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Nymphomaniac Memoir

by Jenelle Watson

I’ve been hoping to write Segrid’s story for months. She knew that her story is valuable and important. It’s just that she was too busy to sit down and be interviewed until recently. You see, she is a nymphomaniac, but at the same time, she’s been living a good, meaningful life. I interviewed Sege for hours, recording every crazy detail in my trusty MP3 recorder. She has a good grip on the English language, so I had to do very little editing. This is exactly as she told it, only I’ve cleaned up some phrases, and put things into better order here and there.

Without further ado, here is Segrid Madsen’s story.

I’ve been horny for as long as I can remember. Until I turned eighteen, I never did anything about it. Oh, some masturbation here and there, but nothing more.

As my eighteenth birthday approached, I began hatching a plan that may make no sense to you, but it was exactly what I wanted to do. I was determined to get fucked the moment I turned eighteen. I can’t really explain why. I can’t explain a lot of what I do, but I’ve had a good life so far, and I’ve never hurt anyone, or at least not very much, so it is all OK, don’t you think?

My parents are good people. I’m proud of them. They were not prudes by any means. More like American hippies of the 1970s, if you ask me. They instilled some good values in me.

One is to formulate specific goals. OK, so my goal for my eighteenth birthday was to have sex with a guy around my age. I wasn’t so much interested in a relationship, as in plain old fucking, although I did want it to be with a guy I liked and respected.

I set my sights on Marty Talevega, my neighbor, one of my best friends, and someone I’ve known since the fifth grade.

For a long time, we were about the same height, and had about the same wrestling ability. I loved wrestling with him. I had vaguely sexual feelings about that wrestling, rolling around in the grass, arms and legs flailing, pinning each other down and all that, but neither of us acted on our sexual energy in any way. In retrospect, I don’t know why we didn’t.

A week before I turned eighteen, I told him my plan. Straight out. I just wanted to try fucking, and figured he’d feel the same way. He didn’t. He made a weird face, punched me playfully in the shoulder, then changed the topic. I couldn’t get him to talk about it at all.

Six days before my birthday, I brought it up again, and again, he deflected the conversation.

For the next two days, I teased, I hinted, I even tried physical things, like trying to get him to wrestle with me, then placing my hands on his upper thighs. I was on top at one point, and started swooping in to kiss him. He wiggled out of my grasp. Despite my best efforts at getting him sexually interested, he wasn’t having it.

When we were younger, there was a time when we were the same height, and I usually won at the wrestling. Now that he was eighteen, and I was almost eighteen, he had grown much bigger than me, so the wrestling was more silliness than real competition. As we grew, we became quite opposite of each other.

I’m short, lightweight, light-skinned, and blond. I was born in Norway, but came to America when I was three years old. Marty was first-generation American, half Mexican and half European. He always seemed remarkably tall to me, but I recently found out he’s only six-foot-two. He has jet black, curly hair that he always wore long like a musician, which he is. He has a square jaw, and striking brown eyes. Oh, and he is quite hairy, and was back then too, which I find attractive.

With only three days left to my birthday, and my strong desire to attain my goal, I was starting to give up on Marty. I thought of Chris, another guy from school, but he hadn’t turned eighteen yet. That didn’t fit my plan. This wasn’t about getting anyone in trouble, especially me. Then I thought of a guy named Zeke. He’s not bad looking, but he just can’t stop talking about technology. Oh, I enjoy learning about my iPhone, and my laptop, but Zeke just wouldn’t shut up about networking protocols and stuff like that. Still, he was looking better since Marty was being a jerk.

He was being a jerk because he knew damn well what I wanted, and yet he wouldn’t go along with it. Fucker! Or, actually, the opposite. I wished he would be a fucker.

Two days before my birthday, I was about to call Zeke, when I got a text from Marty.


“OK, what?” I texted back, not wanting to get my hopes up too high.

“OK, I’ll have sex with you.”

Wow! Wow! This was great. I felt an immediate twinge in my vagina and lower stomach.

“Thank you!” I texted back, adding, “What changed your mind?”

The phone rang. He had too much to say in text.

“Remember last year when I sprained my wrist?”


“Well, you offered to do everything for me. And you did some things. You helped me wash the dishes in my parents’ kitchen. You fixed the flat tire on my bike, which I couldn’t ride because of my wrist.

We laughed.

He went on, “So, I’ll have sex with you.”

“Are you saying you owe me?”

“No, not at all. I didn’t want you to get that impression. I meant, because you’re a good person. And you want something. And I can offer it to you.”

I felt very weird about this. I claimed I didn’t want anything romantic. I just wanted to fuck. But there was something off. I wanted him to enjoy it too. To me, that seemed really important.

I needn’t have worried.

“Truth be told, Sege, I’m really excited about the idea. We’re both virgins. It feels stupid, somehow. I want to know what everyone’s talking about. I want to have experienced it for myself. And who better than you? We’re both virgins. We totally trust each other, right?”

“For sure.”

“Then, we’ll have experience, so we won’t be dummies when I’m with women later on, and when you’re with guys.”

I felt a slight rise in heartrate. Jealousy? Really? Was I feeling that when he said the bit about other girls and guys? That was surprising.

“But why did you change your mind, Marty? Why didn’t you want to when I first asked?”

“This may sound dumb, but I was worried it would wreck our friendship.”

After thinking about it for a moment, I answered as truthfully as I could, never having been in this situation before, “I think it might make it even stronger.”


We discussed logistics. It took us until the day before my birthday, but in the end, we had a pretty solid plan. As it turned out, his mother’s birthday is the same day as mine. Marty bought two tickets to a movie, and told his parents to have a good time. They fell perfectly into the trap, and on the evening of my birthday, they left for the eight o’clock show. His brother was no problem, being away at college.

I have to tell you, my birthday was the achingly longest day of my life. I was so excited, and also nervous about that evening. Fortunately, I had the distraction of a few friends phoning me, a game of chess with my sister, and even enjoyed doing some chores around the house, because it took my mind of the upcoming evening.

Finally, finally, it was time to head over to Marty’s house. I knocked at the front door. I tried to hide it from Marty, but I was shaking a bit, at least on the inside, when he opened the door, let me in, and guided me to his bedroom.

That’s when things stalled out. He sat in his rolling office chair, and I on the edge of his bed, and we made small talk. Lots of small talk, until I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Let’s do this,” I said, my voice sounding a bit unsure. I was shaking again. This time, I think Marty could tell. I looked at his hands, and sure enough, he was shaking, too.

We laughed nervously, then he said, “Alrighty.”

Guess what happened next? We stalled out again. More small talk. Suddenly, I was realizing it wasn’t going to happen. I got mad, mostly at myself.

My parents had taught me to be bold. To go after what I wanted, as long as it didn’t involve stepping on anyone else. So, here was my chance to be bold.

I got off the edge of the bed, walked over to Marty, and grabbed his hand, dragging him back to the edge of the bed with me. I leaned in to kiss him. I figured that’s what you do in a situation like this.

He backed away. He must have realized how that seemed, so then he came back to me, and we kissed. It was spectacularly awkward. He removed his glasses. I learned to tilt my head to one side. Our lips finally met properly. He was totally tense, and I could feel it in his lips. I could feel him shivering too, even though it was too hot in his room, if anything.

The kiss wasn’t bad. I could understand right away why people liked kissing. I backed away, and suggested we loosen our lips and try it again. Wordlessly, he agreed, and the kiss was much better.

Instinctively, we wrapped our arms around each other, while still kissing. I felt something pressing between my lips. It confused me for a moment, then I realized it was his tongue. Oh, right, French kissing. I let him in. Within a minute, we were probing each other with our tongues, and it was really quite nice. Now, I was horny, yet nervous, but fucking was still on my mind. However, I was finding this hugging and kissing business quite delightful.

The thought came to me that his parents would be back in a couple of hours. We had already wasted a half-hour. We still had all our clothes on. Geez!

Boldly, I broke away, and lifted my sweater over my head. He just sat there. I figured it was now or never, so I lifted my T-shirt over my head. For this occasion, I had left my bra at home. Being rather large-titted, it’s pretty obvious when I don’t wear a bra, but sometimes I feel the mood, if you know what I mean.

Marty silently gasped when he saw my breasts. It took him several seconds to break out of his hypnotic trance. When he did, he started unbuttoning his shirt, and in a moment, I saw his chest. Oh, I’d seen him shirtless before, but this was different. He was suddenly really, really attractive. I liked his hairy chest, and could just barely make out some muscles. He had a noticeable six-pack.

At that point, we almost stalled out again. Boldness. I remembered the benefits of boldness, and took action. I leaned forward, and pulled on the end of his belt. He helped out by removing it, and then put his thumbs in the waistband of his pants.

Lucky for me, he knows about boldness too. He didn’t stall out. No, he pulled his pants, underwear and all, right down to his ankles, then stepped out, now being as nude as the day he was born. He was considerably more hairy now, however.

Now it was my turn to be hypnotized. I saw his penis. I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly something more. I had seen a few naked men on the Internet. Who hasn’t? What I didn’t realize is they were all erect, and Marty was not. What I saw, to put it objectively, was a mass of black hair, with a bit of fleshy stuff hiding within.

What I saw mentally was much different. Oh, it was still small and hairy, but I absolutely, and without a doubt wanted to play with it.

First, there was something I had to do. I quickly stepped out of the rest of my clothing, revealing my darker blond, thinly hair-covered pussy.

Well, we couldn’t just stare at each other all night. So, I leapt on him, just like in our wrestling days. He fell back on his bed, and suddenly, my naked self was smack on top of his naked self. I could feel the coarseness of his hairy chest against my boobs.

I felt the body heat. I felt our nervousness. He was definitely shaking, and no doubt he could feel it in me, too. But I also felt something more. Much more. To be on top of him like this, with so much body contact, was up until that moment in my life, the most wonderful thing I had ever experienced!

We had no words. In silence, other than the low music he had put on before I arrived, we resumed our kissing. At one point, he shifted us around, so he was laying on me. He weighed more than I remembered. More than I expected. I almost couldn’t breathe, but I was in heaven.

I became aware of something. A kind of interference between us. A lump. His penis was trapped between our lower bellies. And I could swear it felt bigger than what I had seen a few minutes ago.

It was time, and we both knew it. Awkwardly, he shifted downward, and tried to align his penis against my vagina. That fully didn’t work. Besides, we weren’t stupid. Or, at least I wasn’t.

“Protection. We need protection.”

“Um, ah, right!” he answered.

Then, sounding remarkably disappointed, he admitted, “I forgot all about that. I don’t have anything.”

“Well, I do, fuckhead!” I said, laughing.

I had figured this might happen. I rummaged around on the floor, finding my pants by feel, then felt my way to a pocket, finally pulling out a condom.

I handed it to him, and he opened the packet. He was sitting upright now, and I couldn’t help noticing his penis sticking up from his lap, almost at a ninety degree angle. Yes, it was certainly erect. I saw something I wasn’t expecting. His penis was rhythmically jumping just a little bit. It was moving in response to his heartbeat. I so wanted to put my hands around that!

I couldn’t, because in a moment, he was trying to put the rubber on his penis. It took him a while to figure out that he had it upside down. It wasn’t unrolling. In a moment, he had it figured out, and fully unrolled it on his glorious tool.

We got back to laying on the bed, with me on top of him, and he tried pushing his penis into my vagina again. Again, it wasn’t working. He was trying to do it without using his hands and had the angle totally wrong. All he was doing was pulling on my crotch hair which didn’t feel good at all.

I didn’t think he’d mind if I helped out. I reached down between us, and grabbed his penis. As I did so, I felt a huge almost electric shock in my lower abdomen, and noticed even more wetness forming between my legs. I do get rather wet down there. It felt wonderful just holding the thing. It was firm inside, almost like a bone. I knew in that moment why they call them ‘boners.’

I guided his penis toward my opening, and managed to push it just a little way in. I wanted to go very slowly. To savor the moment, like ice cream. You don’t want to eat it too fast, or too soon it will be all gone. I wanted to feel just the tip in my vagina. But another part of me overruled that. I hunched forward, pushing it all the way in.

I’ve heard that some women feel pain when they first have intercourse. I didn’t. I think it was due to masturbating with my hairbrush, carrots, and such things. I was all set and ready to go in that department.

Not only did I feel no pain, I felt fulfilled in a way I never could have imagined. This was way, way better than any old hairbrush! I would have been satisfied to hold still, and just feel this wonderful protrusion in me for an hour.

Marty had other ideas. Or, his body did. I doubt he was in any sort of conscious control at that point. He started pushing in and out of me.

His muscles became all tense. Like a board. Suddenly, he stopped dead, saying “Ohhh…”

I wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Actually, I was pretty uninformed in those days. I had no idea that he had just had an orgasm. Worse, I didn’t realize that most guys are done at that point. I wanted him to resume pushing in and out.

After a minute, he did try, but it was no use. His penis was softening, and it slipped out of me. Using my hands, I tried to put it back in. I really wanted it. He, put his hands over mine, and kind of cringed.

I knew, but I didn’t know. I let him recover in silence as we laid side by side, our arms still wrapped around each other.

Neither of us were shivering any longer.

After a moment, I asked, “Ready for more?”

He looked pained. “I don’t think I can.”

Marty had to explain to me that once a guy ‘cums,’ that’s it, at least for a while.

His parents were due back in twenty minutes, so there wasn’t time for anything else anyway, and he seemed relieved. We put our clothes back on, and I went home.

OK, so I didn’t want romance, and I didn’t get any. I laugh now, but it was confusing at the time.

Once I arrived home, bolting past my parents without a word and up the stairs to the privacy of my room, I locked the door and cried.

I was’t crying because of anything lost. It wasn’t a mistake. I just cried because it wasn’t all I had hoped it would be. And yet, it was also something much more. I realized that this first time with Marty wasn’t perfect. Far from it, in fact, but that it wouldn’t be the last time, and I was guessing it could be much, much better in the near future.

The funny thing was, I was still horny. My crying didn’t last long. The next thing I knew, I was naked on top of my bed. I hadn’t even pulled down the bedspread, and thinking of what had just happened, I was frigging myself like crazy. Normally, after a good ten minutes of masturbating, I’d have an orgasm. This night, I came within a minute, and had three orgasms in a row. I didn’t even know I could do that!

The door popped open. My dad was standing in the doorway. As if the evening of my birthday hadn’t already been crazy enough, there he was with a full and clear view of me without a stitch on, with my fingers in my cunt, masturbating! My father! I couldn’t pull the blankets over me, because I was on top of the bedspread. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to hide the situation. Expecting the worst, even though my dad is a pretty cool guy, I almost started to cry again. This time, for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, excuse me,” he blurted. “Um, I just came up to see if you were alright.”

He rapidly closed the door, and I could hear him clumping down the stairs.

I was an emotional wreck. I had so much to process. I had attained my goal. I had fucked for the first time in my life. It was with Marty. Then my dad saw me masturbating. How weird is that? I just laid on my bed trying to figure everything out.

Frankly, I was a mass of confusion. How would I explain that to my dad? How would I face him tomorrow? Would he tell Mom? What would Marty and I say to each other tomorrow?

I was starting to get some clarity as I fell asleep. The overwhelming thought was, “I like fucking!” Followed close behind by, “I’m going to need to arrange more of that. I’m sure it can be done better.”

In the morning, I awoke under the covers. I didn’t remember getting properly in the bed. I had fallen asleep on top. Then, my heart went to my throat. My dad! How was I going to face him? Did he tell my mother? My little sister, even? Oh, my god!

I hit the bathroom, fixed up my hair, got dressed, then headed, with trepidation, down to the kitchen. My father, being a writer, works from home, so I knew I’d have to face both parents.

“Breakfast, dear?” my mom asked. It could have been my imagination, but it seemed like she was kind of smirking.

“Um, sure Mom.”

She got up and started doing something in the kitchen.

My dad looked away from his tablet, and cheerfully said “Hi” to me. Too cheerfully. And that’s all he said.

When my mother returned with pancakes and orange juice, we talked about a few things, and it seemed like we carefully avoided the elephant in the room.

My father wanted to know if I had any plans for after graduation which was coming up in just two months. I sheepishly admitted that I didn’t. For like the millionth time, my parents tried suggesting college. I was reluctant. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I don’t think of myself as a particularly academic person.

It’s not that I didn’t know things. I read all the time. I paid attention to the news. I knew basic science, geography, history, and all the things an eighteen-year-old should know. Most of it I didn’t learn in school. I learned it on my own. School was dead boring, in my opinion. Most of my time in school was spent surreptitiously looking at my phone.

My parents, and even my sister, often said, “School is free. You might as well take all you can get.”

I understood, but didn’t necessarily agree.

Marty had his life all planned out. He was going to be an electrician, like his father. I once asked him if that’s really what he wanted. I was surprised to find out it truly was. He liked the comfort of a trade, a steady income. He like the whole works. He wanted to have a good line of work, a loving wife, and good children.

I was the opposite. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being a housewife and raising kids. Fuck no! ‘Maybe I should apply to some colleges,’ I was thinking. The idea of being a professor of something someday was kind of appealing.

While at breakfast, talking with my parents, and my sister who came down a while later, a weird cloud was forming around me. I could barely hear them. I was remembering my recent activity with Marty, and getting terribly horny. On top of that, I was picturing what I must have looked like when my dad busted in on me, and that made me, oddly, hornier still.

After breakfast, I went back to my room, stripped off all my clothes, examined myself in my full length mirror, rather liking what I saw, hopped on the bed, then masturbated myself to a single, but crashing orgasm. A few minutes later, I started up again, and gave myself another orgasm.

What was coming over me? Oh, I had been horny in the past, but nothing like this.

In homeroom, I texted Marty. He didn’t respond.

At lunch, I texted him again. Again, no response. I was starting to worry that he had been right. Maybe what we did wrecked our friendship. I didn’t quite know how that could happen, but believed it was entirely possible. I, for one, was excited to see Marty again. Maybe even do some more fucking. I so hoped it had been a good experience for him.

On the other hand, it hadn’t been all that great an experience for me. Or had it? True, I didn’t have an orgasm, and one is supposed to when having sex, right? It was over all too soon, and we were awkward. Yet, all I could think about was sex, more sex. Hmm.

By the end of school, he still hadn’t texted, and I hadn’t seen Marty all day, which was unusual. We didn’t have any of the same classes, but we almost always met up at lunch.

At home, after school, I masturbated yet again. What the fuck was coming over me? Then, frustrated by Marty’s lack of communication, I texted, “Hey fuckhead, get back to me!!!”

A minute later, the phone rang. It was Marty.

“Sorry Sege. I’m feeling super-intense. Oh, it’s not you. Nothing wrong with you. I’m just all weirded out.”

I didn’t know what to say, and he stayed silent.

Finally, I blurted out, “Dude, I’m kind of freaked out that you’re freaked out. Can we talk about it?”


I was just about to freak out big-time, when he answered. “Yes, let’s talk. That would be good.”

We decided to meet at Clayton’s Woods. That’s a funky ‘unimproved’ park in our town. There are hiking trails, and lots of trees. It’s a good place for private conversations.

We met up, and said, “Hi,” but not much else until I nudged him. “Talk to me!”

He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t quite begin.

I broke the silence. “Last night. I liked it.”

“You did?” he asked incredulously.

“Yup, very much. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, sort of. I mean, well, really, yes.”


“You really enjoyed it?”

“Yes, like I said.”

“‘Cause I didn’t do very well.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know how to kiss you right. I was all nervous, then I came right away.”

“‘Came’ means ‘ejaulated?'”

“Right. Then I couldn’t satisfy you. Worse, I got all paranoid or something.”

I didn’t really understand, but in a way, I did. It’s like the one time I got drunk, something I’ll never do again. It’s just stupid. But anyway, I got paranoid that everyone would know that I messed up. So, I had an inkling what he might be feeling.

“As far as I’m concerned, you were great under the circumstances. It was new for both of us, remember?”

“Well, I guess. But I sure wish I could have been better for you.”

At that point, I made a big mistake. I should have waited another couple of days. But, like the idiot I can be sometimes, I blurted out, “Well, let’s do it again. I’m sure with practice…”

He stopped me in my tracks with a wilting look. “I’m Catholic, remember?”

I had no idea what he meant by that, but I took it to mean the answer was “No.”

I tried to get him to open up, but instead, he clammed up.

We walked over to the waterfall which we usually enjoyed. In the past we sat by the creek for hours, talking about everything. Today, it was miserable. I couldn’t wait to get home and away from Marty.

At home, I cried. Had I lost my best male friend?

Three weeks later, it certainly seemed like fucking Marty was a mistake. He had just pulled into himself like a frightened turtle. Oh, he was polite enough in school, but not forthcoming with anything more.

Meanwhile, not knowing what else to do, I did apply to several colleges. I had gotten off to a late start, but sure enough, right before graduation, I was accepted to a college 120 miles away.

That fucked-up fucking session with Marty was on my mind constantly. I really wanted to do it again. To get a do-over. To do it right. I realized it was more on him than on me that it was clunky. Not that I was blaming Marty or anything. It was our first time, after all. But I was mad at him for not wanting to do it again. The more I thought about it, the more I really, really wanted to. Images of his dick kept coming to mind, and I was turning into a masturbation addict. I’d see his dick, then I’d have to run off to my room and rub one out. Crazy, eh?

We graduated. After the ceremony, Marty hugged me, but it wasn’t real. It was almost as if we had never fucked, and worse, as if we weren’t the friends we once were. Both of my parents came to see me graduate, and I was proud. But also horny. I remember looking over all the graduating boys, and wondering what their dicks looked like, and how it would be to fuck them.

Summer started out nicely. I had decided to get some more fucking under my belt. It wasn’t going to be with Marty, unless a miracle happened. I was getting so weird that I would have fucked practically anybody.

As a distraction, I took up pickleball. There was an old guy who was an instructor, hired by the parks department. Every day, he was giving free pickleball coaching. I’m not a sports person, yet that sport, pickleball, was fun! We always played as ‘doubles.’ Each game, you’d randomly pair up with someone. Most of the players were old people, but there were some kids, and a few my age. I always tried to get paired up with some of the guys around my age. The problem is, most were far better players, and didn’t want to play with me.

I took more of those free lessons from the old guy, John, figuring if I could get better, I could play with those sexy guys, and maybe, just maybe, get laid by one of them.

John, 62 years old, and a silver fox, with a neatly trimmed white beard, and great laugh lines around his eyes, was a good coach. He was funny, and he was thin and fit. This guy could run circles around many guys my age. John formed a group of four that he said ‘showed great promise.’ We practiced every weekday afternoon at 4pm. I was honored to be one of them even though I didn’t think I was good enough for the group.

The other three were over fifty years old, two women and a guy. They were more athletic than I would have figured. Slowly, as the days went by, John’s true colors came out. Oh, nothing awful. It’s just that he was a very hands-on sort of guy. He’d spend lot of time adjusting our arm positions, or with his hands on our shoulders, moving us this way or that while describing foot positions and so on. He seemed to give more attention to Cynthia, a fifty-something lady, and me, than the other two.

I just figured it was John’s way. Besides, he was kind of sexy for an old guy. One day, while moving me into a position, he whispered in my ear, “Wanna get some pizza afterward?”

It kind of creeped me out. But it was John. He was cool. Besides, I rather liked him. And, I know this is crazy, but I have to admit, I wondered what his dick looked like. I made myself laugh when masturbating one evening by wondering if his dick still worked.

So, we did go out to pizza. We talked. He told me about his dead wife. He said I reminded him of her. During the dinner, his hands were on my shoulders, he brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes, he even held my hands across the table. It was weird, but I enjoyed the attention.

John asked what kind of movies I liked. I told him my favorite movie of all times was the original Star Wars from 1976. He had a copy on VHS, and still had a player. Would I like to come over and watch it with him? I was like, “Sure.”

I called my parents and told them I was going to spend the evening with a friend, then walked with John to his house. He made some popcorn, we sat on the sofa and started watching. John moved closer and before long his hands did their usual thing, and more. He laid a hand on my knee, then on my thigh. I felt an unexpected tingle in my vagina. I was secretly hoping he’d put a hand on my breast.

What he did was better than that. He leaned over and kissed me! John, the 62-year-old fart. But he wasn’t a fart. He was a nice guy. Humorous, fit, friendly. I kissed him back. We Frenched. His hands did make their way to my breasts, and I wasn’t creeped out. I imagined fucking him, and was quite taken with the idea. Yes, I wanted to fuck John.

Suddenly, he backed away and asked, “You are eighteen, right?”

I laughed. “Yes, for a month now.”

We kissed some more. The movie was forgotten, playing away on his TV with no audience. He had taken my hand and led him to his bedroom. I was all in. Soon, we were tearing our clothes off, and rolling around on his king size bed. No words were spoken except at one point he said, “Gosh, it’s been a long time.”

I got to see his penis. It wasn’t bad. Hell, it was fucking excellent. Larger than Marty’s, and surrounded by a nest of white hair. His balls seemed bigger, too.

As soon as we were both naked, his hands went to my breasts. No surprise there. But what was surprising is what he did next. First, he cupped them in his warm hands, but then he started playing with my nipples, or more specifically, around my nipples. He was running his fingers around them with the most incredibly light touch. The feeling was amazing. It was stronger in my vagina than in my nipples. I felt the liquid flowing. He replaced his left hand with his mouth, gently kissing my nipple. I swear, I could have almost orgasmed from that alone.

John was an artist. You could see he knew his way around a bedroom. All in just the right time, he went from my breasts to my vagina, spending a lot of time simply admiring it, before ever-so-lightly stroking the hair over my slit, which was the most delightful thing I had ever experienced. Marty was cool, but this was heaven, and we hadn’t even fucked yet. I knew it was coming. I was simultaneously nervous, expectant, and delighted.

But first, I wanted to really understand John’s prick. I broke away, leaned forward as he laid on his back on the bed, and reached gingerly out to touch it. For a moment, I just placed my fingertips along his shaft, then on the head of his penis. In a moment, in a move that seemed natural, I wrapped my fingers around his penis, and started moving the loose skin up and down. Oh, it felt so good to hold that thing! It was so soft on the surface, and rock-hard underneath.

The only thing John said was “Mmm.”

His balls intrigued me. For the first time in my life, I studied a guy’s balls. I gently squished them around in his scrotum, getting a notion of their actual size and shape.

John spoke, “Harder. Massage my balls harder,” was all he said.

I did. I was worried about hurting him, so added more and more pressure slowly. Soon, he was starting to wince, and finally said, “OK, no more than that.”

I continued to massage his balls for several minutes. We both liked that very much. If life consisted of nothing but massaging a guy’s balls, I could be happy with that.

John broke off saying that he was too close to the edge. He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a rubber. He installed it on his dick quickly and expertly, and in an almost continuous move, got me on my back on the bed, laid his old but muscular body over mine, and introduced his penis. In a moment, it was all the way in my slippery cunt. I have to say, being filled like that, with a real, human penis, is the best feeling in the world. For the first minute it’s in, when you still feel the stretch, it’s just amazing. Almost better than the orgasm that comes later.

The orgasm did come. Boy, did it come! He was laying on me, stroking that glorious penis of his in and out, kissing my mouth, and my ear, which is another delight in its own right. I felt the deep feeling start in my lower stomach. I felt my muscles all clench up. I felt the huge tingle, and it traveled throughout my body. Even to the top of my head, and the tips of my toes. I had never had an orgasm like that! While that was happening, I was barely conscious of John’s situation. He had tensed all his muscles also, and I could just slightly make out a pumping feeling in my vagina.

We laid, sweaty and exhausted on his bed for quite a while. At one point, I felt his shrunken cock slip out of me. I was disappointed and satisfied all at the same time.

I awoke an hour later with a start, then a smile. For a split second I was surprised that I wasn’t in my own bed, and noticed the slight odor of John’s cologne. Right. John! I was very happy to wake in his arms! Knowing it would be a mistake to stay overnight, I dressed and went home. Oddly, as soon as I got into my room, I masturbated and orgasmed again.

Needless to say, pickleball lessons with John continued. We never let on to the other two what was happening between us. I started visiting John every afternoon after the lessons. We got down to the business of fucking more quickly. Sometimes, we’d head right to his bedroom, throwing our clothes on the floor as we jumped into the bed. He was always erect right from the start, not at all what I would have expected from an old guy.

We talked about the situation. He said he was very concerned about me getting attached to him. He claimed he wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship with an eighteen-year-old, as if that was a bad thing. I was insulted in a way, but laughed with him about it. I replied with, “And I’m not so sure I want a love relationship with an old coot,” which he found amusing, I hope. We decided we were in it for the sex alone, and I was fine with that.

John was an experimenter. He wanted to stretch the envelope of sex as far as possible. For instance, one time, we masturbated to orgasm in front of each other. Another time, he tried to get me to orgasm by licking my nipples. That almost, but not quite, worked.

One experiment I liked so much that it became one of our regular activities. We were nude on his bed. We had been lightly tickling each others genitals. He liked it when I ran my fingers lightly around his nipples, just like he did to me. Evidently, guys feel something much like we do with our nipples. I didn’t realize that. I thought those little things on men were just decorative.

Anyway, we had been doing the light fingering thing for a short while when he asked me to get on my hands and knees on the bed with my ass in the air. I knew a new experiment was coming on, and was quite excited. He then sat on the bed next to me, and swirled his finger around my asshole, just like he had done with my nipples. He didn’t touch the opening itself, staying maybe a half-inch away. That in itself was delightful, but he didn’t stop there. Momentarily, he pressed his fingertip lightly against the asshole itself. If you’ve never had that done, you’ll have to try it. You might consider it a minor thing, but what a delight!

He quit doing that, and I was disappointed – for a moment. He then reached into his nightstand and brought out a tube of lubricant, something I hadn’t heard of before called KY Jelly. He put a generous dab on his fingertip, and I kind of knew what was coming.

Turning back to me, he put that finger of his right against my asshole again. The lube was wonderfully cool against my butt. I felt a little pressure, and pop, the first inch of his finger was in my ass. This was the first time my ass had been penetrated by anything. I mean, not even a thermometer was ever in there, unless it happened when I was a baby. Until that moment, I didn’t even realize that the anus is a two-way street, and had no idea how sensual it is. I learned quite a lesson, as he slowly pressed his finger further in, twisting it back and forth a bit.

The finger started to feel a bit pinchy, so he slowly pulled it back out. I didn’t realize his finger was a foot long. Of course it wasn’t, but it sure felt that way as he ever so slowly withdrew it.

He probably thought he was done, but a few minutes, I wanted to try it again. John slowly reintroduced his finger, and this time, it went all the way in with no problem at all, and I was loving it. But Johnny wasn’t done yet. He took the finger out again, then slowly worked two fingers in. I felt nicely stretched, and just a tiny bit of that pinchy feeling. My body craved more. I really wanted him to try three fingers, but he had something else in mind.

I don’t remember him putting the condom on – he was that expert at the operation. But the next thing I knew, I see his long, solid rubber-covered dick, and he wanted to put it in my ass. Now, a gentleman would ask first. A crude guy would just jam it in. John was a gentleman, and of course I said “Go for it.”

I knew I was going to like it, and yet I was shaking like a leaf, just like that first time with Marty. Slowly, ever so slowly, he applied more pressure as I felt the blunt end of his penis pressing against my butt. It wasn’t going in. He backed off, put on more KY, then tried again. The pressure was intense and almost hurt. Then, pop, I felt the tip open up my anus. Allowing me to get used to that for a moment, he then began a series of mild pushes, and soon, his whole dick was inside me. Oh my god – talk about feeling fulfilled! I had no idea! Without further stimulation, I orgasmed, twice in a row.

John later told me he felt the orgasmic contractions of my anus around his penis, and loved the sensation. It was all he could do to withhold his orgasm.

That’s another thing we had been playing with lately. He said that men generally crave orgasms, but if they have sex and don’t orgasm, it can be even more enjoyable. I didn’t fully understand, until he did it to me one day.

He was fingering my clit, then using the KY jelly that had become a normal part of our routine, he placed one, then two fingers inside my vagina. He curled them upward, to rub my G-spot. Normally, I orgasm from that easily. But this time, Johnny didn’t want me to orgasm. He told me to let him know when I was getting close, then he would stop for a minute. We did this over and over again, until I finally went over the edge. That resulted in a super-strong orgasm, followed almost immediately by a weaker one.

John explained that this is a common practice among men, called ‘edging.’ Once a man has an orgasm, they kind of fall apart for a while, not wanting more sexual activity. I’ve felt that a time or two, like what happened with Marty, so I understood. Anyway, the men like getting close, but not cumming, so they can last longer. He told me that some women like it, and others don’t. I do!

I dreaded the day I had to tell my parents that I was hanging out with a 62-year-old man, but I had to, because I wanted to start spending entire nights with him. To my shock, they were OK with it. I guess they really trust me, and come to think of it, they should. I’ve never been what you might call a naughty girl. I haven’t even experimented with pot, or anything like that. I haven’t smoked, and only got drunk once. If my uncle Jason is any indication, getting addicted to alcohol, smoking and drugs is not what anyone would want to do. I’ll stay as far from that shit as I can, thank you very much!

My dad took the lead, with my mom nodding her head in agreement. He said, “I think it will wear off in time. In the meantime, enjoy yourself! Oh, and be careful. Use protection.”

“Oh, Dad!” I responded in mock complaint, letting him know that of course I’d be safe.

The first night I spent with Johnny was twice as nice as I expected. What a joy to fall asleep in your man’s arms after a good fucking! He was up before me in the morning and made us chocolate chip pancakes. I wanted to fuck again after breakfast, but he said he wasn’t up to it. I was surprised, but didn’t pester him about it. I thought about masturbating in his bathroom, but decided not to. I remained horny all day, until that evening when he and I got back together. We fucked again, along with all the trimmings.

I woke up about two in the morning, feeling incredibly horny. I woke John, ready to fuck some more. He groaned and tried to go back to sleep. I was so horny I tried to rub myself next to him without shaking the bed. He groaned, rolled away from me and went back to sleep. I tried to rub myself to orgasm, but it wasn’t happening.

The next morning, you guessed it, I was horny again. John and I fucked. He was reluctant, but did it for me. I knew I was being too exuberant for him, but I really wanted more.

It wasn’t long after that when things started going downhill. I was ready to fuck morning, noon and night. He wasn’t. He made one excuse after another. Actually, most of the time, he simply said “No, thank you.” This was driving me crazy. After such good times with him, how could he not want sex as much as I did?

At the time, I thought it was about him being so old. Later, I found out that he was more sexually active than guys half his age. It just that I, being the horny girl I am, burned him out.

I have to admit that over the next couple of weeks, I kept bothering him, and he held me ever-more at arm’s length. I was getting really frustrated.

I told my friend Jenelle about it, and she said, “Sounds like you’re a bit of a nymphomaniac!” It was the first time I heard the term, but certainly not the last. Jenelle didn’t act like it was a bad thing, just interesting. Then Jen asked something I didn’t see coming.

“Have you only done it with men?”

I pondered that for a moment, then answered as truthfully as I could, “Yeah, so far.”

“So far?”

“You know, Jen, I could imagine doing it with a woman. The situation just hasn’t come up.”

Suddenly, my heart was in my throat. Unless I misread the signals, Jenelle was interested in playing with me. And, I loved the idea of getting sexual with her. What a gal! She’s short like me, but whereas I’m all Scandinavian, you know, light skin, blond hair, and I have large and dumpy tits, she’s small-titted. Oh, not flat as a board, but small. Jenelle, having Asian parents from one of the equatorial countries, has delightful dark skin, and wavy, long black hair. I can see why the guys fall all over her. Oh, yes, I’d love to fuck her.

It didn’t take us long to figure out that’s what we were going to do, and within an hour, we were on her bed, as naked as the day we were born.

I almost lost it when I saw her cunt for the first time. She removes all the hair down there. I had no idea a girl could have such an effect on me. Seeing her naked, really naked, like that, sent shivers throughout my spine. It felt like an adrenaline rush.

I had no experience with women at all, so didn’t know how to proceed. I needn’t have worried. Jen evidently had plenty of experience. She started by kissing me. It’s really something kissing someone with a smooth face. I was used to the bristles of Marty and John. This was really nice, and I could have kissed this exciting naked girl all day long. We Frenched too. For some reason, she felt, tasted, and smelled really compatible.

Her hands went to my tits. “I love your big, beautiful breasts,” she offered.

“Really? I always thought they were too big and floppy.”

“No girl, they’re beautiful!” She then proceoded to suck my nipples very nicely. She also did some sort of suction kissing on the sides of my breasts which I had never experienced before. Here I was shivering again. I guess anytime something especially exciting happens to me, I just start jittering all over. I can’t help it.

One thing led to another, and after a while she had her head between my legs as I laid on top of her, and she was licking deep into my slit, ending each stroke above my clitoris. I was close to orgasm, so to distract myself, and make it last longer, I did what came remarkably naturally. I pulled her ass down to my head, and started licking her cunt at the same time. Now, she was kind of shivering also. We kept at it a good ten minutes, when we both started tightening and bucking.

I don’t know what came over me, but it felt like the right thing to do in that moment. I coated my index finger in her juices plus my saliva, and stuck it, none too gently, deep into her ass. She screamed with a huge, crashing orgasm. I felt wetness running down all over my face. As she was in the throes of her orgasm, mine started up, and I came hard. Really hard!

Later she explained that part of her Asian heritage is that she cums volumes. Some women have more girl juice than others. She’s way on the extreme end, actually leaving puddles on the bed after good sex.

We collapsed in a heap and fell asleep.

To this day, Jen and I have remained good friends, and we do occasionally have sex together. She explained to me early on that while she loves sex, and writes about it all the time, she’s not a ‘nympho’ as she called it, so I’d just have to understand that with her, it would only be occasional. Hard though it was at times, I respected her wishes.

Summer vacation was over. It had been one hell of a summer, and I had no regrets. Now, I was looking forward to college. That was interesting, since I hadn’t even planned to go to college only months before. Now, I really wanted to. Not for the reason you might think. Oh, getting an education seemed like a good idea. What I was looking forward to was the people. Everyone knows that sex happens in college, and I wanted to get all I could. I was starting to get really crazy about sex. I had notions of finding a guy, or maybe even a girl, who could keep up with my needs.

I met my roommate on the first day. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping for, but she wasn’t it. Sue Wasserman was average height, meaning quite a bit taller than me. She was curvy. OK, she was fat. She had plump cheeks, and seemed not to realize that her pageboy haircut made her seem even more cherubic. I found her oddly attractive. She was friendly enough, but way too conservative for my tastes. The poor girl seemed to need to put “God” or “the Lord,” or “pray” in every third paragraph. Still, I figured I’d get along with her alright, even though my fantasy of having a sexual relationship with my roommate was out the window.

It turned out the guys at the university were as horny as I was. Within a week, I had met Jason Fitch. He was really tall, and I had imagined he had a very long penis. Just the thought of it made me squirm with anticipation. I had no trouble at all seducing him. It was my first time going after a boy in that way, and it worked well. Basically, I let him ask me out after we met and talked in a hallway for a while. When he wanted to take me to his apartment just off campus, I went along easily.

We got there just as his roommate was leaving for a football game, so that worked out well. I was pretty sure Jason wanted to fuck, and I was all for it, throwing caution to the wind. He offered a drink. I declined. He had one for himself. I think it was bourbon, but not being familiar with such things, I didn’t know. We made small talk for a while, during which he kept trying to get me to drink with him. I was starting to get upset. He poured himself another, then a third. He was starting to slur his words. I was really disappointed, and upset.

I frankly told him I had lost interest in sex. He begged me to stay. I left, knowing if I stayed a minute longer, he might have become violent. Or, worse, I’d lose my resolve and fuck a drunk guy.

Literally, one day later, another cute, tall guy came up to me and introduced himself as Jerome Connable. Jerome must have had pure African heritage, because he was really black and had a wide nose and thick lips. Jerome was on the same basketball team as Jason. Oh, they weren’t the basketball stars of the campus. Just amateurs, but they enjoyed the game. It seemed important to me right away to let Jerome know that nothing was happening with Jason and I. He seemed relieved.

Knowing me as you do by now, you probably know what happened. I let myself be seduced by Jerome. He moved slowly. It took him three days to get me into his dorm room. He must have made some sort of arrangement with his roommate, because when I asked, he said, “Oh, don’t worry about him, we have the place to ourselves for the next two hours.”

We fucked. Of course we fucked. What did you expect? I was fascinated by his penis. It was the first uncircumcised one I had ever seen, and I just loved the feel of all that loose skin inside my vagina. Oh, yes, you can feel the difference, even with a rubber on. His penis was just ordinary sized. I was hoping for more, but satisfied.

We must have fallen asleep because I awoke to the door crashing open. OK, it didn’t really crash, but his roommate came in noisily, waking us both. We were both naked, but under the covers so Liam didn’t see anything. Jerome seemed terribly embarrassed. Me, not so much. I felt almost proud being almost caught in the act. Go figure!

Liam announced he’d go down the hall to the bathroom for a few minutes giving the two of us a few minutes to ‘get organized.’ We hurried!

I texted Jerome the next day, letting him know how much I enjoyed that. He didn’t text back. I texted several times the next few days, and… nothing.

“Guys!” I was thinking, already understanding how after they get what they want, they often fully shut down for several days. “Oh well, fuck Jerome,” I laughed.

He responded late on the fourth day, all apologetic. We fucked again that evening. I let him know in no uncertain terms that we didn’t have a relationship. I even used the term ‘nymphomaniac’ on myself, redding in the cheeks when I said the word, letting him know I would only use him for sex whenever he was in the mood. Secretly, I was hoping he’d be in the mood all the time. Oh, well.

Then there was Liam. He wasn’t bad to look at. Kind of tall, but not like Jerome, he had short, black, curly hair, wore thick-framed glasses, was thin, and probably more athletic than the glasses would have you believe. He reminded me of Clark Kent. I almost laughed when he told me he was studying journalism.

I had to seduce him. He was being very slow, and proper, but I could tell he’d play with me if he could. It took me a whole week, but soon I was fucking Jerome’s roommate good and proper every evening. Jerome complained that he needed to do his homework. We couldn’t keep kicking him out of the room. Jokingly Liam suggested he could stay, “Pay no attention to Sege and I.”

I was momentarily shocked, but not very much, and started to get turned on by the idea.

Unfortunately, it was just a joke.

I took everything I had to turn it from a joke to reality. I kept hinting to both guys. Jerome was particularly reluctant. He wasn’t a very sexual person, only wanting sex maybe once a week. Or maybe he wasn’t all that attracted to me. Who knew?

One late evening, Liam and I were banging away on his little twin bed in the dorm room, and the door opened. We had run late. Jerome was supposed to stay out until ten o’clock. It was five after, and he had assumed we were done, and I’d be gone, as it had been in the past.

There was no hiding it, and we didn’t really want to anyway, although the situation was still embarrassing. It was also exciting. That’s another thing you’ll have to experience some day, if you haven’t. Getting caught, in the right circumstances, is a super erotic thing.

I had no idea how Jerome might react. Would he be mad? After all, he was becoming more reluctant by the day to spend his evenings in the library. Nope, that’s not how he reacted at all. Without saying a word, he simply removed his clothing and jumped into the fray.

Now, there were three of us on the little single bed, all hugging and kissing.

Here’s the thing I didn’t see coming: Jerome started kissing Liam. Liam liked it. Momentarily, I was forgotten. They got back to me, fondling my tits, and kissing me in turns. Then the two guys resumed with each other, and I got to see gay 69 for the first time in my life. Liam was sucking Jerome’s dick, and Jerome was sucking Liam. Wow! I had no choice but to rub my clit and have a big orgasm just watching them.

The evening was a great turn-on for me, but it was something else entirely for Liam and Jerome. Their lives turned around entirely. I don’t think they were what you’d call ‘gay.’ I think they were just two roommates who were entirely comfortable having sex together. In fact, I know that, because a year later, Jerome got really close to a woman who looked like a young clone of Oprah Winfrey. Liam had been known to date a woman or two, and he and I had played on several more occasions.

Maybe Liam was a bit on the gay side. He always wanted me to finger his butt. He was interested in an activity called ‘fisting.’ He wanted me to put a lot of lube on my hand, and work the whole thing, past my wrist, into his anus. We never got that far. Four fingers was the most I could get in, but he was loving it. So was I. Not only was it a big turn-on for me to put my fingers in a guy’s butt, but I liked the challenge, and hoped to manage full fisting.

It did concern me at first that after three or four fingers for a while, when I pulled out, his butt didn’t shrink down right away. It stayed open, leaving a black hole perhaps a half-inch in diameter. I worried that I was damaging him. He told me not to worry, then showed me a video on the Internet of a guy getting fisted by his buddy.

That got me so excited I asked Liam to fist me. Same thing. He tried, but could only manage four fingers before it hurt too much. But I orgasmed during the process.

Shortly after that, we discovered an online video of a woman being fisted in her cunt by her girlfriend. Not only that, they were double-fisting. When the friend put both hands into this girl’s cunt, she started orgasming and orgasming. It wouldn’t stop, until they got those hands back out of her. How exciting! I wanted to try that, but Liam’s hands were way too big to fit even one in. However, I did have something like that non-stop orgasm when he got four fingers in. Well, it wasn’t quite non-stop, but it seemed to last twice as long as usual. Oh, what a feeling it is to be contracting your vagina when something that huge is stuffed into it.

When I first came to college, I had notions of becoming some sort of professor. I know that’s pretty much the opposite of who I am, or who I was. That would require a long academic grind, not my style at all. And yet, as I settled in to the routines, sure enough, I was enjoying all of college. I was getting lots of sex, and somehow, the sexual fulfillment was driving my studies. I loved being there. I was actually reluctant to visit my parents for Christmas vacation. All I wanted to do was study and fuck, not necessarily in that order.

When I did come home for Christmas, I had a good time. Marty looked me up, and that very evening, we had a very sexual session. The guy had practiced the art of fucking, and had become quite good at it. What a relief. He and I decided not to get attached. This was just something for Christmas vacation, but we did fuck every day. He was rather conventional. His thing was just fucking. Not so much foreplay, and nothing that he called ‘weird.’ He was horrified by the idea of fucking me in the butt. On the other hand, I enjoyed his conventional approach. To have that very nice penis of his in me for as much as an hour sometimes, was a very nice treat.

Back at college, Sue was as conservative as ever. Or so I thought. One evening, I carelessly had my old friend Jenelle over. She had been in town on business, and looked me up. I invited her to my dorm. We should have gone to her hotel. But I thought Sue was going to be out for the evening. It turns out Sue’s lecture had been canceled.

So there we were, Jenelle and I, stark naked, playing doctor like nobody’s business, and Sue popped into the room. Jenelle was OK, but I turned all red in the face. I had ruined everything with Sue. She’d probably go to Housing and ask for another roommate right away.

She turned red, too, stammering something I couldn’t quite make out, then left the room. I started crying, telling Jenelle, between sobs, about how Sue would probably hate me now. I had kind of let Sue believe I was conservative like her, so in a way, in a big way, I had been lying to her. I dreaded when I’d see her next.

My mood was wrecked, so Jenelle went back to her hotel while I brooded on what had happened. I actually liked Sue, and didn’t want to lose her as a roommate.

Twenty minutes later, Sue returned. I was surprisingly terrified at what she might say, and had no idea how I was going to handle the situation.

The first thing she said was “You’re a lesbian?”

I almost laughed. I hadn’t expected that question. “No, I go both ways. Mostly guys, though.”


“Cool? Really?”

“OK, so let me think how to tell you this Sege… I’ve been attracted to you since the day I first saw you. I assumed… I mean I thought I knew… that you were entirely straight. I think I’m gay. I don’t know…” and then she burst into tears.

“Oh, dear Sue,” I said as I beckoned her to sit on the edge of my bed. I wrapped my arms around her, and said, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Sege, I knew I could count on you. But it’s not that. I’m just, well, frustrated. I haven’t managed to have sex with anyone. I’ve been secretly masturbating any time you’re not around.”

“Oh, you too?” I said excitedly.

“You mean you… um, masturbate?”

“Of course, all the time. Whenever you’re not around.”

We laughed.

Then I said something that I knew, or hoped, would land right. “This calls for a celebration.”

I started removing my clothes. Sue had seen me in my underwear many times, and maybe even naked once or twice in the showers. I hoped she’d go along with it. At minimum, I felt like it would be OK to masturbate in front of her. I was very concerned that I might have had the signals crossed, however. Still, I had to go through with it in case this was for real.

When my bra came off, Sue gasped. Moments later, her’s was off, and I almost gasped as well. I liked her tits immensely. They were not hang-down tits like mine. They were full, almost like balloons. I had to reach out and touch them. I hoped she wouldn’t mind, or worse, freak out.

When my fingers made contact with her left breast, she moaned in happiness. I knew we were on the right track. It wasn’t long before her tongue was in my vagina and I was squirming all over the little single size dorm bed in ecstasy. I returned the favor, and from that day forward, we were the best kind of roommates.

This was now well into our second year, and I had seen Liam around with a couple of girls, so I knew what I was planning might work out well. I knew he had a thing for full-figured women. I knew that he and Sue were like-minded. I assumed, correctly, that they both had Jewish heritage. So, I introduced them. That’s all. Then I let nature take it’s course. In no time, they were inseparable. I lost Sue as a fuck-buddy, because she was spending ever more time with Liam, but I was OK with that. She couldn’t keep up with me anyhow. Like everyone else, I had burned her out sexually. Sometimes, I wished I wasn’t so much of a nymphomaniac, but overall I was proud of it.

As my schooling progressed, I never wavered in my desire to become a professor ‘of something.’ Seeing the professors all around me, attending their lectures and events, made me all the more interested in that career path. I studied hard. My parents bought me a MacBook Pro when my funky old Toshiba laptop broke down. It was the perfect study tool.

It took a while, but I became convinced the ‘something’ was to be psychology. It was easier than I thought to to change my major, which makes me laugh now. I had started out thinking I would become a nurse. More than anything in the world, I wanted to become a professor of psychology. Being rather a case myself, I thought psychology might be a good choice. Plus, I liked learning how the brain works, the assumptions we humans make, and things that can be done, mostly through talk therapy. I especially liked hypnotherapy.

I know it’s kind of naughty, but I used some hypnotic techniques to get guys, and the occasional girl, to join me in bed.

One of the guys was Frederick Baker. Another tall guy. It was as if I was particularly attracted to the tall men because I was so short. He was of mixed race, with short, curly black hair, matching his short, curly beard. He had that jaw I like, strong and square, like my father’s. He was thin as a rail, but very athletic. His studies, also in psychology, were partially funded by a track and field scholarship. He was a particularly good runner, especially in sprints and hurdles. He also played with throwing the javelin, but there wasn’t really a team or anything for that.

Well, as you can imagine, he and I ended up in the sack before long, and it worked well. Afterward, I felt like I had to tell him that I’m a nympho. In psychology, if nothing else, we were learning that communication is essential. People who keep secrets get burned, often by themselves. Those who are open in their relationships do much better. I was, however, dreading his answer.

“Oh, really?” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Then he added, “Me too. Or, I’m what you might call the male version.”

It was my turn to incredulously ask, “Oh, really?”

I had finally met my match. We were so perfect together. He was into edging, as was I. We could hold off our orgasms for hours, then come crashing simultaneously. He was the first guy I had met who could manage two or more orgasms in a single session. He also liked it a little rough, but not too wild, as did I. We also loved long talks. Probably four or five times a month would find us out in the quad literally all night long, talking about our interests, which pretty much ran together: Psychology. At first, he didn’t want to become a professor. He was imagining a private practice. After a while, his glowing description of what a private practice might look like attracted me, as well. As if that wasn’t enough, I introduced him to my favorite sport, my only sport, pickleball. He loved it right out of the box, and after some initial flubbing, got the hang of it nicely. It was his first non-running sport.

Oddly, I started getting my fill of sex. In the beginning, Fred and I would fuck in the evening, then later that night. Then one of us would wake the other at like three am, and want more. Then, we’d have a little fuck in the morning before heading off to classes. It was I who sometimes didn’t want to. Especially the late night sessions. Not always. Sometimes I was fully into it. In time, the two of us naturally came to a place where we were happy and balanced.

Early in our relationship, he was too shy to masturbate in front of me. I thought it would be good for him to be able to open up about that – my psychology training again – so I encouraged him to have a wank right in front of me while I did nothing. He said he probably couldn’t get hard in that situation. He felt it was kind of a hang-up. Naturally, being psychology students, we had to experiment with that.

It may have been unconventional, but I decided to masturbate in front of him, first. That worked. I got him so horny from watching me with one hand squeezing my nipple, and the the other working my clit and having a really nice, back-arching, moaning orgasm, that he felt he could do it. He was already naked, of course. His dick had hardened up while watching me, and that would have been the hurdle. So with it hard, he started stroking, and sure enough he was soon shooting sperm a couple of inches into the air.

In all this time, with more than twenty guys, it was the first time I had actually seen a guy cum. Weird, but true. I was fascinated, and delighted seeing that. It did something to me, and I immediately had to masturbate again, right in front of him. There’s something special about doing it with a friend watching that makes one especially horned up.

Fred, like John those few years ago, was an experimenter. But Fred was way off the deep end. I didn’t mind. We worked on several really crazy things together.

Fred wanted to practice mini-orgasms. I’d give him a handjob, while carefully watching his physiology, and listening to his verbal direction when needed. He wanted me to bring him to the very edge, stop for only a couple of seconds so the inevitable ejaculation would subside, then resume again before the orgasmic feeling got too far away. We became good enough at this that he’d sometimes squirt out a single drop of cum, then be good for more. He wouldn’t lose his erection or his enthusiasm. We’d do it again and again, a drop at a time. Later, we became so good that he could have orgasms without ejaculating, over and over again, and finally, he could stay in orgasm for minutes at a time.

Sometimes I had trouble believing him – that he was really in orgasm, so he had me place my fingertips below his scrotum, and press lightly on the base of his penis, while stroking him with my other hand, or sucking on his penis. I’d feel the orgasmic pulsations, so I knew it was real. Wow, that always got me so hot!

He’d bring me to the edge, too. Sometimes, he’d have me on the edge for a half-hour or more, and never let me actually orgasm. Then, he’d end the session. Oh, I’d stay so incredibly horny for the rest of the day!

Fred also liked all sorts of anal play. He liked me to plug various things into his butt. We devised a game that was so fun we ended up inviting our friends Sue, Jerome, Liam, and their current girlfriends. Fred and I had assembled a variety of things that could be safely stuck in a butt. Then one person would introduce an item, and get the person in who’s butt it was being stuck to try and guess what it was. We’d stick in pens, backs of silverwear, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, thermometers, wooden spoons, turkey basters, carrots, you name it.

You might be surprised how hard it is to identify objects this way. It was great fun, and has us all laughing. In the end, we’d have a great big orgy, sometimes with up to eight people sucking, fucking and everything else.

Time went on, and there was no doubt that Fred and I were interested in that branch of psychology having to do with sex. When we did our post-graduate work, it was a team project although we each wrote our own thesis. Our hypothesis was that everyone is on a bisexual scale. No one is one-hundred percent gay or straight, although many are very close. We conduct all sorts of fun research ranging from surveys to inviting participants into a lab to have various forms of supervised sex with members of the same or opposite sex. We’d interview them beforehand, asking about their previous experience levels with members of both sexes, run the experiment while taking observations, then interview them afterward on their feelings about what happened.

When we advertised the experiment, offering to pay volunteers $50 each, you’d think we’d be flooded with applicants. We had funding sufficient for one hundred trials, and it took us three weeks to register enough volunteers.

Fred and I were surprised. You’d think a study like this would have attracted everyone on the campus. College kids would love to be paid to have sex, right? Wrong. Fred and I discussed it at length, and decided that the people of the world, especially here in Ohio, are still very shy about their sex lives. It is our contention, Fred and I, that this sort of thing should be brought more in the open. We champion things like the Masturbate-A-Thon in San Francisco, an annual event where more than 100 strangers get together to masturbate. The event provides money for charities, most of which are oriented toward sexual enlightenment.

We decided that masturbation, in particular, is a very good thing. It helps people avoid becoming so horny that they make bad decisions. It has been proven to be good for health in a dozen ways from lowering blood pressure to boosting immunity. And of course, masturbation is the safest form of sex. There’s nothing wrong with it. Every individual on Earth should participate in solo satisfaction as much as they want. Yet, there are still people who try to avoid masturbation, or even talking about masturbation. They think it is ‘against the will of God’ or actually harmful to health in some unspecified ways. Fred and I have decided to devote our lives to myth-busting in the sexual world. He and I may be crazy, but we actually believe that if everyone masturbated, if everyone could treat it as the natural thing it is, the world would be not a little better, but a much better place. Maybe people would be better at communicating about everything after they learn to communicate openly about sexual matters, especially masturbation. We even feel wars could be prevented.

We started thinking along those lines several years ago. Today, we are both tenured professors of psychology. We both take occasional private clients, many of which are our students. We specialize in sex therapy, and of course sexual education. He and I are quite happy together. Our open-to-the-public lecture on solo-sexuality is the most popular in the university, regularly having attendance of more than 1,000 in the grand auditorium.

One of our favorite classes, and also a super-popular one on campus, is “Body Acceptance.” In this course, Fred and I work together, teaching our students to fall in love with their own bodies. Most come in feeling, like I once did, that their tits are all wrong, or they are too fat, too thin, their genitals don’t look right, and so on. We want them to be happy, proud of themselves, and well-adjusted. It takes a while, but through group hypnotherapy, we get them all knowing beyond any doubt, that they are perfect. Even very heavy people, amputees, and people with scars are perfect in their own way.

The class is not held in a classroom except in inclement weather. It is held on a nude beach. When the weather turns cold, as it does here in Ohio, we have a special classroom, one that the orchestra used to practice in before the music program was cut. It has no windows, and the doors lock. Once our students are inside, we all get naked, even the instructors. We don’t have sex or anything like that, although occasionally a student or two will openly masturbate. We don’t discourage that, as long as it isn’t bothering the other students. We just let the students learn to be comfortable naked and around other naked people.

Having no clothes is a surprising equalizer. You can’t tell who’s wealthy and who’s not. You can’t tell who has good fashion sense and who dresses like a slob. We all become equal.

You might wonder what happens in such a classroom. We do study some psychology as it relates to body image, but mostly, we encourage everyone to hang out, to socialize, and have a good time. A side benefit of the program is communication. Our naked students end up becoming better communicators. Several have written after graduating that they became better husbands and wives because of this level of communication. They seldom argue, and stay married on average, much longer. We know, we did a study of our former students.

Our son Isaac, currently a freshman in high school, just announced he’s going to follow in his parents’ footsteps, and hopes to get into the same college we attended. There’s no doubt he will, as one of the highest achieving students in his school. Another high achiever is his sister, Emily, one year younger than Isaac, who has said she wants to teach sex education since she was in middle school. Fred and I are proud of our children.

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