and the night was still in its infancy. That dark room in the back of my mind, the one with all the cobwebs and un-oiled hinges, was now open for business and revealing the desires that I had secreted away over the years."

13.

Amy set the magazine down on the floor and thought about Twobi's dilemma. How many times had she herself been tempted to open that door; to go inside and rummage through the stacked boxes filled with real and imagined sins. For most of Amy's life that door had been locked, but today she planed to open it up, air it out, and do some dusting.

At this point in the letter, Amy new where it was heading and which dusty old box in Twobi's hidden room she would be opening next. Amy had a box just like it in hers, and its contents created the night that Amy and her friend, Ronda, had spent experimenting with sex. It had been so long ago that she wondered how much of her memory was real and how mush was pure fiction.

They had both just turned eighteen, their birthdays were only a week apart, and they were celebrating by having a sleepover at Ronda's house. It was always best to stay at Ronda's because her mother was divorced and worked nights so they pretty much had the run of the house—and the beer. Ronda's mother was of the mind-set that it was okay for them to drink as long as they stayed in and didn't have any other kids over. Amy cringed at the thought now, but in Ronda's mother's defense, times were different then and she was a recovering hippie.

Amy's recall of that night was rather vague as to how the topic started or even who had started it, but somehow they wound up talking about sex. But after admitting, along with some alcohol induced laughter, that two eighteen year-old virgins new nothing about sex, they moved on to something that they did know about and had even coined the name for—digging.

14.

Ronda had a secret:

"What is it, come on—give?" Amy said as the two of them sat Indian-style, and facing one another on the floor.

"I want to, but I'm scared of what you'll think of me if I do."

"I wouldn't think bad of you, we've been best friends for most

of our lives."

"But this is—different," Ronda said. The word "different" came out in a long drawn out whine; she bent her head down and ground her thumb into the carpet as if she were squishing a bug.

"Okay, if you don't want to tell me," Amy said as she got up off the floor and started for the couch. She pulled at the hem of her t- shirt and tried to cover her ass but the shirt was too short. They had changed into their sleeping attire not long after Amy arrived at Ronda's apartment; this consisted of nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Ronda got up off the floor and ran up the stairs. For a moment, Amy thought she had pissed-off her friend and she was going to pout up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. Then a pair of pink- toenailed feet appeared at the head of the stairs just below where the ceiling met the banister. She had paused there for a moment, and then continued down the stairs.

She had a large brown paper bag in her hand, and it was swinging back and forth—as if it had something heavy inside. She walked around the coffee table, and then over to where Amy was sitting. She stood there for a moment clutching the bag with booth hands.

"You have to swear—on your life—that you will never tell anyone about this," Ronda said. She had a look on her face that told Amy that this was serious.

"Shit, Ronda, your scaring me. What's in there—a severed body part or what?"

"No, but your close," she said. The "o" in no was drawn out four times longer than needed.

A tingle shot down Amy's spine all the way down to her feet as she pondered the meaning of "close."

"RONDA! WHAT'S IN THE BAG?"

"You don't have to..."

"Your creeping me out damn it. Just show me—no—scratch that. Tell me first."

"Okay—okay. It's a dildo," she said. The crotch on one side of her mouth slid up into a roguish looking smile.

"Dildo?"

"Yeah, you know—a rubber penis."

"A rubber penis? You mean like a model of one—human?"

"I mean like a 'digging' kind, and yes—human, male, a man's thingy," she said as she handed the bag to Amy. "Wanna see?"

Amy took the bag and set in her lap, and she could feel the weight of the thing as it lay across both her thighs. The only penises she had ever seen were on babies, like when she had to change her cousin's diaper, and that had been a little bit of a thing. She carefully unrolled the top of the bag and moved her face to one side as if something might jump out at her. Something like a snake-in-a-box; it wouldn't be the first time Ronda had set her up for a good scare. Amy made a small peephole at the top and peeked in.

There was a loud shriek, and then a thud as the bag flew off Amy's lap and sailed over the coffee table. A small glass vase stood in its path but was no match for the heavy bag. They both bounced on the carpet; the vase shattered into a thousand little shards of glass when it smashed into the baseboard of the far wall. The thing that had been in the bag flew from its prison and flopped on the carpet like a one-eyed fish that had just been landed.

15.

Amy pulled up her panties; the toilet seat was starting to bite into her ass and John would eventually get concerned about her lengthy stay in the bathroom. She took the magazine and headed for the sofa in the living room. John would be watching some old movie on television in the bedroom and would probably not budge until it was over. She looked in on him as she passed the door and noticed that he had fallen asleep. She could hear a light snore and he was on his side facing away from the TV. "Good," she thought. She shut off the light and quietly closed the door.

She sat on the couch for a moment, and then removed her panties and shoved them under one of the cushions. Amy took the blanket that was neatly folded across the top of the couch and covered herself from the waist down. "This is much better," she though as she reclined and propped a pillow under her head. She brought her feet up sole to sole letting her knees fall apart and then rested her hand on her wet crotch.

Opening the magazine to page one hundred and thirty-two, she quickly scanned the page for the paragraph where she had left off. She started to read but found her mind drifting back to the night when she and Ronda had—dug a hole together. There was a muffled sound of a laugh from Amy as she tried to hold back a loud burst at her own pun.

She slipped the magazine under the couch as she wondered what Ronda was doing right now. The last time she had heard from her she was pregnant with her third child. Her husband had been transferred to Ohio and they were on the move again. They had called each other for a while, but with the cost of long-distance phone calls and such...

That's just bullshit, she thought. The truth of the matter was, they had nothing in common anymore and Amy hated Ronda's husband. He was a little fucking computer geek that knocked up her friend and took her a thousand miles away—and she missed her. She missed the old Ronda; the one that she could share all her secrets with, and be there when she needed her to be there. What she would give to go back to that night when they shared one of Amy's most intimate experiences.

16.

The thing in the bag that had frightened Amy was now resting quietly on the floor in the middle of the room. When she looked in the bag and saw the veins, it had startled her. She wasn't sure what she thought it was, maybe an arm or some other homeless body part, but she did think it was real. Amy had shoved it away in a moment of panic.