Well, I am learning about the book editing process. So many writers have complained about it through the years and described how they have struggled to hang on to the integrity of their books.
It is of course a necessary part of the process.
Yesterday I got back the editing suggestions from my digital publisher Lazy Day Publishing for my blog novel “Monogamy Sucks.” They want to put it out as an e-book in December.
After the initial shock wore off, I realized that their suggestions are helpful and will only strengthen the book. Now I am in an editing groove and feeling much better about having another crack at improving my novel.
Sometimes you can be too close to your book to see what needs to be done to improve upon it.
My goal is to keep it interesting and fascinating for the reader while making sure I don’t slow down the narrative and my character’s journey with too much background info.
“Show, don’t tell” is a lesson that has been ingrained in me since I took fiction writing classes in college and also from my journalism teachers and newspaper editors.
But as writers — we always need to be reminded of such lessons.
I realize that a blog is not a book, and I am working hard to retain the spirit of my novel that I diligently worked on and dreamed about for 12 years.
The first edit is going well.
Look for more updates on the publishing process here.
George Pappas, Author of blog novel “Monogamy Sucks.”
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Look for Monogamy Sucks as e-Book in December -- From Blog to Book Contract in Just 3 months
Today I signed a contract with exciting new digital publisher Lazy Day Publishing to bring out my blog novel “Monogamy Sucks” as an e-Book by the end of the year. Very excited about this. It happened only a little over 3 months after launching my blogs (and 12 years after I starting writing my book)
Here’s their Web site: http://lazydaypub.com
Here are my blogs
http://monogamysux.blogspot.com
http://monogamysucks.wordpress.com/
In the meantime, you can explore your inner Swinger with the first six chapter of my novel on this blog and my other blog on Word Prss, and continue to follow Jake Dalmas’ intriguing journey when the e-Book comes out.
Look for other updates on the publishing process for Monogamy Sucks on this blog and my other blogs.
Here’s their Web site: http://lazydaypub.com
Here are my blogs
http://monogamysux.blogspot.com
http://monogamysucks.wordpress.com/
In the meantime, you can explore your inner Swinger with the first six chapter of my novel on this blog and my other blog on Word Prss, and continue to follow Jake Dalmas’ intriguing journey when the e-Book comes out.
Look for other updates on the publishing process for Monogamy Sucks on this blog and my other blogs.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Chapter 6: MY NAUGHTY NURSE
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, Part 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 6: MY NAUGHTY NURSE
December 20
Feeling depressed about the Nellie fiasco, and I am seriously considering abandoning my swinger quest and returning to the bar scene. It couldn’t be any worse than this.
Fortunately, a woman named Pam bailed me out from another night of horny doubts and left a message on my voice mail tonight. Her message was short but to the point.
“I was just looking for some pleasure,” she said in a nasally New York accent. “I like your ad. Call me at 310 444-3232.”
When I returned her call a short time later, Pam confirmed that she was indeed looking for some no-strings fun. I had to conceal my excitement, as I didn’t want to come across as too eager and desperate, which is what I am.
“I am tired of the dating scene and I just want some fun for a change without all the emotional baggage of relationships,” she said.
Hallelujah. She must have been reading my mind.
Pam (probably not her real name) also mentioned that she works as a nurse at hospital in Santa Monica located nearby where she lives. My cock started to get hard just thinking about the possibilities. I’ve always had a thing about nurses. Maybe it’s the uniforms or the notion of being nursed, pampered and taken care of in a sexual way. Not sure really, but I do enjoy fantasizing about fucking women dressed in nurse outfits.
My fantasy typically goes something like this…
Fade in:
A tall blonde woman dressed in a nurse outfit saunters toward me as I lay naked in a hospital bed. “Hi,” she says with a sly smile. “It’s time to check your temperature.” She then bends down and starts sucking on my cock. Right before she deep throats me she says that I have been a good patient.
Soon I am throbbing in her mouth and feel like I am about to explode. Sensing this, my naughty nurse (still wearing her uniform top without any panties) takes my cock and sits on it, sliding my surging member into her tight shaved pussy. As we fuck, one of her assistants, a brunette with long black hair, sits on my face, her wet pussy lips rubbing against my lips and tongue. After I come hard, both ladies lick up and swallow my come.
Fade out.
You get the idea. I have rented a lot porno movies featuring the nasty nurses theme. I couldn’t count the number of times I jacked off to these tapes. So far it has remained only a fantasy, but Pam gave me hope tonight that I might finally realize my naughty nurse fuck fantasy.
We agreed to meet in a couple days on a Friday night. Following our phone call, my imagination was burning with naughty nurse fantasies, but I couldn’t shake my usual nervous feeling. I could be fooling myself again. Life is not porno. At least, my life is not. Well, maybe not yet.
December 22
Pam lives in a small apartment complex located near downtown Santa Monica. I must admit I wasn’t overly impressed with her looks. She is a petite Italian woman in her mid to late forties with a thin face, big dark eyes and black hair. Not as hot as she described herself on the phone. I am afraid that just may be the norm for blind fuck dates.
We sat on a couch in her living room and talked about movies and politics. She seemed nice, but I was hesitant to make a move. This is always the most awkward time for me. I am not very adept at being able to detect if a woman is attracted to me or not. Finally after several long minutes of boring small talk, the subject turned to sex. She asked me why I wasn’t married and who had hurt me in the past.
“Hurt me?” I asked.
“Well, you must have been hurt or you would be in a relationship right now,” she said smiling at me. “I am just surprised no one has snagged you. You are very handsome.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I thought about asking her about her past, but figured it was best not to go there. I just wanted to get laid. I didn’t need to know her life story, and frankly I didn’t care. All this talking was making me nervous. I just wanted to get down to it, but there was no sign from her that she was ready or if she ever would be. A few moments later, I got my answer when Pam rubbed her hands on my crotch, unzipped my pants, reached in and stroked my semi-hard cock. Then we kissed and she hungrily stuck her tongue in my mouth. I removed her white lace top and sucked on her nipples. Her skin tasted of baby powder and shampoo. The smell of her intoxicated me.
After several minutes of playing with my cock with her hands and mouth, Pam removed her dress revealing her small thin pale body and asked me to lick her. I was intrigued by her directness.
She was shaved except for a little patch of hair strategically placed above her pussy lips. I stuck my tongue into her wet pussy and she tasted of citrus. So far, so good.
I tried to recall my nurse fantasies, but I couldn’t. All that was on my mind was fucking her and hoping I’d be able to perform. I tried not to worry about it, but that was easier said than done. Once performance anxiety creeps into my mind it is difficult to ignore. It can haunt me and quickly turn me impotent if I am not careful.
Pam abruptly left the couch and walked toward her bedroom beckoning me to follow. My pants were at my ankles by now and I almost stumbled trying to get up from the couch. By the time I reached her bedroom, she was lying on the bed, spread out playing with her pussy.
“Come here baby,” Pam cooed. “Lick me some more while I suck on your cock.”
I removed my clothes and lay down naked on her bed. Pam crawled on top of me and sat on my face. I felt her take my cock into her mouth as I tongued her clit.
“Oh baby, that’s so good,” she said as she took my cock out her mouth for a moment. Several times I felt on the verge of coming. Anticipating this, she grabbed and squeezed my balls holding my come back. Then she urged me to fuck her and moved to the top of the bed, spread out and waiting.
Surprisingly, Pam was as tight as an 18-year-old girl. Not something you expect from a woman in her mid forties. Maybe it was because she had never had any kids so her pussy had never been stretched and torn out of shape. It took some effort to enter her tight pussy, and when I finally did, I came inside of her in about 30 seconds. I wasn’t wearing a rubber either. I didn’t bother to stop and she didn’t ask me to. Oh well. So much for safe sex in the age of AIDS.
We looked at each other for a moment after I came. She briefly had an anxious expression on her face, but didn’t say anything about our unsafe adventure. I assumed her being a nurse that she would be more vigilant about sexual protection, but it never came up. I hate rubbers anyway so I wasn’t going to say anything. And I doubted if she would get pregnant at her age, but of course you never know so I was taking a number dumb chances with my health and future and my journey has only just began.
Pam also didn’t seem disappointed about my quick performance, but I suspect she was just being nice about it. That could have not satisfied her. Oh well.
A short time later, I fucked her a second time – also without a rubber – and came quickly on her belly. In all, I probably fucked her for a total of two minutes. I felt satisfied, drained in fact, but there was a part of me that realized my performance was pathetic. I tried not to dwell on it too much. Hell, I got my rocks off.
However, when we weren’t having sex Pam’s interest waned. She seemed restless and I could sense she wanted me out of there. Even before my come had dried, Pam said she had to work in the morning and sent me home. I figured I’d never hear from her again.
I was only fulfilling a quick sexual need for her. I was just her fuck toy and not even a very good one at that, but she obviously hadn’t been laid for a while. So many times women accuse men of just using them for sex. Now it was my turn to be used by a woman for sex. To be honest, I didn’t mind it at all. In fact, I liked it. She could use me for sex anytime. I just hope next time – if there is one – I can last a little longer.
December 29
I met Pam again this afternoon. The timing couldn’t have been better as it was a Sunday, which is always such a horny day for me. Probably because I haven’t been laid all weekend and all my come and lust is just ready to burst out my cock and balls by Sunday morning.
This time she insisted we use rubbers. Pam said she had treated a number of AIDS patients at the hospital where she worked and knew the risks.
“I don’t know what we were thinking about last time?” she said shaking her head. “I guess we got carried away. You’re clean aren’t you?”
I told her I was, but I was uncomfortable by her questions. Well, I at least I hope I am disease free. My last HIV test was a year ago and it was negative, but this was before I embarked on my sexual journey. Honestly, I could have contracted a disease from Leilani or Pam, but I doubt it. Neither seemed sexually promiscuous. Of course, I could just be fooling myself.
Pam went on to talk about her job and how she was so busy that casual sex was the only personal life she could manage.
“I don’t have time for anything else,” she said. “I am on call all the time. I also work sometimes two weeks straight without a break. I really don’t have time for relationships. Only occasional time for fun.”
She has a voracious appetite for sex. We fucked all afternoon, and at one point, as she rode me while gazing at our reflection in her closet mirror, she exclaimed, “I could fuck you forever like that!” I could sense her hungry need. I was like a drug for her -- a break from her lonely, monotonous and stressful life at the hospital.
During my cock’s down time, Pam revealed her other experiences with couples and other swingers. She is the first woman I have met who admitted to actually playing with swingers and participating in a threesome. Everyone I have known before meeting Pam had either talked about swinging or fantasized about it, but it has always been in the abstract not as a real experience. She actually did it and talked about her adventures with no hesitation or shame. I am impressed and more than a little in awe of her open sexual attitude.
Frankly, swinging is still a fantasy lifestyle for me. It might as well be happening on another planet. I am still a swinger in training, but meeting a woman like Pam gives me a lot of hope that someday soon I will fulfill my fantasies.
January 7
During our next sexual encounter, Pam told me her fantasy. She didn’t know it is also mine. Pam wants to sneak me into the hospital where she works and dress me up in a patient gown. Then she described her desire to climb on top of me and fuck me on a patient gurney. I became aroused as she described her fantasy and soon after I fucked her thinking about gurneys, nurse uniforms, and the antiseptic hospital smell mingled with the raw sweat of sex and come. It was one of the best fucks of my life.
“Nurses get me hot,” I told her after I came deep inside of her.
She smiled and said, “mmm…now that I know what you like….we’ll have to try my fantasy sometime…”
I can only hope so. It would no doubt give me a whole new attitude toward hospitals, which for the most part are dreary and depressing places stinking of sickness and death. Nothing sexy about them.
January 24
Unfortunately, we never did get the chance to play out our hospital fuck fantasy, but we did meet one more time a couple of weeks later. The sex was becoming more intense, but I could sense she was also growing increasingly distant. Maybe she was bored with me or wary of something deeper developing between us.
After the recent fuck session with Pam, I made a casual sex gaffe. I told her I wanted to spend a whole weekend fucking her.
Pam gave me a strange pensive look as if I had just asked her to move in with me or get married or something. Then she looked away and said abruptly that she had to go to work. It was apparent I had made her uncomfortable.
I wanted to extend our sexual meetings into a weekend fling, but she only wanted me for an occasional fuck stud. I had crossed the line with her. Wasn’t this usually what us men complained about -- women who get too emotional and confuse love and sex? But that wasn’t the case with me. I just wanted more casual sex. I guess should have stressed that to Pam as it was the last time I saw her. She didn’t return my calls after that. I was learning the hard way about the emotional landmines even involved with casual sex. Although it wasn’t my intention, another fuck fantasy had slipped out of my grasp.
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 6: MY NAUGHTY NURSE
December 20
Feeling depressed about the Nellie fiasco, and I am seriously considering abandoning my swinger quest and returning to the bar scene. It couldn’t be any worse than this.
Fortunately, a woman named Pam bailed me out from another night of horny doubts and left a message on my voice mail tonight. Her message was short but to the point.
“I was just looking for some pleasure,” she said in a nasally New York accent. “I like your ad. Call me at 310 444-3232.”
When I returned her call a short time later, Pam confirmed that she was indeed looking for some no-strings fun. I had to conceal my excitement, as I didn’t want to come across as too eager and desperate, which is what I am.
“I am tired of the dating scene and I just want some fun for a change without all the emotional baggage of relationships,” she said.
Hallelujah. She must have been reading my mind.
Pam (probably not her real name) also mentioned that she works as a nurse at hospital in Santa Monica located nearby where she lives. My cock started to get hard just thinking about the possibilities. I’ve always had a thing about nurses. Maybe it’s the uniforms or the notion of being nursed, pampered and taken care of in a sexual way. Not sure really, but I do enjoy fantasizing about fucking women dressed in nurse outfits.
My fantasy typically goes something like this…
Fade in:
A tall blonde woman dressed in a nurse outfit saunters toward me as I lay naked in a hospital bed. “Hi,” she says with a sly smile. “It’s time to check your temperature.” She then bends down and starts sucking on my cock. Right before she deep throats me she says that I have been a good patient.
Soon I am throbbing in her mouth and feel like I am about to explode. Sensing this, my naughty nurse (still wearing her uniform top without any panties) takes my cock and sits on it, sliding my surging member into her tight shaved pussy. As we fuck, one of her assistants, a brunette with long black hair, sits on my face, her wet pussy lips rubbing against my lips and tongue. After I come hard, both ladies lick up and swallow my come.
Fade out.
You get the idea. I have rented a lot porno movies featuring the nasty nurses theme. I couldn’t count the number of times I jacked off to these tapes. So far it has remained only a fantasy, but Pam gave me hope tonight that I might finally realize my naughty nurse fuck fantasy.
We agreed to meet in a couple days on a Friday night. Following our phone call, my imagination was burning with naughty nurse fantasies, but I couldn’t shake my usual nervous feeling. I could be fooling myself again. Life is not porno. At least, my life is not. Well, maybe not yet.
December 22
Pam lives in a small apartment complex located near downtown Santa Monica. I must admit I wasn’t overly impressed with her looks. She is a petite Italian woman in her mid to late forties with a thin face, big dark eyes and black hair. Not as hot as she described herself on the phone. I am afraid that just may be the norm for blind fuck dates.
We sat on a couch in her living room and talked about movies and politics. She seemed nice, but I was hesitant to make a move. This is always the most awkward time for me. I am not very adept at being able to detect if a woman is attracted to me or not. Finally after several long minutes of boring small talk, the subject turned to sex. She asked me why I wasn’t married and who had hurt me in the past.
“Hurt me?” I asked.
“Well, you must have been hurt or you would be in a relationship right now,” she said smiling at me. “I am just surprised no one has snagged you. You are very handsome.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I thought about asking her about her past, but figured it was best not to go there. I just wanted to get laid. I didn’t need to know her life story, and frankly I didn’t care. All this talking was making me nervous. I just wanted to get down to it, but there was no sign from her that she was ready or if she ever would be. A few moments later, I got my answer when Pam rubbed her hands on my crotch, unzipped my pants, reached in and stroked my semi-hard cock. Then we kissed and she hungrily stuck her tongue in my mouth. I removed her white lace top and sucked on her nipples. Her skin tasted of baby powder and shampoo. The smell of her intoxicated me.
After several minutes of playing with my cock with her hands and mouth, Pam removed her dress revealing her small thin pale body and asked me to lick her. I was intrigued by her directness.
She was shaved except for a little patch of hair strategically placed above her pussy lips. I stuck my tongue into her wet pussy and she tasted of citrus. So far, so good.
I tried to recall my nurse fantasies, but I couldn’t. All that was on my mind was fucking her and hoping I’d be able to perform. I tried not to worry about it, but that was easier said than done. Once performance anxiety creeps into my mind it is difficult to ignore. It can haunt me and quickly turn me impotent if I am not careful.
Pam abruptly left the couch and walked toward her bedroom beckoning me to follow. My pants were at my ankles by now and I almost stumbled trying to get up from the couch. By the time I reached her bedroom, she was lying on the bed, spread out playing with her pussy.
“Come here baby,” Pam cooed. “Lick me some more while I suck on your cock.”
I removed my clothes and lay down naked on her bed. Pam crawled on top of me and sat on my face. I felt her take my cock into her mouth as I tongued her clit.
“Oh baby, that’s so good,” she said as she took my cock out her mouth for a moment. Several times I felt on the verge of coming. Anticipating this, she grabbed and squeezed my balls holding my come back. Then she urged me to fuck her and moved to the top of the bed, spread out and waiting.
Surprisingly, Pam was as tight as an 18-year-old girl. Not something you expect from a woman in her mid forties. Maybe it was because she had never had any kids so her pussy had never been stretched and torn out of shape. It took some effort to enter her tight pussy, and when I finally did, I came inside of her in about 30 seconds. I wasn’t wearing a rubber either. I didn’t bother to stop and she didn’t ask me to. Oh well. So much for safe sex in the age of AIDS.
We looked at each other for a moment after I came. She briefly had an anxious expression on her face, but didn’t say anything about our unsafe adventure. I assumed her being a nurse that she would be more vigilant about sexual protection, but it never came up. I hate rubbers anyway so I wasn’t going to say anything. And I doubted if she would get pregnant at her age, but of course you never know so I was taking a number dumb chances with my health and future and my journey has only just began.
Pam also didn’t seem disappointed about my quick performance, but I suspect she was just being nice about it. That could have not satisfied her. Oh well.
A short time later, I fucked her a second time – also without a rubber – and came quickly on her belly. In all, I probably fucked her for a total of two minutes. I felt satisfied, drained in fact, but there was a part of me that realized my performance was pathetic. I tried not to dwell on it too much. Hell, I got my rocks off.
However, when we weren’t having sex Pam’s interest waned. She seemed restless and I could sense she wanted me out of there. Even before my come had dried, Pam said she had to work in the morning and sent me home. I figured I’d never hear from her again.
I was only fulfilling a quick sexual need for her. I was just her fuck toy and not even a very good one at that, but she obviously hadn’t been laid for a while. So many times women accuse men of just using them for sex. Now it was my turn to be used by a woman for sex. To be honest, I didn’t mind it at all. In fact, I liked it. She could use me for sex anytime. I just hope next time – if there is one – I can last a little longer.
December 29
I met Pam again this afternoon. The timing couldn’t have been better as it was a Sunday, which is always such a horny day for me. Probably because I haven’t been laid all weekend and all my come and lust is just ready to burst out my cock and balls by Sunday morning.
This time she insisted we use rubbers. Pam said she had treated a number of AIDS patients at the hospital where she worked and knew the risks.
“I don’t know what we were thinking about last time?” she said shaking her head. “I guess we got carried away. You’re clean aren’t you?”
I told her I was, but I was uncomfortable by her questions. Well, I at least I hope I am disease free. My last HIV test was a year ago and it was negative, but this was before I embarked on my sexual journey. Honestly, I could have contracted a disease from Leilani or Pam, but I doubt it. Neither seemed sexually promiscuous. Of course, I could just be fooling myself.
Pam went on to talk about her job and how she was so busy that casual sex was the only personal life she could manage.
“I don’t have time for anything else,” she said. “I am on call all the time. I also work sometimes two weeks straight without a break. I really don’t have time for relationships. Only occasional time for fun.”
She has a voracious appetite for sex. We fucked all afternoon, and at one point, as she rode me while gazing at our reflection in her closet mirror, she exclaimed, “I could fuck you forever like that!” I could sense her hungry need. I was like a drug for her -- a break from her lonely, monotonous and stressful life at the hospital.
During my cock’s down time, Pam revealed her other experiences with couples and other swingers. She is the first woman I have met who admitted to actually playing with swingers and participating in a threesome. Everyone I have known before meeting Pam had either talked about swinging or fantasized about it, but it has always been in the abstract not as a real experience. She actually did it and talked about her adventures with no hesitation or shame. I am impressed and more than a little in awe of her open sexual attitude.
Frankly, swinging is still a fantasy lifestyle for me. It might as well be happening on another planet. I am still a swinger in training, but meeting a woman like Pam gives me a lot of hope that someday soon I will fulfill my fantasies.
January 7
During our next sexual encounter, Pam told me her fantasy. She didn’t know it is also mine. Pam wants to sneak me into the hospital where she works and dress me up in a patient gown. Then she described her desire to climb on top of me and fuck me on a patient gurney. I became aroused as she described her fantasy and soon after I fucked her thinking about gurneys, nurse uniforms, and the antiseptic hospital smell mingled with the raw sweat of sex and come. It was one of the best fucks of my life.
“Nurses get me hot,” I told her after I came deep inside of her.
She smiled and said, “mmm…now that I know what you like….we’ll have to try my fantasy sometime…”
I can only hope so. It would no doubt give me a whole new attitude toward hospitals, which for the most part are dreary and depressing places stinking of sickness and death. Nothing sexy about them.
January 24
Unfortunately, we never did get the chance to play out our hospital fuck fantasy, but we did meet one more time a couple of weeks later. The sex was becoming more intense, but I could sense she was also growing increasingly distant. Maybe she was bored with me or wary of something deeper developing between us.
After the recent fuck session with Pam, I made a casual sex gaffe. I told her I wanted to spend a whole weekend fucking her.
Pam gave me a strange pensive look as if I had just asked her to move in with me or get married or something. Then she looked away and said abruptly that she had to go to work. It was apparent I had made her uncomfortable.
I wanted to extend our sexual meetings into a weekend fling, but she only wanted me for an occasional fuck stud. I had crossed the line with her. Wasn’t this usually what us men complained about -- women who get too emotional and confuse love and sex? But that wasn’t the case with me. I just wanted more casual sex. I guess should have stressed that to Pam as it was the last time I saw her. She didn’t return my calls after that. I was learning the hard way about the emotional landmines even involved with casual sex. Although it wasn’t my intention, another fuck fantasy had slipped out of my grasp.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Chapter 5: 900 NUMBER DATELINES -- A REAL FINANCIAL HANG UP
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, Part 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 5: 900 NUMBER DATELINES -- A REAL FINANCIAL HANG UP
December 14
This past month I nearly went bankrupt as a result of my temporary addiction to 900 number datelines.
Most people associate 900 numbers with phone sex, and for the most part that is what they are used for. Yet datelines for finding sex and romance are the fastest growing segment of the multi-million dollar 900 number industry. It has proved a real costly debacle for me. I squandered thousands of dollars trying to hook up with swingers through erotic phone sex dating lines. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I became obsessed with calling datelines every night and in the end it ended being nothing more than a money draining scam. Kind of like strip clubs -- nothing but an expensive fantasy.
When you call these sex datelines, typically a taped recording of a woman with a sexy voice will say: “You have reached Horny Encounters, the ultimate dateline to find others like yourself looking for erotic fun.” Then the female phonebot runs down the instructions on how to join. Basically this is how it works -- you can create your own voice message or verbal fuck ad or leave messages for others in their voice mailboxes. I imagined at first it would be an effective way to meet women for casual sex, but I didn’t realize datelines are a woman’s world. Women no doubt receive hundreds of messages from horny and lusty males like myself. I had little chance of breaking through the clutter as it proved a futile sex lottery. All the while, I incurred hundreds and later thousands of dollars in phone charges just to leave messages on these phone datelines. It was a broken connection indeed.
The Pleasure Line is another popular dateline that resembles a sexual match game. You dial in your sexual preferences and the system matches you with other callers who have the same sexual interests as you. I must have left a message for every woman on the Pleasure Line for weeks, but I never found a match apparently.
I also did the same on the dateline, Horny Encounters, but again nothing came of it. I grew more frustrated and impoverished with each 900 call I made. When I finally came to my senses weeks later, I was no closer to entering the mysterious world of swinging, but I was nearly $30,000 in credit card debt. Pathetic. Probably it was the desperation in my voice that scared the swingers away. Nothing is more of a turn off for a woman than a horny and desperate man even if the dateline was called Horny Encounters.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity (several weeks), I received a call back for one of my dateline ads from a woman in my neighborhood who called herself Nellie. She said she is 35, but sounded much older. Phone sex is her thing even though she has a gravely unattractive voice. She can talk the phone sex talk, though. In other words, she has no trouble talking nasty.
“My pussy is very hairy and wet,” she said, breathing (actually wheezing) heavily. “I want you to lick me. My fingers are in my pussy. You are inside my pussy. You are fucking me hard. Mmmmm…fuck me, fuck me. Your cock is so good and big. My pussy is filled all the way up…”
As her sexual arousal increased, her breathing became more labored. I thought she might pass out and hang up as she huffed and puffed her way to an orgasm. Now that she was done it was my turn. She became demanding and insisted that I come, too, but there was only one problem. I hate phone sex. I feel ridiculous when I try to do it. Phone sex is not hot enough for me, and it has always left me cold. I enjoy a good sexual conversation, but when it’s on the phone I feel too detached, and I miss the chemistry and connection you can experience when meeting and talking with someone in the flesh. I need the eye contact and physical presence of another person. I want real sex, and phone sex is a poor substitute.
“Come for me baby,” Nellie pleaded. “I want to hear you come. What does your cock look like? I want to fuck and suck it until you come. Play with your cock. Are you playing with your cock? Come for me, baby. Come for me.”
So I would pretend to come just to get her off the phone except for one recent morning when she called me right before I had to go to work. I woke up extremely horny and came all over my hand thinking about fucking her pussy that was probably old and rank, but I didn’t think of that at the time.
I went to work drained and wishing I hadn’t done it as I felt a bad case of “post-spew depression” coming on. I needed all that man spunk to get through another boring and stressful workday at the public relations firm I work at.
Tired of our phone sex sessions, I thought it was time to meet, but every time I suggested it she would ignore me or abruptly change the subject. Nellie finally relented and agreed to meet me at the Station one recent night, but she never showed up.
The next time Nellie called me I confronted her about standing me up. She said she had a family emergency and had to cancel. I told her I wasn’t into phone sex and that I wanted to meet in person, but Nellie was evasive again and said she was too busy and that it was easier to talk on the phone. I finally realized she was never going to meet me in person. So I decided I wasn’t going to answer any more of her calls. I figured she would get the clue and just stop calling me. Well, that didn’t work as she called me about 10 times in the next week typically at 3 or 4 a.m. Then she started calling my work number. I had forgotten that I had given it to her during our first phone call. It proved an embarrassing mistake. One night when she couldn’t reach me at home, she called my work phone and left several desperate messages at 4 a.m. in the morning. Undeterred, Nellie called my boss’ home phone that is listed on our company voice mail.
I found out about it a couple days later when my boss Mason Muir, a sexually frustrated married man in his late thirties, told me about Nellie calling him several times the previous Saturday morning. Fortunately, his wife and children were asleep at the time.
Mason talked with Nellie several times and I assumed they had phone sex (he wouldn’t tell me about that), but she wouldn’t stop calling. Nellie was relentless. She kept calling my boss at home and work. Once Mason said his wife answered the phone, but the person on the other end hung up. He thinks it was Nellie. Now I believe Nellie is a phone sex addict.
I felt foolish and angry at myself. My private life had suddenly merged with my professional life in a disturbing fashion. Mason had encouraged me to bring in new business referral calls, but I doubt that this is what he had in mind.
Luckily, Mason didn’t act bothered by the calls, and was even amused about Nellie, but I believe it did change the nature of our work relationship after that. He looked at me differently even though he admitted that he had engaged in phone sex in the office before. A woman randomly called Mason one time in the middle of the afternoon during work and started talking nasty to him. He must have loved it, because he talked about the incident often. I suspected he would call 900 numbers if he could get away with it without his wife finding out.
Unfortunately, Nellie wouldn’t stop calling my boss and almost got him in trouble with his wife.
“She is really weird and nasty,” Mason said to me one recent morning. “I believe that phone sex the only kind of sex she ever has.”
I knew it had gone too far. I called Nellie and confronted her about calling my boss and she hung up on me. Apparently, it worked. It was the last time either one of us heard from her.
I was relieved and swore off 900 numbers and phone sex. It has been nothing for me, but a real disappointing financial hang up.
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 5: 900 NUMBER DATELINES -- A REAL FINANCIAL HANG UP
December 14
This past month I nearly went bankrupt as a result of my temporary addiction to 900 number datelines.
Most people associate 900 numbers with phone sex, and for the most part that is what they are used for. Yet datelines for finding sex and romance are the fastest growing segment of the multi-million dollar 900 number industry. It has proved a real costly debacle for me. I squandered thousands of dollars trying to hook up with swingers through erotic phone sex dating lines. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I became obsessed with calling datelines every night and in the end it ended being nothing more than a money draining scam. Kind of like strip clubs -- nothing but an expensive fantasy.
When you call these sex datelines, typically a taped recording of a woman with a sexy voice will say: “You have reached Horny Encounters, the ultimate dateline to find others like yourself looking for erotic fun.” Then the female phonebot runs down the instructions on how to join. Basically this is how it works -- you can create your own voice message or verbal fuck ad or leave messages for others in their voice mailboxes. I imagined at first it would be an effective way to meet women for casual sex, but I didn’t realize datelines are a woman’s world. Women no doubt receive hundreds of messages from horny and lusty males like myself. I had little chance of breaking through the clutter as it proved a futile sex lottery. All the while, I incurred hundreds and later thousands of dollars in phone charges just to leave messages on these phone datelines. It was a broken connection indeed.
The Pleasure Line is another popular dateline that resembles a sexual match game. You dial in your sexual preferences and the system matches you with other callers who have the same sexual interests as you. I must have left a message for every woman on the Pleasure Line for weeks, but I never found a match apparently.
I also did the same on the dateline, Horny Encounters, but again nothing came of it. I grew more frustrated and impoverished with each 900 call I made. When I finally came to my senses weeks later, I was no closer to entering the mysterious world of swinging, but I was nearly $30,000 in credit card debt. Pathetic. Probably it was the desperation in my voice that scared the swingers away. Nothing is more of a turn off for a woman than a horny and desperate man even if the dateline was called Horny Encounters.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity (several weeks), I received a call back for one of my dateline ads from a woman in my neighborhood who called herself Nellie. She said she is 35, but sounded much older. Phone sex is her thing even though she has a gravely unattractive voice. She can talk the phone sex talk, though. In other words, she has no trouble talking nasty.
“My pussy is very hairy and wet,” she said, breathing (actually wheezing) heavily. “I want you to lick me. My fingers are in my pussy. You are inside my pussy. You are fucking me hard. Mmmmm…fuck me, fuck me. Your cock is so good and big. My pussy is filled all the way up…”
As her sexual arousal increased, her breathing became more labored. I thought she might pass out and hang up as she huffed and puffed her way to an orgasm. Now that she was done it was my turn. She became demanding and insisted that I come, too, but there was only one problem. I hate phone sex. I feel ridiculous when I try to do it. Phone sex is not hot enough for me, and it has always left me cold. I enjoy a good sexual conversation, but when it’s on the phone I feel too detached, and I miss the chemistry and connection you can experience when meeting and talking with someone in the flesh. I need the eye contact and physical presence of another person. I want real sex, and phone sex is a poor substitute.
“Come for me baby,” Nellie pleaded. “I want to hear you come. What does your cock look like? I want to fuck and suck it until you come. Play with your cock. Are you playing with your cock? Come for me, baby. Come for me.”
So I would pretend to come just to get her off the phone except for one recent morning when she called me right before I had to go to work. I woke up extremely horny and came all over my hand thinking about fucking her pussy that was probably old and rank, but I didn’t think of that at the time.
I went to work drained and wishing I hadn’t done it as I felt a bad case of “post-spew depression” coming on. I needed all that man spunk to get through another boring and stressful workday at the public relations firm I work at.
Tired of our phone sex sessions, I thought it was time to meet, but every time I suggested it she would ignore me or abruptly change the subject. Nellie finally relented and agreed to meet me at the Station one recent night, but she never showed up.
The next time Nellie called me I confronted her about standing me up. She said she had a family emergency and had to cancel. I told her I wasn’t into phone sex and that I wanted to meet in person, but Nellie was evasive again and said she was too busy and that it was easier to talk on the phone. I finally realized she was never going to meet me in person. So I decided I wasn’t going to answer any more of her calls. I figured she would get the clue and just stop calling me. Well, that didn’t work as she called me about 10 times in the next week typically at 3 or 4 a.m. Then she started calling my work number. I had forgotten that I had given it to her during our first phone call. It proved an embarrassing mistake. One night when she couldn’t reach me at home, she called my work phone and left several desperate messages at 4 a.m. in the morning. Undeterred, Nellie called my boss’ home phone that is listed on our company voice mail.
I found out about it a couple days later when my boss Mason Muir, a sexually frustrated married man in his late thirties, told me about Nellie calling him several times the previous Saturday morning. Fortunately, his wife and children were asleep at the time.
Mason talked with Nellie several times and I assumed they had phone sex (he wouldn’t tell me about that), but she wouldn’t stop calling. Nellie was relentless. She kept calling my boss at home and work. Once Mason said his wife answered the phone, but the person on the other end hung up. He thinks it was Nellie. Now I believe Nellie is a phone sex addict.
I felt foolish and angry at myself. My private life had suddenly merged with my professional life in a disturbing fashion. Mason had encouraged me to bring in new business referral calls, but I doubt that this is what he had in mind.
Luckily, Mason didn’t act bothered by the calls, and was even amused about Nellie, but I believe it did change the nature of our work relationship after that. He looked at me differently even though he admitted that he had engaged in phone sex in the office before. A woman randomly called Mason one time in the middle of the afternoon during work and started talking nasty to him. He must have loved it, because he talked about the incident often. I suspected he would call 900 numbers if he could get away with it without his wife finding out.
Unfortunately, Nellie wouldn’t stop calling my boss and almost got him in trouble with his wife.
“She is really weird and nasty,” Mason said to me one recent morning. “I believe that phone sex the only kind of sex she ever has.”
I knew it had gone too far. I called Nellie and confronted her about calling my boss and she hung up on me. Apparently, it worked. It was the last time either one of us heard from her.
I was relieved and swore off 900 numbers and phone sex. It has been nothing for me, but a real disappointing financial hang up.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Chapter 4: The Squirter
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, Part 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 4: THE SQUIRTER
November 14
Female ejaculation.
Sounds like a figment of some erotic fiction writer’s imagination. It’s the kind of phenomenon I’ve read about in the Penthouse Forum or in the Playboy Advisor, but I personally didn’t believe it existed until I saw a woman squirt cum juice in a porn film called “Female Cummers.” Porn films are hardly real life so a come squirting woman still seemed like erotic science fiction to me.
One night I heard a sex expert on the radio say that any woman can ejaculate and that a man just needs to know the right techniques. Of course, she was a little vague on what these so-called techniques were. I had never been with a woman, who could come like that, so obviously I hadn’t stumbled on to any of these “techniques” by accident.
Many, including a lot of my friends, still think female ejaculation is a myth. I did too until I met Vivian. She answered my ad and said she was “looking for a man to eat my pussy. My husband won’t do it.”
She described herself as a short woman in her mid forties, but she sounded much older to me over the phone. Probably it was her crusty tired voice and her hesitancy to talk about sex that gave me that notion. Although Vivian wasn’t shy about setting up the ground rules: “No intercourse. Just oral sex.” What a drag.
Even though I wasn’t aroused by her request, I was still intrigued and desperate enough to meet her. My initial fuck date foray with Leilani a few weeks before only made me more determined to meet naughty women even if Vivian’s offer didn’t sound all that promising. Still, I couldn’t turn down a chance at a blow job.
A couple nights later, I invited Vivian to my apartment. She told her husband she was visiting with some friends from work. She said we had two hours to play, but to be honest, we didn’t really need more than 10 minutes.
As I am discovering much to my chagrin, one of the main drawbacks with blind sex dates is that people lie about their looks and age. This indeed is the ugly truth. When Vivian arrived at my apartment, I felt like sending her home. I am not into granny sex. Vivian was in her late fifties and maybe even in her early sixties, but she even looked older than that. She is a short, dumpy woman, who wears thick glasses and has a homely duck like face. Her nose and mouth appear mashed together and she has an unsightly wart below her lower lip. Her curly black hair was matted to her head in clumps like some kind of ancient perm gone bad. On top of that, she wore the clothes of a much younger woman — a short skirt and black stockings – which made her appear even more absurd.
What the hell was she doing here? I didn’t want to fuck my grandmother. She looks like a female Platypus, an ancient duck like animal that I had learned about in school. That became my secret nickname for her later — Platypus.
Vivian acted very nervous and kept trying to pull her skirt down to hide her bony, wrinkled legs.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said in a hushed stammering voice, smiling awkwardly and averting eye contact as much as possible. “My husband won’t do it. He won’t lick me. ”
She kept pensively looking around my apartment as if she expected her husband to show up anytime.
No wonder. I wouldn’t want to lick you either, I thought. I became even more uncomfortable and was ready to tell her to leave, but a sad and hopeless look came over her face that stopped me. I figured she had pondered such a meeting for years so I couldn’t just turn her away even if it was against my better judgment.
I smiled and leaned over and surprised her with a kiss on the mouth. Bad idea. Her lips and breath tasted like sandpaper, tobacco and alcohol, and I nearly gagged. She tasted old. It was as if I could taste her decay and decrepitude. It was something more than just a case of bad breath.
Not wanting to kiss her again, I boldly reached under her skirt (she didn’t resist) and discovered she wasn’t wearing panties. I discovered that her pussy was shaved — I actually felt stubble — which is usually cause for celebration, but not this time.
We moved over to my bed and she removed her skirt. I had no more doubt about her age. Her pussy was shriveled and wrinkled. She probably hadn’t been pleasured in decades. Not exactly appetizing.
I decided to use my fingers first. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if her pussy was clean enough to lick. I stroked her clit with my index finger and plunged my thumb into her ancient pussy.
Vivian began panting, wheezing and moaning almost immediately. I was hoping I wouldn’t give her a heart attack or something and she would die in my apartment. It would just be my luck.
“Eat my pussy,” she demanded in a hoarse, cigarette ravaged voice. “I washed it real good.”
Well, it was her fantasy after all. So with much trepidation, I plunged my tongue into her wet hole expecting the worst, but surprisingly she tasted like strawberries. She must of spent hours cleaning her pussy with a whole bottle of scented soap. I vigorously licked and sucked her clit for another minute or so and then it began to happen. She moaned deeply and suddenly a stream of whitish clear fluid exploded from her pussy.
“Oh, my God, baby” she exclaimed feverishly. “Oh my God…”
Splish Splash, I thought nearly laughing aloud. I was taking a bath covered in pussy juice on a Friday night…
Vivian was a human geyser squirting everywhere. My mouth and face was covered in her love juice. Her pussy eruption also drenched my bedspread and my sheets. Her love juice tasted bittersweet. She ejaculated several more times as I continued to play with her pussy. I have to admit I was in awe of her. I knew I was witnessing a rare event in nature comparable to the eruption of a long dormant volcano, and I didn’t know what to say to her. It was a come shot I thought I’d never see in real life.
Vivian appeared as surprised as I was by her impressive come gushing display.
“I’ve never done that before,” said Vivian, her face flushed with a stunned look of ecstasy. “I’ve fantasized about going to a man’s apartment so many times, but I was afraid my husband would find out.”
I wanted to consummate our sex date with a nasty fuck, but she told me she wasn’t ready for that yet. She also refused to suck my cock. All I could do for now was eat her pussy, which left me frustrated again.
“Maybe next time,” she said, gently pushing my head back toward her pussy.
Vivian sprayed my bed and myself a couple more times before she left a little while later. I never saw her again after that night.
It was a lick, splash, thank you, ma’am encounter. I had no desire for a wet encore. Once was more than enough — even for her unique display.
Yet there was no doubt that Vivian went back to her dead marriage satisfied for the first time in years — maybe ever. I took some gratification in that. She called me several more times, sounding more desperate with each message, but I didn’t return her calls. I have done enough sexual charity work for now. Vivian is a sexually deprived woman waiting for the right time to erupt again. She is a curiosity, but I am not attracted to her at all. I am sexually dissatisfied as usual. I crave a real fiery memorable fuck with a hot lady, who doesn’t look like someone’s ancient ugly grandmother.
What the fuck? I am asking for too much?
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 4: THE SQUIRTER
November 14
Female ejaculation.
Sounds like a figment of some erotic fiction writer’s imagination. It’s the kind of phenomenon I’ve read about in the Penthouse Forum or in the Playboy Advisor, but I personally didn’t believe it existed until I saw a woman squirt cum juice in a porn film called “Female Cummers.” Porn films are hardly real life so a come squirting woman still seemed like erotic science fiction to me.
One night I heard a sex expert on the radio say that any woman can ejaculate and that a man just needs to know the right techniques. Of course, she was a little vague on what these so-called techniques were. I had never been with a woman, who could come like that, so obviously I hadn’t stumbled on to any of these “techniques” by accident.
Many, including a lot of my friends, still think female ejaculation is a myth. I did too until I met Vivian. She answered my ad and said she was “looking for a man to eat my pussy. My husband won’t do it.”
She described herself as a short woman in her mid forties, but she sounded much older to me over the phone. Probably it was her crusty tired voice and her hesitancy to talk about sex that gave me that notion. Although Vivian wasn’t shy about setting up the ground rules: “No intercourse. Just oral sex.” What a drag.
Even though I wasn’t aroused by her request, I was still intrigued and desperate enough to meet her. My initial fuck date foray with Leilani a few weeks before only made me more determined to meet naughty women even if Vivian’s offer didn’t sound all that promising. Still, I couldn’t turn down a chance at a blow job.
A couple nights later, I invited Vivian to my apartment. She told her husband she was visiting with some friends from work. She said we had two hours to play, but to be honest, we didn’t really need more than 10 minutes.
As I am discovering much to my chagrin, one of the main drawbacks with blind sex dates is that people lie about their looks and age. This indeed is the ugly truth. When Vivian arrived at my apartment, I felt like sending her home. I am not into granny sex. Vivian was in her late fifties and maybe even in her early sixties, but she even looked older than that. She is a short, dumpy woman, who wears thick glasses and has a homely duck like face. Her nose and mouth appear mashed together and she has an unsightly wart below her lower lip. Her curly black hair was matted to her head in clumps like some kind of ancient perm gone bad. On top of that, she wore the clothes of a much younger woman — a short skirt and black stockings – which made her appear even more absurd.
What the hell was she doing here? I didn’t want to fuck my grandmother. She looks like a female Platypus, an ancient duck like animal that I had learned about in school. That became my secret nickname for her later — Platypus.
Vivian acted very nervous and kept trying to pull her skirt down to hide her bony, wrinkled legs.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said in a hushed stammering voice, smiling awkwardly and averting eye contact as much as possible. “My husband won’t do it. He won’t lick me. ”
She kept pensively looking around my apartment as if she expected her husband to show up anytime.
No wonder. I wouldn’t want to lick you either, I thought. I became even more uncomfortable and was ready to tell her to leave, but a sad and hopeless look came over her face that stopped me. I figured she had pondered such a meeting for years so I couldn’t just turn her away even if it was against my better judgment.
I smiled and leaned over and surprised her with a kiss on the mouth. Bad idea. Her lips and breath tasted like sandpaper, tobacco and alcohol, and I nearly gagged. She tasted old. It was as if I could taste her decay and decrepitude. It was something more than just a case of bad breath.
Not wanting to kiss her again, I boldly reached under her skirt (she didn’t resist) and discovered she wasn’t wearing panties. I discovered that her pussy was shaved — I actually felt stubble — which is usually cause for celebration, but not this time.
We moved over to my bed and she removed her skirt. I had no more doubt about her age. Her pussy was shriveled and wrinkled. She probably hadn’t been pleasured in decades. Not exactly appetizing.
I decided to use my fingers first. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if her pussy was clean enough to lick. I stroked her clit with my index finger and plunged my thumb into her ancient pussy.
Vivian began panting, wheezing and moaning almost immediately. I was hoping I wouldn’t give her a heart attack or something and she would die in my apartment. It would just be my luck.
“Eat my pussy,” she demanded in a hoarse, cigarette ravaged voice. “I washed it real good.”
Well, it was her fantasy after all. So with much trepidation, I plunged my tongue into her wet hole expecting the worst, but surprisingly she tasted like strawberries. She must of spent hours cleaning her pussy with a whole bottle of scented soap. I vigorously licked and sucked her clit for another minute or so and then it began to happen. She moaned deeply and suddenly a stream of whitish clear fluid exploded from her pussy.
“Oh, my God, baby” she exclaimed feverishly. “Oh my God…”
Splish Splash, I thought nearly laughing aloud. I was taking a bath covered in pussy juice on a Friday night…
Vivian was a human geyser squirting everywhere. My mouth and face was covered in her love juice. Her pussy eruption also drenched my bedspread and my sheets. Her love juice tasted bittersweet. She ejaculated several more times as I continued to play with her pussy. I have to admit I was in awe of her. I knew I was witnessing a rare event in nature comparable to the eruption of a long dormant volcano, and I didn’t know what to say to her. It was a come shot I thought I’d never see in real life.
Vivian appeared as surprised as I was by her impressive come gushing display.
“I’ve never done that before,” said Vivian, her face flushed with a stunned look of ecstasy. “I’ve fantasized about going to a man’s apartment so many times, but I was afraid my husband would find out.”
I wanted to consummate our sex date with a nasty fuck, but she told me she wasn’t ready for that yet. She also refused to suck my cock. All I could do for now was eat her pussy, which left me frustrated again.
“Maybe next time,” she said, gently pushing my head back toward her pussy.
Vivian sprayed my bed and myself a couple more times before she left a little while later. I never saw her again after that night.
It was a lick, splash, thank you, ma’am encounter. I had no desire for a wet encore. Once was more than enough — even for her unique display.
Yet there was no doubt that Vivian went back to her dead marriage satisfied for the first time in years — maybe ever. I took some gratification in that. She called me several more times, sounding more desperate with each message, but I didn’t return her calls. I have done enough sexual charity work for now. Vivian is a sexually deprived woman waiting for the right time to erupt again. She is a curiosity, but I am not attracted to her at all. I am sexually dissatisfied as usual. I crave a real fiery memorable fuck with a hot lady, who doesn’t look like someone’s ancient ugly grandmother.
What the fuck? I am asking for too much?
Saturday, June 19, 2010
CHAPTER 3: MY SEX DATE WITH A FORMER HAWAIIAN BEAUTY QUEEN
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, Part 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 3: MY SEX DATE WITH A FORMER HAWAIIAN BEAUTY QUEEN
October 21
A few days later, a woman who called herself Leilani, left a response to my ad looking to meet.
“I saw your ad. I wanted to know if you wanted to have some fun,” her message went. “I am thirty and curvy. Call me at 213 446-7892.”
I listened to her message a number of times and debated whether I would respond. However, my horniness soon enough overcame my doubts. It's my typical dilemma -- common sense and good judgment vs. lust. Seems like lust always wins out in the end.
October 23
I talked to Leilani on the phone today. She sounded extremely nervous and evasive. I figured this must be her first time doing something like this, but I didn’t ask her. She already seemed anxious enough about it. I didn't want to put her off.
She told me nervously that she was just looking for some fun, but didn’t elaborate on her definition of fun. I tried to make her feel at ease by reassuring her that I was looking for the same. I asked her what turned her on and she just said pleasure. Leilani wouldn’t talk about her desires or needs at all, and avoided saying anything directly about sex. It was not exactly a hot and sexy conversation.
“What do you look like?” I asked dreading her response.
She admitted she is a big woman weighing about 190 pounds. “Is that OK with you?” she added hesitantly.
My heart sank, but what was I going to say? I couldn’t turn her down for that. I’ve always been secretly attracted to fat women. I don’t know why. Maybe because it is such a taboo in a society obsessed with weight and achieving the perfect body. Or maybe I just like the thought of easy pussy from desperate women.
“Sure. I like women of all sizes,” I told her and I wasn’t lying. Really.
Frankly, I have some sobering thoughts about her resembling an enormous Sumo female wrestler or some circus freak and I am considering calling it off.
I am beyond horny, though. I have developed permanent blisters on my palms from taking care of myself too much, and I am tired of it. I want to feel the touch of a woman again. My standards will have to be discarded for a night. I can’t wait any longer to get laid. I am drowning in my own come. Nothing relieves my hungry lusts. I am so bored of jacking off to porno films. It just makes things worse when you’re horny and lonely. That’s hyperreality sex anyway. I mean come on. Where do you find uninhibited women like that in real life who will do everything you can imagine sexually? Isn’t this what my sexual quest was all about: to find those kind of wild women? Maybe Leilani was one. Who knows? So I am determined to end my dry run.
October 24
The next night I drove to meet Leilani at an ugly brown stucco house located off Santa Monica Boulevard on the outskirts of Beverly Hills.
She told me it is the residence of an elderly woman she is taking care of. Leilani works as a live-in nurse, and her patient was visiting relatives so we had the house to ourselves.
As I walked up the driveway toward the house, a stocky Samoan woman opened the front door and nervously asked me if I was Jake. She didn’t lie on the phone. Leilani is a big woman, and honestly she could have been a Sumo wrestler in training. She is short about five feet tall and I figure weighs more than 200 pounds. She had put her black hair in a bun, which only emphasized her large face and features.
She led me inside the house and into a dimly lit ornately furnished living room. Leilani flashed her smile at me for a moment -- quite literally -- both of her front teeth had garish gold caps. After seeing that, I had a strong urge to leave. Up close, I also realized she is older than she said on the phone. Wrinkles around her eyes made her appear to be in her late forties maybe even early fifties.
Leilani wore a turquoise dress that was too small for her and her black stockings also seemed out of place on such a huge woman. She kept fidgeting with her dress and appeared uncomfortable. She was no doubt a fuck date virgin. Yet she could have been hornier than I was. She had dressed up for the occasion and obviously wanted something to happen on this night even though I could tell this was a situation unfamiliar to her.
I had fucked worse (at least I think I have), but was this how I wanted to start my journey? Fucking an obese woman? Although I was horny, I still wondered if I could do anything sexually. It was one thing to fantasize about fucking a stranger, but it was another thing to actually go through with it especially with a woman this big.
I felt awkward, too, but struggled not to show it. What had I got myself into? Despite my misgivings, she actually did attract me. Most of my friends would die laughing if they knew I even considered fucking this behemoth, but my cock had other ideas. I felt a glimmer of desire as I looked her over. I had fantasized about fucking Hawaiian women, but those were usually the ones you see in Playboy pictorials or tourist photos. They were all much prettier not to mention thinner than Leilani.
Well, as my dad used to advise me when I was growing up: “You got to start somewhere.” However, I don’t think he had someone as heavy as Leilani in mind when he said it.
We stood in the dark living room and struggled to make small talk. I didn’t sense any real hot chemistry between us. I thought I better figure out a quick excuse to leave in case this went south. I didn’t want to waste too much time if I wasn’t going to get laid. So I asked her what she wanted to do. She smiled awkwardly at me and said anxiously once again that she just wanted to have fun.
“OK,” I said. “Where do you want to go?"
She glanced at me pensively and then silently led me to a sparsely furnished room at the back of the house that had a bed. As Leilani turned her back to me and faced a mirror next the bed, I watched her undo her hair clip and let her long black hair flow down. I took it as a signal to make my move. Despite my nervousness (my hands were shaking for fuck’s sake), I slid up behind her and kissed her neck. She smelled good which got me hot.
Leilani turned around to face me and we kissed briefly. Her lips were dry and rough. Leilani then grabbed the back of my head and kissed me aggressively. She seemed starved for affection, any kind of affection. I gently pushed her on to the bed and rubbed my body against hers. She is enormous, and I didn’t know where to start, but I was aroused. My cock throbbed in my jeans.
Leilani sat up on the bed and started removing her dress, stockings and panties revealing her huge naked body. Her large breasts sagged and drooped against her flabby enormous stomach, and her huge nipples hung down like small dark sagging heads. I tried not to look too closely at her flabby nakedness. I asked her to lie back on the bed and went down on her. I hoped my oral skills could be the ultimate icebreaker and turn around this sorry sexual adventure. She has big brown pussy lips and matted black pussy hair. Her pussy looked strange and misshapen, and I had difficulty locating her clit. So I took the plunge and braced myself for a bitter pussy licking experience, but I was pleasantly surprised as she didn’t taste harsh at all.
In response to my attentions, she began making deep grunting sounds followed by wheezing moans and sighs.
“It has been a long time…ooooo…a long timeeeee,” Leilani exclaimed. “Make me come…make me come…make me come. “ She kept repeating that phrase like a sexual mantra as I licked her faster.
Listening to her pleasure got me aroused, too. However, I realized too late that I was enjoying myself a bit too much. I got so excited I came hard in my pants while my tongue probed her pussy. I had already shot my wad much to my shock and disappointment. I was quickly overcome by what I can only describe as “post-come depression”. I didn’t want to tongue out her pussy anymore. I felt tired and empty, and suddenly I just wanted to leave even though I had only been there for 10 or 15 minutes.
I tried pretending that I was still aroused and interested in eating her pussy, but it was no use. I had lost my desire. I was hoping she hadn’t noticed as I continued tonguing her pussy until she told me to stop. I didn’t ask if she had come. I really didn’t care at that point. My sexual fire was gone and I was frustrated with myself. This what happens when you don’t get laid enough. Just eating pussy is enough for me to get off. I have no self-control right now. I need more sex to build up some kind of sexual stamina.
Shortly after my premature ejaculation (in my pants!) episode, we were both lying naked on the bed and she started sucking on my cock. Maybe she noticed I had come, but she didn’t let on. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t get hard for her.
Leilani looked up at me for a moment and asked me if I wanted to fuck her doggy style. Now, she had my flaccid cock in her mouth and yet she still thought I could do it. I had to admire her for that. She turned around and stuck her ass out for rear entry. There it was in all its enormous glory: her huge flabby ass, which was anything but inviting. There was so much ass I couldn’t see her pussy. Didn’t matter, though. I grabbed a hold of my limp cock aggressively and tried to fuck her in vain. It was ridiculous. My cock was useless. It was a flat tire, a deflated balloon. It was a dead cock hanging.
She looked back at me, grinning with her gold teeth, and mumbled softly, “We aren’t going to fuck are we?”
She didn’t seem angry, but I detected some frustration in her voice. Leilani had probably waited a long time to connect with someone, anyone. I was not exactly fulfilling her fantasy with my limp cock. I tried not to think about it and rested back on the bed as I was at a loss for words.
Perhaps sensing this, Leilani lay down next to me on the bed and proceeded to describe her former life in Hawaii. It was too early to go home so I had no choice but to listen. The trick was to pretend that I was interested. She hardly noticed. I think she liked listening to the sound of her own voice.
When she was 20, she had been a beauty queen in Hawaii even showing me the pictures as proof. In one of the photos, a much younger and thinner version of Leilani was featured posing in a bathing suit during a beauty competition. She was very attractive. What happened? She had really let herself go. I looked at her closely and tried to find traces of the beauty queen in her plump face and body, but little of her former self remained. Her eyes are still pretty as in the pictures, but there’s sadness in them now. Things obviously hadn’t turned out as she expected.
As she told it, everything went downhill after her beauty pageant days. She got married and had two kids and was later divorced. Out of depression and loneliness, she turned to food for solace and soon her weight got out of control.
It had been more than three years since she had been with a man sexually. Then she admitted sheepishly that she is 49, which I already guessed was true.
She has a lot strikes against her: her size, her age, but still I liked her. At least, she didn’t bust my balls about not being able to fuck her. Still, I wasn’t leaving until I penetrated her pussy with my cock. It was a matter of pride for me.
While she talked about her past, my cock gradually came back to life. I slid my hands down her large belly and groped for her pussy. I played with her clit and finger fucked her, and then I pulled my fingers out of her pussy and stuck them in her mouth. Leilani hungrily sucked on my fingers and smiled at me.
I was feeling anxious and wanted to fuck her before I lost my erection so I crawled on top of her large body and tried unsuccessfully to enter her. I was hard enough, but she was just too tight. I couldn’t seem to part her lips. She reached down and grabbed my cock and after some effort I slid inside of her. Unfortunately, I quickly shot my load following several thrusts into her tight pussy. I lasted a whopping twenty seconds. Just call me lightning. Typically, I had more staying power after my first orgasm, but that was before my recent dry spell.
As I rolled off of her, I apologized for my lack of stamina. Much to my surprise, Leilani blamed my quick trigger on her pussy being so tight.
“I am sorry. I haven’t had sex for a long time. I am too tight,” she said grinning and acting embarrassed.
Incredible, I thought. She is apologizing for being too tight. A woman can never be too tight.
We talked for a while longer and then my post-come depression returned. I was restless and wanted to leave as she rambled on about her family in Long Beach (where there is a large Samoan community), her failed marriage with her ex-husband and how much she missed sex. I smiled and pretended to care, but I knew I didn’t want to spend the night with her. I was already bored and I didn’t think I could fuck her again.
Finally, when I couldn’t listen to her bullshit anymore, I blurted out that I had to get up early in the morning for work. I lied. I had taken the day off from work anticipating spending the whole night with her. Now that was not an option. I felt suffocated in that small bedroom listening to her talk about her lonely life.
She briefly gave me a sad look and then quickly covered it up with a smile, but I knew she wanted to keep talking and fucking all night. Her dry spell had been a lot longer than mine and she was no doubt hoping to finally avoid another lonely night.
I reached over and touched her arm and told her I’d call her again. She nodded and said it was all right, but I knew it wasn’t. I told her a second time that I would call her, but got the feeling she didn’t believe me. Honestly, I doubted if I would. Now, that I got my rocks off I wondered what was I thinking? She wasn’t the girl of my fantasies. How hard up could I be to fuck her? I felt pathetic. I was in the throes of my post-come let down and I had to get out of there fast.
Leilani walked me to the door and kissed me goodnight. She gave me one final look of disappointment and shut the door. I left feeling mixed up and confused. I was glad I had ended my pussy drought after so long, but I felt guilty about her sadness. I had been given more of a glimpse into her lonely existence than I had wanted to.
It was a strange sort of intimacy between us – short but also tinged with a depressing desperation. Our sexual encounter should have made me feel less alone, but instead it had the opposite effect. I wanted nothing to do with her desperation. I had enough of my own to deal with. She also bored me to death and was hardly hot in bed. I couldn’t bear to call her again.
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER 3: MY SEX DATE WITH A FORMER HAWAIIAN BEAUTY QUEEN
October 21
A few days later, a woman who called herself Leilani, left a response to my ad looking to meet.
“I saw your ad. I wanted to know if you wanted to have some fun,” her message went. “I am thirty and curvy. Call me at 213 446-7892.”
I listened to her message a number of times and debated whether I would respond. However, my horniness soon enough overcame my doubts. It's my typical dilemma -- common sense and good judgment vs. lust. Seems like lust always wins out in the end.
October 23
I talked to Leilani on the phone today. She sounded extremely nervous and evasive. I figured this must be her first time doing something like this, but I didn’t ask her. She already seemed anxious enough about it. I didn't want to put her off.
She told me nervously that she was just looking for some fun, but didn’t elaborate on her definition of fun. I tried to make her feel at ease by reassuring her that I was looking for the same. I asked her what turned her on and she just said pleasure. Leilani wouldn’t talk about her desires or needs at all, and avoided saying anything directly about sex. It was not exactly a hot and sexy conversation.
“What do you look like?” I asked dreading her response.
She admitted she is a big woman weighing about 190 pounds. “Is that OK with you?” she added hesitantly.
My heart sank, but what was I going to say? I couldn’t turn her down for that. I’ve always been secretly attracted to fat women. I don’t know why. Maybe because it is such a taboo in a society obsessed with weight and achieving the perfect body. Or maybe I just like the thought of easy pussy from desperate women.
“Sure. I like women of all sizes,” I told her and I wasn’t lying. Really.
Frankly, I have some sobering thoughts about her resembling an enormous Sumo female wrestler or some circus freak and I am considering calling it off.
I am beyond horny, though. I have developed permanent blisters on my palms from taking care of myself too much, and I am tired of it. I want to feel the touch of a woman again. My standards will have to be discarded for a night. I can’t wait any longer to get laid. I am drowning in my own come. Nothing relieves my hungry lusts. I am so bored of jacking off to porno films. It just makes things worse when you’re horny and lonely. That’s hyperreality sex anyway. I mean come on. Where do you find uninhibited women like that in real life who will do everything you can imagine sexually? Isn’t this what my sexual quest was all about: to find those kind of wild women? Maybe Leilani was one. Who knows? So I am determined to end my dry run.
October 24
The next night I drove to meet Leilani at an ugly brown stucco house located off Santa Monica Boulevard on the outskirts of Beverly Hills.
She told me it is the residence of an elderly woman she is taking care of. Leilani works as a live-in nurse, and her patient was visiting relatives so we had the house to ourselves.
As I walked up the driveway toward the house, a stocky Samoan woman opened the front door and nervously asked me if I was Jake. She didn’t lie on the phone. Leilani is a big woman, and honestly she could have been a Sumo wrestler in training. She is short about five feet tall and I figure weighs more than 200 pounds. She had put her black hair in a bun, which only emphasized her large face and features.
She led me inside the house and into a dimly lit ornately furnished living room. Leilani flashed her smile at me for a moment -- quite literally -- both of her front teeth had garish gold caps. After seeing that, I had a strong urge to leave. Up close, I also realized she is older than she said on the phone. Wrinkles around her eyes made her appear to be in her late forties maybe even early fifties.
Leilani wore a turquoise dress that was too small for her and her black stockings also seemed out of place on such a huge woman. She kept fidgeting with her dress and appeared uncomfortable. She was no doubt a fuck date virgin. Yet she could have been hornier than I was. She had dressed up for the occasion and obviously wanted something to happen on this night even though I could tell this was a situation unfamiliar to her.
I had fucked worse (at least I think I have), but was this how I wanted to start my journey? Fucking an obese woman? Although I was horny, I still wondered if I could do anything sexually. It was one thing to fantasize about fucking a stranger, but it was another thing to actually go through with it especially with a woman this big.
I felt awkward, too, but struggled not to show it. What had I got myself into? Despite my misgivings, she actually did attract me. Most of my friends would die laughing if they knew I even considered fucking this behemoth, but my cock had other ideas. I felt a glimmer of desire as I looked her over. I had fantasized about fucking Hawaiian women, but those were usually the ones you see in Playboy pictorials or tourist photos. They were all much prettier not to mention thinner than Leilani.
Well, as my dad used to advise me when I was growing up: “You got to start somewhere.” However, I don’t think he had someone as heavy as Leilani in mind when he said it.
We stood in the dark living room and struggled to make small talk. I didn’t sense any real hot chemistry between us. I thought I better figure out a quick excuse to leave in case this went south. I didn’t want to waste too much time if I wasn’t going to get laid. So I asked her what she wanted to do. She smiled awkwardly at me and said anxiously once again that she just wanted to have fun.
“OK,” I said. “Where do you want to go?"
She glanced at me pensively and then silently led me to a sparsely furnished room at the back of the house that had a bed. As Leilani turned her back to me and faced a mirror next the bed, I watched her undo her hair clip and let her long black hair flow down. I took it as a signal to make my move. Despite my nervousness (my hands were shaking for fuck’s sake), I slid up behind her and kissed her neck. She smelled good which got me hot.
Leilani turned around to face me and we kissed briefly. Her lips were dry and rough. Leilani then grabbed the back of my head and kissed me aggressively. She seemed starved for affection, any kind of affection. I gently pushed her on to the bed and rubbed my body against hers. She is enormous, and I didn’t know where to start, but I was aroused. My cock throbbed in my jeans.
Leilani sat up on the bed and started removing her dress, stockings and panties revealing her huge naked body. Her large breasts sagged and drooped against her flabby enormous stomach, and her huge nipples hung down like small dark sagging heads. I tried not to look too closely at her flabby nakedness. I asked her to lie back on the bed and went down on her. I hoped my oral skills could be the ultimate icebreaker and turn around this sorry sexual adventure. She has big brown pussy lips and matted black pussy hair. Her pussy looked strange and misshapen, and I had difficulty locating her clit. So I took the plunge and braced myself for a bitter pussy licking experience, but I was pleasantly surprised as she didn’t taste harsh at all.
In response to my attentions, she began making deep grunting sounds followed by wheezing moans and sighs.
“It has been a long time…ooooo…a long timeeeee,” Leilani exclaimed. “Make me come…make me come…make me come. “ She kept repeating that phrase like a sexual mantra as I licked her faster.
Listening to her pleasure got me aroused, too. However, I realized too late that I was enjoying myself a bit too much. I got so excited I came hard in my pants while my tongue probed her pussy. I had already shot my wad much to my shock and disappointment. I was quickly overcome by what I can only describe as “post-come depression”. I didn’t want to tongue out her pussy anymore. I felt tired and empty, and suddenly I just wanted to leave even though I had only been there for 10 or 15 minutes.
I tried pretending that I was still aroused and interested in eating her pussy, but it was no use. I had lost my desire. I was hoping she hadn’t noticed as I continued tonguing her pussy until she told me to stop. I didn’t ask if she had come. I really didn’t care at that point. My sexual fire was gone and I was frustrated with myself. This what happens when you don’t get laid enough. Just eating pussy is enough for me to get off. I have no self-control right now. I need more sex to build up some kind of sexual stamina.
Shortly after my premature ejaculation (in my pants!) episode, we were both lying naked on the bed and she started sucking on my cock. Maybe she noticed I had come, but she didn’t let on. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t get hard for her.
Leilani looked up at me for a moment and asked me if I wanted to fuck her doggy style. Now, she had my flaccid cock in her mouth and yet she still thought I could do it. I had to admire her for that. She turned around and stuck her ass out for rear entry. There it was in all its enormous glory: her huge flabby ass, which was anything but inviting. There was so much ass I couldn’t see her pussy. Didn’t matter, though. I grabbed a hold of my limp cock aggressively and tried to fuck her in vain. It was ridiculous. My cock was useless. It was a flat tire, a deflated balloon. It was a dead cock hanging.
She looked back at me, grinning with her gold teeth, and mumbled softly, “We aren’t going to fuck are we?”
She didn’t seem angry, but I detected some frustration in her voice. Leilani had probably waited a long time to connect with someone, anyone. I was not exactly fulfilling her fantasy with my limp cock. I tried not to think about it and rested back on the bed as I was at a loss for words.
Perhaps sensing this, Leilani lay down next to me on the bed and proceeded to describe her former life in Hawaii. It was too early to go home so I had no choice but to listen. The trick was to pretend that I was interested. She hardly noticed. I think she liked listening to the sound of her own voice.
When she was 20, she had been a beauty queen in Hawaii even showing me the pictures as proof. In one of the photos, a much younger and thinner version of Leilani was featured posing in a bathing suit during a beauty competition. She was very attractive. What happened? She had really let herself go. I looked at her closely and tried to find traces of the beauty queen in her plump face and body, but little of her former self remained. Her eyes are still pretty as in the pictures, but there’s sadness in them now. Things obviously hadn’t turned out as she expected.
As she told it, everything went downhill after her beauty pageant days. She got married and had two kids and was later divorced. Out of depression and loneliness, she turned to food for solace and soon her weight got out of control.
It had been more than three years since she had been with a man sexually. Then she admitted sheepishly that she is 49, which I already guessed was true.
She has a lot strikes against her: her size, her age, but still I liked her. At least, she didn’t bust my balls about not being able to fuck her. Still, I wasn’t leaving until I penetrated her pussy with my cock. It was a matter of pride for me.
While she talked about her past, my cock gradually came back to life. I slid my hands down her large belly and groped for her pussy. I played with her clit and finger fucked her, and then I pulled my fingers out of her pussy and stuck them in her mouth. Leilani hungrily sucked on my fingers and smiled at me.
I was feeling anxious and wanted to fuck her before I lost my erection so I crawled on top of her large body and tried unsuccessfully to enter her. I was hard enough, but she was just too tight. I couldn’t seem to part her lips. She reached down and grabbed my cock and after some effort I slid inside of her. Unfortunately, I quickly shot my load following several thrusts into her tight pussy. I lasted a whopping twenty seconds. Just call me lightning. Typically, I had more staying power after my first orgasm, but that was before my recent dry spell.
As I rolled off of her, I apologized for my lack of stamina. Much to my surprise, Leilani blamed my quick trigger on her pussy being so tight.
“I am sorry. I haven’t had sex for a long time. I am too tight,” she said grinning and acting embarrassed.
Incredible, I thought. She is apologizing for being too tight. A woman can never be too tight.
We talked for a while longer and then my post-come depression returned. I was restless and wanted to leave as she rambled on about her family in Long Beach (where there is a large Samoan community), her failed marriage with her ex-husband and how much she missed sex. I smiled and pretended to care, but I knew I didn’t want to spend the night with her. I was already bored and I didn’t think I could fuck her again.
Finally, when I couldn’t listen to her bullshit anymore, I blurted out that I had to get up early in the morning for work. I lied. I had taken the day off from work anticipating spending the whole night with her. Now that was not an option. I felt suffocated in that small bedroom listening to her talk about her lonely life.
She briefly gave me a sad look and then quickly covered it up with a smile, but I knew she wanted to keep talking and fucking all night. Her dry spell had been a lot longer than mine and she was no doubt hoping to finally avoid another lonely night.
I reached over and touched her arm and told her I’d call her again. She nodded and said it was all right, but I knew it wasn’t. I told her a second time that I would call her, but got the feeling she didn’t believe me. Honestly, I doubted if I would. Now, that I got my rocks off I wondered what was I thinking? She wasn’t the girl of my fantasies. How hard up could I be to fuck her? I felt pathetic. I was in the throes of my post-come let down and I had to get out of there fast.
Leilani walked me to the door and kissed me goodnight. She gave me one final look of disappointment and shut the door. I left feeling mixed up and confused. I was glad I had ended my pussy drought after so long, but I felt guilty about her sadness. I had been given more of a glimpse into her lonely existence than I had wanted to.
It was a strange sort of intimacy between us – short but also tinged with a depressing desperation. Our sexual encounter should have made me feel less alone, but instead it had the opposite effect. I wanted nothing to do with her desperation. I had enough of my own to deal with. She also bored me to death and was hardly hot in bed. I couldn’t bear to call her again.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
CHAPTER TWO -- THE JOURNEY BEGINS: LUST IN THE WANT ADS
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, Part 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
Chapter 2: THE JOURNEY BEGINS: LUST IN THE WANT ADS
October 2
I am so horny tonight. It feels like come is pushing against the back of my eyeballs and threatening to drip out of my ears.
I haven’t been laid in more than a year since I dumped my former girlfriend Lani. At the time, it seemed like a good idea as she was driving me crazy with her whiny and clingy ways. I don’t how I stayed with her for six months. That is a long time for me, and honestly she really wasn’t all that much to look at -- a short and fat dumpy looking woman in her late twenties with a large nose marred by an ugly wart. If that wasn’t bad enough, she has two bratty kids that did their best to annoy me.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. Lani loved to fuck three or four times a night especially after snorting cocaine and I have to admit the sex was incredible. When she was high on coke, she became oblivious to everything but her cravings and desires. I was a just a hard cock along for the ride. I realized after a while that she used sex to mask deep emotional problems rooted in a neglected childhood and later abusive relationships with former boyfriends.
The more I pushed her away, the greater her sexual desire. Her sexual appetite bordered on addiction. Yet our strong physical connection wasn’t enough for her after a while. After five months of dating, she wanted to get married. I told her I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship and she flipped out. She clung to our relationship with a needy desperation, and there’s nothing sexy about neediness. I don’t care what anyone says. I felt suffocated and I finally broke it off with her. Frankly, I miss the sex, but I don’t miss her clingy desperation and incessant whining.
Following our breakup, I hit the bars near my apartment in Long Beach’s Belmont Shore looking for sex. All I found was a hangover and a strong dose of sexual frustration. It has been the same most of my adult life. I have always been far too timid in the pursuit of women. I freeze up, and I still haven’t been able to completely shake off my shyness. In a bar setting, I am the guy a woman notices from across the room, but who almost never makes a move. I flirt with my eyes, but fail with weak small talk. This is my weakness. I have no gift of gab, and I need to get laid badly. This urge is starting to become an obsession with me. Almost every morning I wake up with a throbbing hard on and I have to jack off to get some kind of relief. It is getting worse. I haven’t been with a woman in so long I am starting to forget what it feels like. The porno movies don’t help. They give me a hungry sex fever that even masturbation can’t seem to quell. I tried to stop watching them, but I can’t resist. I guess jacking off to pornos is better than no sex life at all. Pathetic. That’s how I feel.
There has to be another way to meet women who just want to fuck. I usually meet women through work or through friends, but they all seem to want to entangle me in another frustrating relationship. I am so tired of all that bullshit. All I want is the sex of my dreams without the headache and stress. All I crave is no-strings fucking. Is that too much to ask for?
Nothing excites me more than giving pleasure to a woman, and just exploring her desires and fantasies. However, I don’t want the same woman forever. That road unfortunately leads to boredom and unhappiness -- at least in my case. There has to be another more exciting sex life out there for me.
So earlier this afternoon, I bought an L.A. Express newspaper. It is one of those sex rags that are sold in old, rusty newspaper racks usually located in front of post offices or liquor stores. Typically, the cover of the news rack is so dirty that you can barely see what is in there except for a faded image of a scantily clad woman on the cover. I wanted to check out the nasty personal ads that were advertised on the front page of the rags. There are classifieds for everything from cars and apartments to computers and romance. Then there are the classifieds for sex, swinging in particular. I call them fuck ads. Sometimes fuck ads can be found in mainstream newspapers with the advertiser’s real intentions disguised in clever language. You just need to know how to read between the lines.
Mostly, though, sex ads are featured in swinger rags, alternative newspapers such as the Express or even the LA Weekly and now the Internet. The Express is crammed full of erotic ads soliciting 900 numbers and datelines. The headlines clamored for my sexual satisfaction with salacious invitations such as…
NAUGHTY NURSE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOUR ILLS...ASIAN BEAUTY SEEKS TO
TAKE YOU ON AN EASTERN ADVENTURE…TAKE A SIP OF HENNESEY AND FEEL HOW I GO DOWN…FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELT, DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD…TAWNY, NEW IN TOWN AND SHAVED…PLAYTIME IS OVER BOYS…LOOKING FOR SOME REAL MEN, CALL SUMMER…HOT LATINA IS YOUNG, NAÏVE AND EAGER TO PLEASE…DO YOU LIKE THE TASTE OF HOT CHOCOLATE? CALL TANISHA…
I realized finding these naughty women was one thing, but seducing them was something else. I needed to come up with a way to express my desires up front without offending the women I wanted to meet for sex.
After several glasses of wine, my sexual frustration got the best of me and I called almost every number in the magazine. Unfortunately, all I found were call girls. “In or out?” they would ask me. I thought it was obvious, but what they meant is should I go to their place or should they come to mine. It was strictly a money deal. The magazine was a front for prostitution. What a fucking let down. It was all fucking fake. I don’t want to have to pay for it as that takes all the fun out it for me. I want the person I fuck to WANT to be there. I don’t want our sex together to be her fucking job as most of us hate our jobs. Why should it be any different with call girls?
Even after all that, I still held out hope that the Express could be an effective sleazy vehicle to use for my initial foray into the tenuous world of casual sex. However, I decided I would have the horny women come to me. Later on that night, after I had sobered up a bit, I sent my own ad to the Express. A couple days later, I got myself a second phone line so no one -- not my family, friends or co-workers -- would know what I was up to. I could only imagine the embarrassment if someone I knew saw my ad and recognized my phone number. My friends and co-workers would tease me endlessly. My family wouldn’t understand and would worry something bad would happen to me. Discretion seems the better part of valor in this case. I also don’t want anyone to know how truly desperate I am. I can’t hold out much longer. I need to be inside of a woman again soon.
My ad went like this:
SEEKING HORNY WOMEN
Tall SWM 32 is seeking hot and wet horny women for erotic adventure. Age and race unimportant. Love to give pleasure to a woman. Love 69 and mutual satisfaction. Call Jake. 562 487-2023
My ad is hardly subtle and OK I lied about my age, but at least I am upfront about what I am looking for. Pussy with no hassle. Sex with no bullshit. But would it fly with the ladies?
October 11
My ad has been in the Express for a week now and there has been absolutely no response. It’s depressing. I am starting to have mixed feelings about the whole thing. Still, a part of me is also somewhat relieved. I really don’t know what I am going to do when someone calls. I am at war with my hormones. My need for pussy without strings is in conflict with my fear of rejection and my basically timid nature. I become extremely nervous when calling a woman I have met for a date. Yet this is different. This is a woman who I will be calling for sex. I will have to seduce her on the phone, and I am not sure if I really know what to say. I have overwhelming doubts that I can go through with this.
October 17
I ran my ad for a second week and finally got a response: Judy from Woodland Hills. She left her number on my answering machine and said she screened her calls because her ex-husband was harassing her. She sounded uptight and nervous. Her message didn’t exactly light a fire in me. I am hesitant to call her. I have thoughts of me fucking Judy and her husband stalking us and watching us have sex. Maybe even he is one of those psycho stalkers who will try to kill us out of jealousy. I read about them all the time in the news. Seems like dicey situation. So with some reluctance (and pangs of horny doubt) I decided not to call her back. I need sex not drama. I am hardly off to a swinging start.
October 18
Things didn’t improve much the next day. I received what amounted to the first bad review of my ad. It came from a woman who left a snotty and hostile message on my answering machine saying my ad would only attract “fat and ugly women.” Was she an advertiser of the magazine? Or maybe a slighted call girl feeling cheated out of a potential customer?
I have to admit her response has troubled me. Could she be right? Would I only find fat and ugly women? Was I wasting my time?
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
Chapter 2: THE JOURNEY BEGINS: LUST IN THE WANT ADS
October 2
I am so horny tonight. It feels like come is pushing against the back of my eyeballs and threatening to drip out of my ears.
I haven’t been laid in more than a year since I dumped my former girlfriend Lani. At the time, it seemed like a good idea as she was driving me crazy with her whiny and clingy ways. I don’t how I stayed with her for six months. That is a long time for me, and honestly she really wasn’t all that much to look at -- a short and fat dumpy looking woman in her late twenties with a large nose marred by an ugly wart. If that wasn’t bad enough, she has two bratty kids that did their best to annoy me.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. Lani loved to fuck three or four times a night especially after snorting cocaine and I have to admit the sex was incredible. When she was high on coke, she became oblivious to everything but her cravings and desires. I was a just a hard cock along for the ride. I realized after a while that she used sex to mask deep emotional problems rooted in a neglected childhood and later abusive relationships with former boyfriends.
The more I pushed her away, the greater her sexual desire. Her sexual appetite bordered on addiction. Yet our strong physical connection wasn’t enough for her after a while. After five months of dating, she wanted to get married. I told her I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship and she flipped out. She clung to our relationship with a needy desperation, and there’s nothing sexy about neediness. I don’t care what anyone says. I felt suffocated and I finally broke it off with her. Frankly, I miss the sex, but I don’t miss her clingy desperation and incessant whining.
Following our breakup, I hit the bars near my apartment in Long Beach’s Belmont Shore looking for sex. All I found was a hangover and a strong dose of sexual frustration. It has been the same most of my adult life. I have always been far too timid in the pursuit of women. I freeze up, and I still haven’t been able to completely shake off my shyness. In a bar setting, I am the guy a woman notices from across the room, but who almost never makes a move. I flirt with my eyes, but fail with weak small talk. This is my weakness. I have no gift of gab, and I need to get laid badly. This urge is starting to become an obsession with me. Almost every morning I wake up with a throbbing hard on and I have to jack off to get some kind of relief. It is getting worse. I haven’t been with a woman in so long I am starting to forget what it feels like. The porno movies don’t help. They give me a hungry sex fever that even masturbation can’t seem to quell. I tried to stop watching them, but I can’t resist. I guess jacking off to pornos is better than no sex life at all. Pathetic. That’s how I feel.
There has to be another way to meet women who just want to fuck. I usually meet women through work or through friends, but they all seem to want to entangle me in another frustrating relationship. I am so tired of all that bullshit. All I want is the sex of my dreams without the headache and stress. All I crave is no-strings fucking. Is that too much to ask for?
Nothing excites me more than giving pleasure to a woman, and just exploring her desires and fantasies. However, I don’t want the same woman forever. That road unfortunately leads to boredom and unhappiness -- at least in my case. There has to be another more exciting sex life out there for me.
So earlier this afternoon, I bought an L.A. Express newspaper. It is one of those sex rags that are sold in old, rusty newspaper racks usually located in front of post offices or liquor stores. Typically, the cover of the news rack is so dirty that you can barely see what is in there except for a faded image of a scantily clad woman on the cover. I wanted to check out the nasty personal ads that were advertised on the front page of the rags. There are classifieds for everything from cars and apartments to computers and romance. Then there are the classifieds for sex, swinging in particular. I call them fuck ads. Sometimes fuck ads can be found in mainstream newspapers with the advertiser’s real intentions disguised in clever language. You just need to know how to read between the lines.
Mostly, though, sex ads are featured in swinger rags, alternative newspapers such as the Express or even the LA Weekly and now the Internet. The Express is crammed full of erotic ads soliciting 900 numbers and datelines. The headlines clamored for my sexual satisfaction with salacious invitations such as…
NAUGHTY NURSE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOUR ILLS...ASIAN BEAUTY SEEKS TO
TAKE YOU ON AN EASTERN ADVENTURE…TAKE A SIP OF HENNESEY AND FEEL HOW I GO DOWN…FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELT, DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD…TAWNY, NEW IN TOWN AND SHAVED…PLAYTIME IS OVER BOYS…LOOKING FOR SOME REAL MEN, CALL SUMMER…HOT LATINA IS YOUNG, NAÏVE AND EAGER TO PLEASE…DO YOU LIKE THE TASTE OF HOT CHOCOLATE? CALL TANISHA…
I realized finding these naughty women was one thing, but seducing them was something else. I needed to come up with a way to express my desires up front without offending the women I wanted to meet for sex.
After several glasses of wine, my sexual frustration got the best of me and I called almost every number in the magazine. Unfortunately, all I found were call girls. “In or out?” they would ask me. I thought it was obvious, but what they meant is should I go to their place or should they come to mine. It was strictly a money deal. The magazine was a front for prostitution. What a fucking let down. It was all fucking fake. I don’t want to have to pay for it as that takes all the fun out it for me. I want the person I fuck to WANT to be there. I don’t want our sex together to be her fucking job as most of us hate our jobs. Why should it be any different with call girls?
Even after all that, I still held out hope that the Express could be an effective sleazy vehicle to use for my initial foray into the tenuous world of casual sex. However, I decided I would have the horny women come to me. Later on that night, after I had sobered up a bit, I sent my own ad to the Express. A couple days later, I got myself a second phone line so no one -- not my family, friends or co-workers -- would know what I was up to. I could only imagine the embarrassment if someone I knew saw my ad and recognized my phone number. My friends and co-workers would tease me endlessly. My family wouldn’t understand and would worry something bad would happen to me. Discretion seems the better part of valor in this case. I also don’t want anyone to know how truly desperate I am. I can’t hold out much longer. I need to be inside of a woman again soon.
My ad went like this:
SEEKING HORNY WOMEN
Tall SWM 32 is seeking hot and wet horny women for erotic adventure. Age and race unimportant. Love to give pleasure to a woman. Love 69 and mutual satisfaction. Call Jake. 562 487-2023
My ad is hardly subtle and OK I lied about my age, but at least I am upfront about what I am looking for. Pussy with no hassle. Sex with no bullshit. But would it fly with the ladies?
October 11
My ad has been in the Express for a week now and there has been absolutely no response. It’s depressing. I am starting to have mixed feelings about the whole thing. Still, a part of me is also somewhat relieved. I really don’t know what I am going to do when someone calls. I am at war with my hormones. My need for pussy without strings is in conflict with my fear of rejection and my basically timid nature. I become extremely nervous when calling a woman I have met for a date. Yet this is different. This is a woman who I will be calling for sex. I will have to seduce her on the phone, and I am not sure if I really know what to say. I have overwhelming doubts that I can go through with this.
October 17
I ran my ad for a second week and finally got a response: Judy from Woodland Hills. She left her number on my answering machine and said she screened her calls because her ex-husband was harassing her. She sounded uptight and nervous. Her message didn’t exactly light a fire in me. I am hesitant to call her. I have thoughts of me fucking Judy and her husband stalking us and watching us have sex. Maybe even he is one of those psycho stalkers who will try to kill us out of jealousy. I read about them all the time in the news. Seems like dicey situation. So with some reluctance (and pangs of horny doubt) I decided not to call her back. I need sex not drama. I am hardly off to a swinging start.
October 18
Things didn’t improve much the next day. I received what amounted to the first bad review of my ad. It came from a woman who left a snotty and hostile message on my answering machine saying my ad would only attract “fat and ugly women.” Was she an advertiser of the magazine? Or maybe a slighted call girl feeling cheated out of a potential customer?
I have to admit her response has troubled me. Could she be right? Would I only find fat and ugly women? Was I wasting my time?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
CHAPTER ONE -- MONOGAMY SUCKS
MONOGAMY SUCKS, A SWINGER’S TALE, PART 1
By George Pappas, COPYRIGHT, 2010
CHAPTER ONE -- MONOGAMY SUCKS
BELMONT SHORE
LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA
Monogamy sucks.
I came to this sobering realization shortly after my thirty-fifth birthday. I had recently ended a dissatisfying relationship with yet another girlfriend because I was sexually restless and convinced I was missing out on something. This had become the frustrating pattern of my love life. Initially, I was enthralled with a new relationship, but typically after several months (sometimes weeks, days or even hours) I would grow bored and long to be single again.
There was no denying I was in the throes of a mid-thirties (not quite mid-life) lust crisis.
I am hardly alone in this. I believe this sexual restlessness, this strong need to explore is experienced by many men and women who are married or in long term relationships. They harbor these secret feelings in their hearts and at times act on them.
I am convinced that many who embrace monogamy are in deep denial. The rest of us tolerate it or grow to despise this unrealistic societal restriction of our natural impulses to sexually pursue pleasure with as many as partners as possible.
All I know is staying faithful frustrated me to no end as I attempted to make my way through a wasteland of failed love affairs and relationships. The thrill of the new – new pussy, new sexual adventures – intrigued and haunted me. Fidelity is also a struggle for a lot of other men, but many don’t have the guts to come out and say it for fearing the wrath of society and women in particular.
My name is Jake Dalmas and what follows is my diary. It is a strange document of how breaking the bonds of monogamy and ditching boring relationship sex led me on an always interesting, hilarious, intriguing and even at times nightmarish journey into the provocative world of swinging and casual sex.
How did I come to cross the line from conventional relationships into the sexually charged, but largely misunderstood scene of alternative sexual relationships or what is commonly known as swinging?
Lust, curiosity and boredom, mostly. Those were the driving forces that pushed me into forbidden territory. I was tired of being the good boyfriend who always remained faithful. I wanted the adventure and wild sex I had read about without being dishonest with myself and cheating on any of the women I was involved with. I guess I wanted to be a bad boy without being a lying asshole.
Deep down I still preferred serious relationships and still even believed I wanted to get married someday. However, as I have a low threshold for sexual boredom, I began to realize that this conventional lifestyle wasn’t a realistic option for me. My imagination burned with visions of orgies, wild sexual couplings, threesomes, and lusty adventures with women of every background, size and age. There was a porno movie playing in my head all the time.
My urges and desires began to affect every aspect of my life. After a while, I had trouble concentrating on anything else. I almost lost my job as a reporter at a daily newspaper because of this obsession, and later had to move into a less stressful public relations job so I would have more time to work out my sexual malaise.
Several of my girlfriends accused me of cheating on them. Well, I have to admit that I was unfaithful in my fantasies. Most of the time when I had sex with my girlfriends, I fantasized about other women. It was really the only way I could fuck them after a while. I was beginning to feel betrayed by my overactive sexual imagination.
Although I never acted on any of these lusty fantasies while I was in a relationship, I knew I was just fooling myself. It was only a matter of time. I wanted other women. There was no denying it. I began to wonder if we are truly monogamous beings? Some scientists are now struggling to explain the roots of our infidelity and there have been several scientific studies hinting that monogamy may not be natural. No one is really immune. Even former President Bill Clinton (and a number of presidents before him) couldn’t find a way to deal with their sexual urges.
I was searching for answers to my sexual confusion. But the bottom line: I was hoping to get laid as much as possible. I just wanted to have one day in my life like Hugh Hefner’s typical day at the Playboy Mansion (every hot blooded heterosexual American boy’s dream) and just bed down a bevy of sexy, stunning ladies.
I was also very curious about casual sex or put another way -- sex without relationship headaches and bullshit. Was it just a myth from the 1960s or 70s? Did it still exist? How far would people go to spice up their sex lives? Was the sexual revolution long over? Was it just a false myth that we couldn’t let go of?
Yet I embarked on my sexual sojourn with mixed feelings of trepidation, lust and excitement. Honestly, I was even somewhat scared. I was entering unknown territory, unchartered waters for me. I didn’t know what to expect. All I had to go on was rumor, fantasy and sketchy information provided by the Internet, men’s and women’s magazines and swinger rags.
Hollywood and the media only added to my confusion. Swinging or casual sex has been depicted in numerous slanted sensationalist media reports, and in movies such as “Bob, Ted, Carol and Alice” and the “Ice Storm,” as a pastime of bored suburbanites, sexual addicts, perverts, freaks, and the emotionally disturbed. Swinging has never truly been taken seriously by Hollywood or by mainstream society for that matter. Typically, it has been portrayed as some sort of freak show.
However, during my two-year journey into this sexual frontier, I discovered that the sexual revolution never really ended -- it just went underground. I came to view many of the swingers I met – even those I despised -- as erotic explorers and free spirits (not freaks) trying to find pleasure in life that many times lacks any. I know that was also my motivation to explore this sexual world. There had to be more than the traditional, boring relationship sex life for those of us with overactive erotic imaginations.
Casual sex is fast becoming the new recreational drug for American couples and singles in the new century. These erotic adventurers are craving the next hot encounter, the next sexual high.
You can never underestimate the power of lust and sexual fantasy. I believe everyone has been a swinger at least once in their lives. In their minds and imaginations, that is.
Swinging just may be America’s growing underground weekend sport. Each weekend married or unmarried couples hook up with other couples or male and female singles for no-strings sex. They are weekend sexual warriors looking for a new thrill, a new pleasure conquest. They can often be just total strangers meeting for a few hours of pleasure and excitement. They meet in swing clubs, through classified ads, 900 lines and now the Internet. In fact, right now this kind of erotic exploration is occurring in motel rooms, swing clubs and private parties held in beautiful homes right in your neighborhood. Maybe there will be a swing party going on right next door to you this weekend and you won’t even know it.
Each weekend (or vacation) represents an intriguing new adventure for these sexual explorers. In their own fashion, they are attempting to break out of societal restrictions and take more control over their erotic lives. I believe it is a response to monogamy and boredom.
Swinging is not dead. Wild sex has not vanished despite the threat of AIDS and other STDs. Casual sex is not an amusing ritual from the free wheeling 60s and 70s. Swinging is actually going more mainstream these days than many would care to admit. There are about 3 million swingers in the U.S. according to recent surveys and studies, but I think those figures are too low.
People you’d never suspect could have the wildest sex lives. A housewife from Redondo Beach could make Madonna look like a nun as she fucks 10 guys in one night. Or a hairdresser from Kansas could spend Saturday night having a threesome with her husband and his best friend.
Who are these people?
They could be anyone. They might be your neighbors. They are doctors, lawyers, CEOs of large corporations, sports stars, successful business people, actors, directors, writers, blue collar workers, truck drivers, warehouse workers, housewives and working women with children. They are family people with kids living the suburban life. They are the nice people living next door to you. They are work colleagues. They could be your best friend or even a family member. They could be the girlfriend in high school, who gave you a lousy blow job and didn’t seem into sex, but has since experienced sexual adventures far beyond anything you could have dreamed. Or they could be the boy you used to know in high school, who never talked to the girls, and now orchestrates a gangbang with 12 guys fucking his wife or maybe he fucks two or three women in a night.
I think you know a swinger right now and don’t even suspect it.
My cousin Jacob is a typical example. He holds the prevailing mainstream disdain toward swinging and has trouble understanding my interest in this sexual pastime. He down deep believes swinging is adulterous, disloyal and freakish.
However, he was a swinger at one time in his life and didn’t even know it. My cousin’s relationship with his one of his girlfriends came out of a threesome episode. During a weekend trip to Las Vegas, my cousin’s best friend Jack invited him to fuck his wife Julie. Soon after their sexual encounter, my cousin initiated an affair with Julie behind Jack’s back. A year later, Julie divorced her husband and moved in with my cousin. It all started with a threesome. The only difference is my cousin didn’t understand the concept of casual sex and consequently, he broke up someone else’s marriage. As with anything, there are risks. You have to know the rules of the game if you are going to play. I only mention it here because of my cousin’s hypocrisy about swinging and how it is shared by many in mainstream American society. His relationship with Julie was sparked by the kind of sexual adventure – a threesome -- he criticizes so harshly now.
You won’t find any celebrities or any sexual experts in the following diary -- just everyday people searching for something different to spice up and expand their sexual lives. For many of the couples I met along the way, it’s not marriage, but fidelity that they grew bored with. They craved variety, adventure and new forms of pleasure. That didn’t mean they couldn’t fall in love, have conventional lives with children and a house with the picket fence and a seemingly ideal surburban American Dream. They simply don’t agree with the conventional wisdom concerning sex and monogamy. Although it is changing somewhat, unfortunately, many in our society still see these swingers as abnormal and titillating freakish subjects for the TV talk show circuit rather than just open-minded and adventurous people.
Swinging is a sexual world shrouded in secrecy mostly the result of this societal disapproval. It truly is a hidden society with its own set of rules, language and mores. Discretion is a way of life for swingers. Let’s face it -- a lot people just don’t get it or are disgusted and horrified by the idea of another man or woman pleasing and fucking their spouses or long-time girlfriends or boyfriends.
Swinging is a state of mind, not just a lifestyle choice. Some people call it “sport fucking,” but I think it is more than that. Alternative sex offers an opportunity to explore a different side of one’s sexual personality or persona. It only goes to show a healthy interest in sexuality can’t be completely constrained by society. Of course, swinging is not for everyone nor should it be. It is not a journey for the faint of heart or the sexually cautious.
Before we get to my adventures, here’s a little background on me.
Let’s get this straight from the start: I am hardly a stud or a ladies man. I am tall and slender -- about 6- foot-2 and 150 pounds – with blonde hair and brown eyes. I don’t exactly look like a human praying mantis, but many of the women I have known consider me too skinny, even bony. It was worse growing up when I was taunted by schoolmates for my skinny frame. Even my some of my best friends used to call me “bones.” I worked out several times a week with weights and developed a slight muscular physique, but nothing helped.
I couldn’t get laid in high school to save my life. I was painfully shy growing up, particularly around women I found attractive. I never really knew what to say. I would get nervous and just clam up. I would rather say nothing than something stupid.
So as a teenager I discovered the joys of masturbation. I was the jack off king of Costa Mesa, California -- a slice of conservative, suburban hell located in Orange County near Newport Beach. Some call it “Reagan Country,” but it wasn’t that bad. There just wasn’t much to do. The place was once orange groves and open fields, but in the mid to late 1960s developers tapped into the growing population, specifically the flight of affluent young white families from Los Angeles, and built numerous tract homes. It was a very staid and predictable place to grow up, fitting the suburbia stereotype to a tee. They don’t call Orange County the Orange Curtain for nothing.
Despite my repressed environment, sex was not a forbidden subject in my family when I was growing up. My parents, who were raised in Utah but who are not Mormon or particularly religious, talked freely about sex as if it was just another part of life. As descendents of Greek immigrants, they had a very European way of looking at sex -- no shame, no embarrassment and no uptight hang-ups.
Our neighbors were a different story. They were for the most part uptight Catholics, who thought our parents were permissive freaks with no religion or discipline. To them, we were “heathens.” The parents of my best friend Grant forbade him to even watch the TV show “All in the Family.” They thought the controversial show might corrupt him in some way. Grant’s parents and the rest of the blue nose brigade on our block looked upon my family as a bad influence for their kids.
Not surprisingly, Grant and the other kids on my street were in awe of my parents. They couldn’t believe my father allowed me to have a subscription to Playboy at the age of 14. All of my friends (and even those who weren’t) used to make a sort of pilgrimage to my house to look at the forbidden photos of women who seemed so out of reach for us. In my room, we examined these Playboy photos as if studying artifacts from another distant but desirable civilization. It was truly our first connection to this hidden adult world. It was one of our adolescent rituals -- our first taste of forbidden fruit. Stuck in the boring teenage world of Orange County suburbia – Playboy was our escape – an erotic lifeline to something mysterious and exotic.
The same thing happened when our local pay TV service ON TVstarted offering soft porn movies. Seven or eight of us -- all horny teenagers without a clue about sex or women -- would pile into my dad’s den room to watch these forbidden films. We were fascinated and awed by these provocative depictions of erotica. They seem lame to me now, but back then it was something special. Everything in these movies was implied. No raw sex scenes. This was softcore porn. No depictions of actual penetration were displayed leaving the mystery of sex still intact and burning brighter than ever in our adolescent imaginations.
Our favorite soft porn flicks were those by director Russ Meyer. His films are funny and don’t take themselves too seriously, and he features women with big breasts that only fueled our adolescent fantasies. My favorite character in one of his movies was an attractive large breasted woman named “Lavonia.” Her adventures were sexy and funny, but what attracted me most about her was that she was a horny housewife. Fucking a horny housewife was one of my hottest adolescent fantasies. I used to jack off countless times thinking about some of the young housewives that lived in our neighborhood.
In one my favorite fantasies, I fucked a sexy older Latin woman that lived next door to us. I found out from several people in our neighborhood that when her husband was gone, she would put on a strip show. She pulled aside the drapes of a large window located at the front of her house, and slowly stripped naked for the neighbors. Unfortunately, I never caught her show. I stood out in front of her house every night for weeks after I heard about it, hoping for a glimpse, but the drapes remained closed for me.
Still, I imagined fucking her in front of the big window with the whole neighborhood watching us. In real life, we never exchanged more than several words. I was just a harmless kid who lived next door to her. I was not yet a man. I would sometimes purposely knock a baseball over into her backyard in a lame attempt to meet her, but she never took notice of me in that way. Although that didn’t put any damper on my masturbation fantasy.
Penthouse Magazine’s “Penthouse Forum” was another key source of sexual information (or misinformation?) during my teen years. The section’s lurid and risqué descriptions of wild and forbidden sexual encounters fired up my budding erotic imagination. Yet at the time, it just seem didn’t real to me. I thought it was just fake material for jacking off. I wondered who were these people who expressed their sexuality in such an uninhibited and wild manner. It was the Penthouse Forum that initially introduced me to the concept of alternative sex even though it seemed like science fiction to me at the time -- out of reach and very improbable.
Hugh Hefner, Bob Guccione and later even Larry Flynt were my real fathers when it came to my sexual education. Of course, even with access to all this sexual information as a teenager I still knew next to nothing about real women. They were as mysterious to me as creatures from another planet. Throughout my adolescence and even into my early twenties, I remained fearful to even talk to a woman. Whenever I tried, I felt awkward and foolish. I didn’t know what to say or I never seemed to say the right thing to attract them. Whenever I approached a woman I was attracted to, my heart would start beating out of control and I would break out into a cold sweat. I felt trapped by my own shyness and ignorance while my imagination was working overtime inflamed with unfulfilled sexual desires.
I fantasized and masturbated constantly during my teen years. I was admittedly a late bloomer and I was a virgin until shortly after I turned 22. I had my first sexual experience with an attractive African American woman named Shawna during my second year in college at California State University Long Beach. She was a tall, slender woman in her mid twenties with short hair, big brown eyes, large breasts and a nice round ass. It was her open and friendly attitude, and the fact she was a few years older that attracted me. She loved sex. She savored it. In a way, her openness scared me, too. She approached her sexuality with such confidence and abandon. Sex truly was an erotic journey for her.
Frankly, Shawna kind of overwhelmed me. I came in about 20 seconds when we first had sex. I felt embarrassed and admitted to her it was my first time. She smiled at me and laughed.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” she said. “It will get better.” She was right, but ultimately I proved no match for Shawna’s sexual appetite and experience.
During our sexual encounters, Shawna had a unique way of expressing herself. When she was extremely aroused, she would start yelling, “Holy! Holy! baby....Holy! Holy! baby...oh holyyyyy holyyyyyy ......” Her holy chant would become more intense as she neared orgasm. Shawna would become lost in a reverie listening to erotic music only she could hear. When I asked her about it afterward, she just laughed and said, “when I am fucking, baby you never know what I might say.” But she always said the same thing when she was fucking. Odd, but hot, too.
Shawna was always horny wanting to fuck several times a day and I couldn’t keep up. She quickly got bored and after a few weeks, Shawna dumped me and took up with a much older and experienced lover -- one of her professors. I wonder if Shawna’s professor graded her on her curves.
I never forgot about her, though. Shawna’s fearless, open sexuality excited and inspired me. Years later I even found myself fantasizing about her when I fucked other women. Her attitude was similar to that of the swingers I would meet later on.
I knew infiltrating the mysterious and underground world of swingers was not going to be easy. I was embarking on a trip without a roadmap or compass. All I really had to go on were essentially erotic myths, rumors and fantasies. I really didn’t know what I would find. Maybe I would discover aspects about myself and my sexuality I had not previously known or even a new way to express myself sexually.
I also wondered what past writers, particularly Henry Miller and Anais Nin, would make of today’s modern conveniences of voicemail, 900 numbers, the explosion of porn, and the Internet. Would they find the same basic truths about sex, monogamy and love? Or would they be faced with an emptiness, a modern, calculated, instant gratification world of erotica featuring wall-to-wall sucking and fucking with no real sense of adventure, heart or soul? Inspired by their amazing and provocative novels and diaries, I wanted to explore the evolving nature of eroticism, sex and romance occurring in my time as they did in theirs.
Through my adventures, I was also hoping to shed some light on a thriving sexual underground in America and discover if swinging has truly gone mainstream. I can only hope I have honestly put down in my swinger’s diary what I was feeling and experiencing during my wild romp through this confused journey that we call modern sex.
Introduction to my blog for my novel "Monogamy Sucks"
This blog is devoted to my unpublished fiction novel, “Monogamy Sucks,” an exploration of a Long Beach, California man’s mid-thirties lust crisis and his ensuing bizarre, but intriguing journey into the world of swinging and alternative sex.
Think of this work as an edgy male version of "Sex in the City" written from the point of view of an inept, inexperienced swinger. Except my novel's protagonist Jake Dalmas is not interested in finding love, but instead is obsessed with finding great sex with no strings, no commitments, no relationship bullshit, and most of all -- no monogamy.
This novel is especially timely considering the recent spate of public sex scandals, including golfer Tiger Woods, TV personality Jesse James, and too many other celebrities and politicians to mention here.
I have been working on my novel off and on for the past 12 years and have tried to stay true to my experiences and the experiences of those I met along the way, but remember this is a work of fiction. It’s not non-fiction, a memoir or autobiographical. Any passing resemblance to real life people and encounters have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent. A great deal of this book exists in the realm of my imagination with real life incidents only serving as a jumping off point so to speak. Other chapters are pure fiction with no connection to real life experiences. Either way I hope you’ll be intrigued, amused, shocked, entertained and maybe even inspired by what you find here.
Each month I will introduce a new chapter or two on this blog with the goal of eventually bringing out my entire book in print and digital form.
Please enjoy this work in the spirit it has been offered -- with an open mind, an adventurous soul and a good sense of humor.
Members of the media and others who are interested in contacting me about my ongoing book project, feel free to reach me at gmpwrite@gmail.com
Think of this work as an edgy male version of "Sex in the City" written from the point of view of an inept, inexperienced swinger. Except my novel's protagonist Jake Dalmas is not interested in finding love, but instead is obsessed with finding great sex with no strings, no commitments, no relationship bullshit, and most of all -- no monogamy.
This novel is especially timely considering the recent spate of public sex scandals, including golfer Tiger Woods, TV personality Jesse James, and too many other celebrities and politicians to mention here.
I have been working on my novel off and on for the past 12 years and have tried to stay true to my experiences and the experiences of those I met along the way, but remember this is a work of fiction. It’s not non-fiction, a memoir or autobiographical. Any passing resemblance to real life people and encounters have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent. A great deal of this book exists in the realm of my imagination with real life incidents only serving as a jumping off point so to speak. Other chapters are pure fiction with no connection to real life experiences. Either way I hope you’ll be intrigued, amused, shocked, entertained and maybe even inspired by what you find here.
Each month I will introduce a new chapter or two on this blog with the goal of eventually bringing out my entire book in print and digital form.
Please enjoy this work in the spirit it has been offered -- with an open mind, an adventurous soul and a good sense of humor.
Members of the media and others who are interested in contacting me about my ongoing book project, feel free to reach me at gmpwrite@gmail.com
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