* * * * *

The first “dirty little secret” that I ever shared with my live-in boyfriend, Ray (not his real name), was a real doozie! It was about how I had lost my virginity in a very unique way, back when I was a young lady. It happened on a hot and sunny summer Sunday afternoon, when I was unexpectedly cornered in a small bathroom at a middle-aged Hispanic friend’s equally-small house, and then sexually molested–and ultimately raped–by her teenage son, Freddy, who was so dark-skinned that he looked more like a black guy, than a Chicano.

And I didn’t try to run away from Freddy, or scream for help, or fight him in any way. Instead, I ended up cooperating with him throughout our entire sexual encounter, which lasted about 15 to 20 minutes or so. And by the time that Freddy finally left the bathroom that day, I had several strong orgasms under my belt and a sopping-wet pussy to show for it, along with a whole wad of Freddy’s freshly-ejaculated sperm deep inside of my totally-unprotected, previously-virgin vagina. And no. Freddy didn’t get me pregnant that day–thank God!

My sharing of that extremely-intimate, long-kept secret with my “better half” only served to strengthen our bond, and to pull us even closer together than we already had been, up to that point in time. Ray totally accepted me and my unique sexuality. And I totally accepted him and his sexuality too.

After my confession about Freddy, Ray gradually opened up even more to me, as he eventually went on to confess several more of his own “dirty little secrets” to me. All I can say is that there sure were a lot of them. And the more I learned about Ray’s unique sexual experiences during his younger years, the more I was amazed and intrigued by his totally-open and candid sexual attitude.

Then one day, Ray and I were lying naked in bed together, talking and fondling each other’s genitals, as we were getting in the mood to have sex. And I decided that it was finally time for me to share my second “dirty little secret” with Ray.

So, as I was slowly and playfully pulling his foreskin up and down the shaft of his not-yet-erect penis, I said to him, “Remember when I told you all about Freddy, and you told me that it really turned you on to find out that I had actually had another guy’s dick and sperm inside my pussy?”

And the ensuing conversation that took place between us went something like this:

“Yeah, of course I do,” Ray answered me, just lying there on his back at this point, and enjoying my manipulation of his slowly-stiffening penis.

“Well, would it also turn you on if you found out that you’re not the first guy that I ever jacked off?” I asked, waiting to see what Ray’s reaction would be.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Ray said.

“No, I’m not kidding. I really did jack off another guy. It happened right before I met you. So does it turn you on to know that?”

“Oh hell yes! God, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Ray commented.

“Hey! Look who’s talking,” I replied defensively, and then immediately let go of Ray’s dick, to help make my point. “How many ‘bombshells’ have you dropped on me recently? I wasn’t exactly expecting you to tell me that you had an on-going secret sexual relationship with another boy back in high school, you know?”

“No, you weren’t, were you? So are you trying to get even with me for that one?” Ray asked.

“You bet I am!” I emphatically stated, meaning every word of it.

“So then you actually jacked another guy off, before you ever met me?” Ray asked, still not quite believing what I had just told him.

“Yep,” I calmly replied, nodding my head a couple of times.

“Wow! Were you dating this other guy at the time?”

“Yes, of course I was.”

“Did you let this other guy play with your pussy too?” Ray asked, as he was reaching across into my crotch to start fingering my crack and my clit.

“Yeah. I did,” I answered, realizing that I had hit on something that really turned Ray on, because his dick was now at full-attention, and I hadn’t even touched it since I let go of it earlier.

“You do mean your bare pussy, right?” Ray immediately asked, obviously still trying to wrap his head around what I was telling him.

“Yes. But he was the only other guy that ever touched or played with my bare pussy, besides you.”

“What about Freddy? Doesn’t he count?” Ray asked, catching me totally off-guard.

“Of course he does,” I eventually answered, after an awkward moment of silence, and then quickly added in my own defense, “But that was totally different. Freddy wasn’t my boyfriend. And I didn’t jack him off.”

“Sure you did. You just didn’t do it with your hands. That’s all,” Ray remarked sarcastically.

“Shame on you! You’re so bad!” I said, and then reached across to give Ray a soft-but-quick slap on the shoulder with my open hand.

“Yeah, but that just makes me more lovable, right?” Ray said, with a big forced fake-looking smile on his face, and then asked me, “So who was this ex-boyfriend that you jacked off? Do I know him?”

I slowly nodded my head in response to Ray’s last question. And after hesitating for a few more awkward, silent moments in order to try to figure out the best way for me to break this latest “piece of news” to Ray, I said, “Well, you know that I dated Art for a long time, right before I met you–”

“Oh my God! Art’s the guy you jacked off!” Ray blurted out. “He seemed like real jerk to me!”

Ray knew Art pretty well, because Art was a member of the same college fraternity that Ray had pledged during his first semester at the university, where we were all students together. And Art had pretty much acted as if Ray didn’t even exist, whenever the two of them were in the same room together. But that was primarily because Art still had feelings for me. And he was very jealous of Ray, because I was dating him, instead of Art. By the way, Art’s legal name was Arturo.

“He is. And he was!” I quickly agreed with Ray. “But unfortunately, it took me quite a while to figure that out. And since my mother really liked Art a lot, I tried my best to get things to work out between us. I mean, Art was that light-skinned, upper class Hispanic guy that my mom had always wanted me to have as a boyfriend.”

“So then, unlike Freddy, Art had that light-skinned kind of dick that really turns you on, right?”

“Oh yeah,” I said very softly, but not because I was answering Ray’s question. Instead, it was because I was automatically vocalizing in response to my own mild orgasmic sensations, thanks to Ray’s adept fingering of my clit and my pussy crack, which had just “broken the ice” for me enough to give me my very first orgasm of this particular sexual encounter.

“That’s what I thought,” Ray replied, without missing a beat.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I admit it. Art’s dick did turn me on much more than Freddy’s did. But not nearly as much as yours does,” I added truthfully–right after I had just finished lying to Ray about Art’s dick turning me on more than Freddy’s did.

I reached over to gently squeeze the firm-but-spongy head of Ray’s dick between my fingertips a few times. And then I started fondling his sexy balls. And I kept on playing with Ray’s balls, and he kept on playing with my pussy, while I went on to tell him my story about Art.

“Anyway, Art and I were going steady, and we had dated for nearly a year. And naturally, we got more and more intimate with each other as the months went by, just like you and I did, back when we were dating.

“Then one night, Art and I finally ended up masturbating each other. It happened in the back seat of his car.”

“Was Art’s dick bigger than mine?” Ray asked.

“Oh, come on! Is that all you guys ever think about?”

“Yes. That is all we guys ever think about,” Ray said, very sarcastically, and then unexpectedly added, “Well, was it?”

“Was it what?” I automatically asked back, without even thinking.

“Was Art’s dick bigger than mine?” Ray impatiently demanded.

“No, it wasn’t,” I honestly replied.

“Well, how big was it, then?”

“I don’t know, Ray. I didn’t measure it that night. But I can tell you that Art’s dick was quite a bit shorter than yours. My best guess is that it must have been about 5 inches long. Now do you feel better?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Was Art’s dick circumcised?” Ray asked. “I only ask, because I know you prefer ’em that way.”

“Yes, it was, as…a…matter…of…fact,” I replied, intentionally slowing way down, and over-emphasizing that “matter of fact” phrase, as I was sarcastically imitating Ray’s response. “So what else do you wanna know, before I go on with my story?” I asked, trying my best to be even more sarcastic with Ray.

“Did you play with Art’s balls that night?”

“What do you think?” I smartly quipped back.

“Judging from what you do to me all the time, I think you spent more time playing with Art’s balls than you did playing with his dick,” Ray said.

“Of course I did. And since I’m being totally honest with you right now, there’s something else you should know. When I was touching and feeling out Art’s balls for that very first time ever, it turned me on so much, that it actually made me cum,” I said to Ray, ironically, just moments before hitting my next orgasmic peak, and closing my eyes for a little while, as I “rode out” my slightly-stronger-than-mild, second orgasm.

“That’s it, babe,” Ray cheered me on, “Let it all out. I love it when you get nice and wet for me.” And that’s when I felt one of Ray’s fingers slide up into my slick vagina.

Once I opened my eyes back up again, and looked at Ray (which of course, let him know that my second orgasm was over with), he asked me, “So how did it all happen? And I want you to tell me every juicy detail about that night with Art. And don’t leave anything out. Okay?”

“Sure. Buy please try not to interrupt me until I’m finished telling you what happened between Art and me that night. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Well, when I was dating Art, I almost always wore miniskirts and pantyhose, just like I did when I was dating you.

“And Art and I always ended our dates by going somewhere secluded to make out for a while. It was always in the back seat of his car. And of course, we always did lots of French-kissing and body-groping.

“Eventually, Art would work his hand up under my blouse, take my bra off and start feeling out my breasts, which really didn’t do much for me in a sexual way, as you well know. But Art was definitely a ‘breast man.’ And so he spent a lot of time playing with my breasts.

“And as Art and I kept making out at the end of our dates, we both got more comfortable with each other, and things would go just a little bit ‘farther’ each time. Eventually, we got to the point where I would just reach up under my own blouse and take off my bra for Art, once we had gotten into back seat together, and started French-kissing each other.

“And of course, Art would then reach up under my blouse and start feeling out by boobs. And by this point in our relationship, Art would also lift up my blouse, so that he could lick my breasts and suck on my nipples. That always seemed to really get him excited.

“Anyway, many months into our relationship, I started to realize that Art really wasn’t the good, upstanding person that he pretended to be. He was actually a ‘super-macho’ kind of guy, and he would get mad pretty easily, when something didn’t go his way. And of course, Art and I started arguing more and more, the longer that we were together as a couple.

“But I kept on making out with him at the end of our dates, because I knew that Art expected me to ‘put out’ for him, in exchange for all the money that he was spending on me during our dates. And believe it or not, that was just fine with me, because Art took me out to some really nice places, and spent quite a bit of money on me. And so to me, my letting Art play with my breasts and suck on them for a little while in the back seat of a car seemed like a small price to pay for being wined and dined like that.

“Then one night, just a few weeks before I met you, Art and I were making out. And while he was kissing me, he had one hand up under my blouse, playing with my breasts. And I felt him place his other hand on top of my knee.

“Up until that night, Art and I had always kept our body-groping confined to each other’s upper bodies. But when I felt his hand massaging my thigh, just above the knee, I knew that Art was wanting for us to take things much ‘farther’ that night than we ever had before.

“And sure enough, I felt his hand slowly moving up my thigh, until it eventually ended up on my crotch. And then Art began gently feeling out my pussy through my sheer pantyhose. And of course, just like all the other girls I knew, I never wore panties under my pantyhose. I mean, that’s why they’re called ‘pantyhose.’ Right?” I said, intentionally overemphasizing the word “panty,” in the process.

“Right,” Ray quickly agreed, nodding his head.

“At first, I was shocked! I couldn’t believe what Art was doing. This definitely wasn’t the Art that I knew. During the months and months that we had made out with each other at the end of our dates together, Art had never massaged my legs before, much less placed his hand up under my miniskirt, and directly onto my crotch.

“But this was a very different Art tonight. He was being much more aggressive. And I didn’t try to stop him, either. As he kept feeling out my pussy, it felt really good to me. And so I spread my legs apart for him.

“And while Art was French-kissing me and feeling out my pussy, he stopped just long enough to grab my hand, and pull it over into his crotch, and place it right on top of his bulge.

“And I instantly knew that Art wanted me to start feeling out his hard-on. And so I did. I had never done that to a guy before, while I was out on a date. And I could feel my pussy quickly getting a lot wetter inside my pantyhose.

“Well, that night, my pantyhose just happened to have a run on the inside of my left thigh. I guess I must have snagged them on something, earlier in the evening. And there was this little hole at the very top of the run, pretty close to my crotch, and–“

“Oh, no. He didn’t!” Ray blurted out, unintentionally interrupting me, like he said he wouldn’t do.

“Oh yes, he did! Art worked his fingers up inside of that small hole in my pantyhose. And then he stretched and tore that little hole wide-open with his fingers. Then he yanked my pantyhose crotch over to one side, so that he could get to my pussy through the large hole that he had made.

“God, that really pissed me off when he did that! The funny thing is, I wasn’t mad at Art for exposing my pussy. I was pissed off at him for ruining my pantyhose, which were pretty expensive, even way back then. Especially when you consider that pantyhose just didn’t last that long, to begin with. And the truth is, I was already so turned-on that night, that I would have gladly pulled my pantyhose down around my ankles and let Art have total access to my pussy, if he would have just given me the chance to do so.

“But my anger didn’t last very long. And that was because Art quickly dug his fingers into my crack, and started feeling out my clit and my inner pussy lips. The only other guy who had ever done that to me was Freddy. And just like with Freddy, I was enjoying the hell out of what Art was doing to my pussy with his fingers, in spite of the fact that he was handling my pussy in a fairly rough manner.

“Then after a few minutes, Art stopped playing with my pussy. He unbuckled his belt, undid the top button of his pants, pulled his zipper all the way down, and then pulled his pants and his tighty whities down around his thighs, so that I finally got the chance to actually see what his ‘package’ looked like.

“And of course, Art had a full blown hard-on. And it just looked so sexy, sticking straight up out of his lap. After exposing himself, he immediately went back to playing with my pussy.

“And I knew exactly why Art had exposed his dick and balls to me like that. So I reached over and began squeezing his dick and playing with it.”

“And while I was playing with his dick and balls, Art was busy feeling out my pussy for the first time ever. God, all I can say is that Art and I were both super turned-on that night! I mean, how could we not be? At any rate, one thing quickly led to another. And so Art and I eventually ended up masturbating each other.”

“I can’t believe Art didn’t fuck you that night,” Ray remarked.

“Neither can I, to be honest with you,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was expecting him to do. And I certainly didn’t do anything to try to stop him. All I did was spread my legs apart, and let him do whatever he wanted to do to my pussy. And as turned-on as I was that night, I know that I wouldn’t have put up any real resistance to Art’s advances. And so Art could have easily climbed on top of me and fucked me that night, if he had wanted to. But he didn’t even try.”

“You sound kind of disappointed about that. Are you? I mean, were you actually wanting Art to fuck you that night?”

“I could lie to you and say ‘yes.’ But I won’t, since I’m trying to ‘come clean’ with you right now, and you deserve to know the real truth about me. So here it is: All the way up until the time that you and I finally began having intercourse together, I had always viewed myself as being a ‘nice Catholic girl,’ and a ‘nice girl’ wasn’t supposed to fuck her guy until the night of her wedding. So what I was really wanting from Art that night was for him to force his intentions on me, and ‘take me’ in the back seat of his car.”

“Wow! So then what you’re really telling me right now is that you were actually wanting Art to date-rape you that night?” Ray asked, incredulously.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was wanting him to do. That way, I could place all the blame on him for taking things ‘too far.’ And by cooperating with him while he was date-raping me, I would still be able to play the role of the ‘nice girl’ who was simply trying to make the best of a bad situation.

“But the truth is, ever since Freddy took my virginity that day, I was no longer the ‘nice Catholic girl’ that I used to be, even though I kept pretending that I was. The ‘real me’–the sexual slut that I kept well-hidden under the surface–just wanted Art to rape the crap out of me, and get his rocks off deep inside me, just like Freddy did to me in the bathroom that Sunday afternoon.

“And I didn’t want Art to use a rubber, either. Because I wanted to feel his bare dick inside me. And at the time, I didn’t care that I wasn’t on any form of birth control. I was just feeling super-horny. Maybe I was even ovulating that night. Who knows? Pretty crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty crazy alright. But I know how you get, once you get turned-on enough. I mean, let’s face it. You take ‘reckless abandon’ to a whole new level. You just don’t seem to be able to think straight, once you’ve got a sopping-wet pussy down between your legs. I’ve seen you ‘in-action’ too many times.

“How about all those months when we first started living together, and I was trying like to hell to keep from fucking you during sex, because you insisted that you wanted to keep your virginity until we got married?

“And then you’d get all turned-on and stuff. And before I knew it, you’d be flat on your back, with your legs spread apart, and your wet pussy pulled-open for me. And it was obvious that you wanted me to rub the head of my dick against your wide-open pussy crack. And so I did. And you always loved it, when I did that. I could tell.

“And as I would get closer and closer to cumming, it would take every bit of willpower that I had, to keep from sticking my dick up inside you, and finally fucking that wonderful pussy of yours.

“And at the same time as I was struggling to keep from cumming all over your pussy, you’d be saying things to me like, ‘It’s okay, babe. Why don’t you go ahead and cum on my clit? Or you can cum in my pussy crack, if you want to.’

“Are you kidding me? Just hearing you talk to me like that, I could barely manage to pull my dick away in time to squirt all over your stomach. Remember? Now I ask you. Does that sound like a woman who didn’t want me to fuck her?”

“Hey, I can’t help the way that I am. I guess I’m just a slave to my own pussy–just like you’re a slave to your own dick, whether you want to admit it, or not. And you know how I feel about sperm. So it shouldn’t surprise you that, deep down inside, that naughty, not-so-nice-girl part of me wanted to go home with a big wad of Art’s sperm up inside of my pussy that night. But, like I already told you, Art didn’t even try to mount me that night, much less fertilize my fuck-hole, like I was hoping for at the time.”

“Did he finger-fuck you at all?”

“No. Not really. At first, he spent all of his time diddling my clit and playing with my pussy lips.”

“Hey, don’t forget about that sexy little piss-hole mound of yours,” Ray said, as he rubbed his fingertip back and forth against that small, puffed-out, spongy mound of flesh that supports my weird-looking urethral opening. “I’m pretty sure he felt that out too,” Ray chimed in.

“Yeah, he sure did. But what Art was doing was driving me crazy! I didn’t understand how on earth a guy could be feeling out the crack of my pussy for so long, and not be wanting to stick his fingers up inside me. I mean, I can’t even finger my own pussy, without sticking my fingers up into my ‘big hole.’

“The saddest part was that I finally had to stop kissing Art, just so that I could whisper in his ear, and tell him that I wanted him to stick his fingers up inside me.

“And even once he started fingering me, you couldn’t really call it ‘finger-fucking,’ because he wasn’t actually thrusting his fingers in and out. He was just moving them all around inside me, and feeling out my vagina–pretty much just like you were doing a few moments ago, right before you started fingering my G-spot, and trying to make me cum.”

Upon hearing this, Ray abruptly pulled his finger out of my vagina.

“Hey, don’t stop now! It felt really good,” I admitted.

“Are you sure?” Ray asked playfully.

“Yes, I’m sure, silly,” I replied, and was immediately rewarded, as I felt Ray’s finger slide back up into my vagina, and then felt the tip of his curved finger begin massaging my G-spot once again. “I’m also sure that Art didn’t know what a ‘G-spot’ was, or that such a thing even existed. I knew that it existed, because it always made me cum real good whenever I fingered that area of my urethral tube, but I had no idea that it was called a ‘G-spot.’ Heck, I didn’t know that it even had a name.”

“So, did Art make you ‘cum real good’ that night? I mean, did you end up getting his back seat pretty wet?” Ray asked light-heartedly.

“Oh God, yes! But that wasn’t very hard to do, considering how excited I was. Now don’t get me wrong. Art didn’t make me squirt, or gush, or anything like that. But his fingering alone turned out to be more than enough to keep my pussy nice and wet, if you know what I mean. That, and the fact that I was playing with his sexy balls.”

“Hey, don’t forget his sexy dick. You were playing with that too,” Ray added.

“Yes, of course I was.”

“So did you just start jacking Art off at some point, while you were playing with his dick?”

“No. I didn’t start jacking him off, until he asked me to.”

“What?” Ray asked, obviously confused by my answer.

“Hang on a minute. You’re makin’ me cum,” I proudly announced, right before closing my eyes. “Oh yeah. That’s it. Just like that. That’s perfect, Ray! Don’t stop! Whatever you do, don’t stop! Oh fuck yes! Oh God yes! Ahhhhhhhhh!” I screamed out as I hit my strong orgasmic peak, and then started squirting and gushing all over my lover’s G-spot-fingering hand.

And while I was orgasming my butt off, Ray was cheering me on, saying things to me like “That’s it, babe” and “Squirt it all out.”

“Oh, fuck yes!” I cried out, after I finally came down off my orgasmic roller coaster ride. “That was awesome!”

“God damn it, woman! You’re one wet, little bitch, aren’t you?” Ray loudly remarked, in response to my just having squirted all over his hand, soaking the sheets down between my legs.

“You got that right! And you know you love it too, you horny bastard!”

“Fuck yes I do! But I still wanna hear about what happened with Art. How did your date end?”

“Well, if you’ll stop fingering my G-spot for a few minutes, I’ll tell you,” I said.

“Okay. Fair enough,” Ray said, pulling his fingers out of my vagina, so that he could go right back to playing with my pussy crack and my piss-hole.

“Art ended our date that night by pulling his hand away from my pussy. He just stopped kissing me, and leaned back in his seat. Then he asked me to jack him off.

“And so I started squeezing his dick again. But he stopped me, and had me wrap my hand around his dick, and then pump up and down on it. Art had to coach me the whole time, because I had never jacked a guy off before. But it didn’t take very long at all for me to get the hang of it. And within about a minute or so, Art warned me that I was just about to make him cum.

“He quickly reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulled out a white handkerchief, and shoved it into my hand, saying to me, ‘Here. You’re gonna need this.’ And just a few seconds after I took the handkerchief from Art, I heard him let out that soft ‘cum grunt’ that you guys like to make, right before you start cumming.

“The next thing I knew, Art’s dick started throbbing in my hand, and his sperm began squirting out all over the place. I was leaning over his lap, looking straight down at the tip of his dick, when his first two or three spurts hit me right in the face. I was caught totally by surprise!

“I’ll bet!” Ray chimed in, and we both laughed for a moment, before I continued onward with my story.

“I mean, I knew that Art’s dick would throb, and that his sperm would be released in small spurts. I had learned that much from my experience in the bathroom with Freddy.

“But I had no idea just how strongly a guy’s sperm could squirt out, and how far it could fly. What can I say? The few girls that I hung out with back in high school never talked about that kind of stuff with me.

“This was also the first time that I had ever seen a guy’s sperm in person. I couldn’t believe how thick and white and gooey it was.

“After the first few spurts flew out, I tried my best to catch the rest of Art’s sperm in the handkerchief. But I still got a lot of it all over my fingers and my hand.

“When Art finally opened his eyes, and saw me looking at him, with all the little globs of sperm streaming down my face, he actually laughed at me and commented on how funny I looked.

“God, that really pissed me off! I felt like just grabbing his dick, and yanking it right off his body. Here I had gone out of my way to jack that mother-fucker off and make him orgasm, so that he could finally get some sexual relief. And all he could do was make fun of me for it. That was the last straw, as far as I was concerned.

“So I used that God damn handkerchief to clean up as much of the sperm as I could–especially the sperm on my face. And then I shoved that gooey handkerchief back into Art’s hand, and I demanded that he drive me back home immediately.

“On the way home, I thought about how I had left a big, wet ‘pussy juice stain’ on the back seat of Art’s car, and about how Art was going to have to clean it up later. And it served him right, too! What a fucking jerk that guy was!

“And that ended up being our last date, because I broke up with Art the very next day. Then, about a month later, I met you. And I guess you could say the rest is history.”

“Hey, you also used to leave ‘pussy juice stains’ on the back seat of my car, back when we were dating, you know? Does that make me a ‘fucking jerk’ too?” Ray asked.

“No, you’re not a ‘fucking jerk.’ You’re just a ‘fucker.’ That’s all,” I said, rolling over onto my back and spreading my legs apart. I placed one hand on each side of my mound, pulled my crack wide-open and held it that way for Ray, while I was slowly and repeatedly rocking my hips back and forth, pretending to thrust away at an imaginary penis. And I said to him, “So come on, fucker. Let’s fuck.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice,” Ray commented, as he got between my legs and started rubbing the head of his circumcised penis up and down along my soaked pussy crack, getting the head of his dick wet, so that he could mount me in a missionary style position.

And after he had steadily humped away at my pussy for a little while, without saying one word to me the whole time, Ray finally whispered in my ear, “Babe, thank you for sharing your story about Art. It’s a real turn-on.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered back in his ear, and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek.

“I’m just about to cum,” Ray breathily announced.

“Yeah, I can tell,” I whispered back in his ear. “Go ahead, babe. Let it all out.”

Then Ray jokingly whispered right back, “Are you sure you don’t want me to pull out right now, and cum all over your face?”

And before I could answer him with some kind of snappy come-back, Ray quickly shoved his 6 1/2-inch-long dick deep into me–all the way up to the hilt–and then let out his soft, breathy ‘cum grunt’ right in my ear. And then I felt the firm, ballooned-out head of Ray’s blood-engorged penis starting to pulsate deep inside me; squirting his wonderful, thick, gooey semen all over my cervix.

God, I love fucking!

And by the way, you’re hearing this from a woman who is now in her 60’s. And I’ve got some great news for all you folks out there who are in your 20’s and 30’s right now. Our sexual needs and desires don’t just disappear when we get older. And ironically, some aspects of our sexuality even improve with age. You’d be surprised…

* * * * *

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