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Unlike so many of the bawdy houses of Amsterdam, the building bore no signs. In fact, as I stood in front of the chipped, black door marked #12, I almost thought it was all a practical joke. What did I know was that Hazraj, the strange Turk who, in drunken friendliness at the hotel bar, had insisted, “A whore’s a whore all over the world. You don’t need to visit Amsterdam for that. But…the Anal Sex Circus! There is not another anywhere.”

I rang the bell. Was this really the place — or was he having a joke at the expense of a white British tourist? When the door slowly opened, I realized that he was indeed a friend! Stepping into the interior of the townhouse, it was a though I had stepped through tent flaps and into the most opulent carnival ever.

There was actual sawdust on the floor. The air smelled of beer and popcorn. The big main room had concession stands where they were selling popcorn — delicately laced with hashish - and white cotton candy, also drugged. Beer and liquor were being sold by men in straw hats, red vests, and white striped shirts.

Garish rotary lights whirled a dizzy array of greens and reds into the air. Semi-nude women — black, Asian, and white — escorted the various men as they ate, drank, and laughed uproariously. In different languages, a barker in a derby hat shouted at the back of the room, “Hurry, hurry. Step right up! Come, Come, Come to the Anal Sex Circus!”

If the mad Turk Hazraj had not been so explicit in his description of the place, I don’t know what my reaction to this bizarre spectacle might have been. A beautiful Eurasian girl glided up to me. I ordered a cafe pousse at the bar. In American money, it cost me about $20. I was going to order one more for my “hostess” but reconsidered: “You wouldn’t drink, would you? Just water one of these plants with it.” I slipped her $20 cash instead. “Let’s call it a contribution to the continuing survival of horticulture.”

She dutifully explained the “play” at the Anal Sex Circus. After I finished the drink, I walked back to the back of the room where a man, dressed in imitation of an American carnival barker, guarded the entrance to the upstairs rooms. I bought two tickets ($100 each) which entitled me to see two “shows” of my choice. The tickets were actually more like plastic credit cards.

With insane calliope music blaring down the corridors of this two-story townhouse turned madhouse, I made my way upstairs. In the old carnival midways, you’d walk along seeing the posters for the midgets and fire eaters and freaks. You’d pay to go into the tent to actually see them perform. Here, there were rooms. On each gold-curtained door was a picture of the girl within.

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Mary had been working for me for three weeks and she was driving me crazy. She’s a petite little thing with a fantastic figure and full, mouth-watering tits. Since I had hired Mary as my secretary all I could think about was fucking her in that perfect little ass.

Maybe if Mary didn’t wear those damn tight jeans that push right into the crack of her ass, I would have been okay, but as things stood, all I could think about was that ass.

Both sides of her chubby little lips were fully defined by the clothing she wore and I wondered if they gave her a kind of sexual push. Everything about Mary spelled sex. Just 20 and with her blonde mass of curls and big brown eyes, it seemed that a kind of sensual steam flowed from every part of her.

I was always threatening to jump on that cute ass. She would wiggle it playfully then laugh her way out of the office. All in good fun, until the night we had to push hard to get a rush order out.

Mary and I were alone. I had always made it a rule to never fuck around with my help. I had kept to that rule all my life, but for some reason Mary tempted me to break it.

There was so much paperwork that we had to do some of it on the floor. I found myself just standing there, watching her little ass sway back and forth as she crawled around on the floor. That ass was so cute and sexy that I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

I guess the animal in me took over then, because I don’t even remember getting down on the floor. Fully clothed I wrapped my arms around her and slipped my fingers into the crotch of her jeans. Mary dropped the papers she was holding and I felt her warm ass rolling against my huge boner.

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Anna is a very beautiful woman. She is tall, blonde, and tans to a gorgeous golden hue.

I’ve worked with her on a project for quite some time and have had fantasies about her from the start. I feel an attraction to her every time that I see her.

I’d noticed her looking at me at times when we’ve worked together but neither one of us have voiced anything. She knows that I’m married and I’ve been too frightened to say anything since I know that not only is she married, but I could be very wrong about the way that I’ve interpreted her looks.

There have been many times though that I have longed to kiss the back of her neck as she leaned forward while we worked at the computer. She has very sensuous shoulders and neck.

Anna’s husband is on the road most of the time trying to land more capital investors for his company. Anna hints at her loneliness at these times, and we often work late on the days when her husband is out of town.

My wife was in New York on a business trip and Anna’s husband was out as usual. It was in early evening and I was totally lost in gazing at her pretty neck and profile when I realized that she was staring at me over her shoulder. She had just asked me a question three times without a response. She noticed me turning red with embarrassment and started to turn red also as she realized what I had been daydreaming about.

I apologized and stood up to leave as she turned toward me to say something. She froze staring at my crotch where my hard on was showing. My whole body felt on fire as I looked down at her, her red lips were glistening in the light and her eyes seemed to be deep blue pools. I moaned another apology and started to leave when she reached forward to feel my cock. (click to read entire story…)

Bang went the front door! Claire, arriving dead tired from her walk up the neighborhood’s San Francisco hill, after a week of super hard project work at computing services Univ. of California at San Francisco. “Boy, do I need a drink and a load off,” Claire thought, as she kicked off her work shoes, Naturalizer comfort walkers and slipped into her Dr. Scholl’s wooden exercise sandals…”Ahh, that’s already sooo much better.. what would I like to drink now? What’s in here?”, looking into the liquor cabinet. “Aha! Dry Vermouth; I’ll add Tanqueray and ice and stir the hell out of it for a smooth martini plus!!” She took down her glass, mixing metal canister, filling it with chipped ice, poured out a generous three ounces of Tanqueray gin, a mere two drops of vermouth (she hates macho guys who just pass the vermouth bottle near the top of the glass.. for adding fumes. Claire really loves the flavor of the dry vermouth and its slippery slight oiliness adding piquancy and texture her more classic-style martini.

Claire’s ice was practically 100% gin, so she poured her ingredients right into the canister to mix with the ice, then agitated the whole mixture like crazy, for a full two minutes. Her glass had been tucked in the freezer for this little time and now was taken out with a light frost fogging its rim.. Ahhh… what a drink this will be! Slowly pouring out her martini through a metal strainer keeping all ice pieces in the canister, Claire sighed in anticipation as her drink became reality. With a few pieces of gouda cheese sliced and set on Table Water crackers, Claire repaired to her boudoir, the neatest part of her bachelorette apartment.

Zip went the zipper to her fashion-conscious suit, off came her silk blouse, she reached back and released the catch of her sensual bra, freeing her sweet breasts and causing her nipples to pop out with little touches of her martini glass! Off with these stockings and garter belt! Claire liked bucking the trend of most women stuck with pantyhose so she wore stockings to work and on dates, except in the hottest summer months, when she wore thigh-high silk stockings or bare legs. She liked the more sensual feel and give of the garter snaps and flexible-sexy stockings, and she knew that many of her girl friends (click to read entire story…)

It had been a fairly interesting evening. Although I don’t much go for bars of any description, I do like to play pool, and on Wednesday night we had the pool tournament down at the Other Place (silly name for a gay bar, but I’ve seen worse).

For the past several weeks, I had won easily, although there was much amazement at my technique… I came an hour early, bought a pitcher of beer, listened to music and drank. Then, just before the tournament, I bought another pitcher, played two practice games, and then I was ready. Every week, the other entrants all looked for me to be an easy mark with that much alcohol inside me. And every week the alcohol loosened up my hyper-analytical personality, letting me relax, keeping me from doing mechanics calculations prior to each shot, and let me sink any shot I called out to the amused and amazed on-lookers. This week was the same, and I was in the final best-of-three games in the last round, playing against the final challenger to see who would get the prize.

She’d introduced herself as we met over the table, saying her name was Kim. She was an attractive woman, maybe an inch under six feet unshod, just a bit over in the ropers she was wearing. She had golden blonde hair, eyes so green that tawdry words like “emerald” couldn’t do them justice, a beautiful, smart-ass grin, and what seemed to be a very well-made body in those tight Wrangler jeans. I did all the cataloguing somewhere in the back of my head, as I watched her racking the balls on the velvet; she grinned as she took the rack away, twirling it between her fingers as it cleared the tops of the balls. (click to read entire story…)