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It was getting close to lunch time and I was already restless. I was staring into the terminal of my workstation, not concentrating on what I needed to do, but thinking of wild sexual encounters involving myself and my latest lust.

There was a light tap at the door behind me, taking me out of my reverie. I turned to see the part-timer, Anita, looking around the door as she opened it. She had started the previous day. She was doing a report for the boss and I had been assigned to answer any questions that she may have had.

The day before, while she had been in the adjacent office, going over the project with the boss I couldn’t help but notice her. She wore a modest skirt which came to about her knees. He legs were marvelous, thin and shapely. She had a fine body with sensual curves. She wasn’t skinny, or thin, but she was fine. Her breasts, full and perfectly proportioned, pressed against the light blouse that she wore. Her face was pretty and she had a wonderful mane of long, auburn hair.

As she left the office with her bundle of notebooks and papers, Anita’s eyes met mine. They were a light shade of brown. Her smile was infectious. It made an electric sensation go through my body and my head was light. I smiled my best smile back at her. She didn’t look away and with a wave and a crinkle of her eye, she said “See You!” and was out the door. She was scheduled to be here for the rest of the week and suddenly I had the feeling that it was going to be quite good.

She had come by on two occasions the previous day. On the first, she had only inquired about how to format the report she was working on. She stood at the door, leaning into my office as she asked.

I turned in my chair to face her. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward and her blouse fell open a bit, offering a brief glimpse of her treasures as she asked, “How should print this when I’m done?” I could feel a stirring in my loins. I said, “You can just keep the text in block paragraphs and put the figures in columns under however many headings you feel necessary.” I couldn’t take my eyes away from the opening of her blouse, hoping that I would get another view. When I finally shifted my gaze up to her face, Anita had a knowing look and a sly smile. She said “O.K., I can do that,” then she stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.

Later when she returned she had a rough draft of the report compiled from a small percentage of the stats she had reviewed. She set the pad on the desk in front of me and leaned over my shoulder and pointed out key elements as I read. I could smell her scent, not a perfume, but a sweet feminine scent. I could hardly concentrate, I could feel my pulse quicken. Her hair was on my shoulder and felt as light as clouds.

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When I met Jon he was just past chubby, melted down into a lithe boy who was starting to show signs of man. He was a young man the way a colt is part gangly animal and part magical apparition. He wore his awkwardness like a beetle wears its shell, to cover up the soft inside.

He was my highschool friend. He sometimes flirted with me, just to practice. I watched him hesitating on the cusp of growing up. If he had been more self-assured I would have been smitten, and if I had been any more self-assured I’d have taken him — easy, the way his hormones were trembling and threatening to spill over, like water from a glass. But I was not the one he chose for his first affair.

Mr. White had just been hired to teach at the highschool. He was on a three-year contract, and that was all the longer he would stay, because teachers like him are never hired back. He must have interviewed in his one regular suit — he’d never have gotten the job dressed the way he usually did, in old, old clothes, antique three-piece suits and wire-rimmed glasses and a watch and chain. He was hired to teach drama, of course — that’s probably why they let him slip by — and English.

He looked English, actually, like a headmaster at a shabby third cousin of Eton. He had bright, lavishly-lashed eyes and a mustache that curled. No one in our remote little town had never seen anything like him. He was like a time traveler who had taken a very wrong stop. He could not have been expected to have anything in common with a bunch of ranchers’ sons and daughters. Nevertheless a few of us had determined that we were not going to be hicks. We were over him like flies on honey.

Jon was skittish around Mr. White from the start, manic even. For about a week he joined the other boys, raving about what a fruit and a faggot the new teacher was. But by the end of the second week of school he had arranged to join three extracurricular clubs — the Thespians, the school paper, and a modern novel study group — so he could be near him.

On any given day Jon could be found before class, after class, and often at lunch in Mr.White’s room. I knew that because I was in the habit of dropping by at those times myself. Of all the students who clustered around the new teacher, I was the closest to understanding just why he seemed so odd. He was so completely different from any other man I’d ever known, in his eccentricity so sweet and strange, that of course I began cruising him almost right away. I was just learning that having sex with a person could teach me things about them and about myself, and I was sure Mr. White was a wealth of things I wanted to know.

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This is a story about my wife and me. I’ll try to tell it as it happened, but since 13 or so years have passed since our first meeting, some of the memories have probably gotten better with age.

It all started with a chili-eating contest at a local bar… You know, one of those silly things that one does on a dare. Your friends saying, “sure sign up, I’ll be there to help cheer you on.” Bull! It was just me, 2 beers, a quart of chili, and about 15 other contestants.

I won’t go into all of the gory details about the contest. The winner did it in a minute and thirty three seconds, and then threw up on the guy standing next to him. I did it in about 33 minutes.

Winning second place, was ok, I guess. The photographer was taking pictures of me and the winner for some newsletter, and he kept saying one more, one more. I looked at the winner, and he looked at me… We both turned around and dropped trou for the camera. He wanted to see a smile. How about a vertical one?

Time to pick up the beer cooler, and the six-pack of long necks, and head home. Another chapter in life is closed. Or so I thought.

A couple of weeks later I’m sitting at the bar of the local watering hole, nursing a beer. Checking out the ladies in the mirror that runs the length of the bar, I see one a few stools down that keeps looking at me (or at least I think she is looking at me), and then talking to her friend sitting next to her. I happen to glance over and see a stack of papers on her lap. Recognizing them as the newsletter from the beer distributor that sponsored the chili eating contest, I ask her “Is that the new SilverBird?” She says no, and then a look of surprise comes across her face. She then says “I know who you are, I’ve seen your picture before. Both FRONT and REAR!”

Now I’m trying to think fast. Where had she seen my picture before? Especially from the rear. She then tells me that she works for the PR firm that handles the SilverBird account. And that the photographer had brought in the proof sheets from the contest. She said that she had a good time looking at those tiny little pictures. A bit more interesting than the ones the photographer usually brings in.

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As I walked in the door, coming home from the office, I saw my wife Carolyn standing by the cabinet preparing dinner. Carolyn has a body built like a brick shithouse with all the fixtures in the right place. Today she looked especially good wearing a skimpy halter top with a pair of low cut shorts that fit snugly around her ass with the outline of her bikini panties showing through.

Crossing the room and walking up behind her I reached around and cupped one of her tits with my hand while caressing her ass with the other and gave her a little nibble on the earlobe. “What’s for dinner?” I asked while dropping my hand from her tit to rub her cunt suggestively.

“Company,” she replied.

I heard a voice from the den calling “Come on in, we have the fire going.” As I entered the room, Ron, a friend of the family, rose from a recliner with a drink in his hand and a bulge in the front of his pants. “You horny old bastard” I said, “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“His wife is out of town and he was lonely so I asked him over for dinner and drinks.” Carolyn said as she came into the room bringing me a drink.

Kicking off my shoes I sat on the couch, sipped my drink and watched Carolyn walk back into the kitchen, her ass moving like two pigs caught in a gunny sack. As I thought of what could have been, my dick started to swell and I realized what Ron probably was thinking when I came home.

At dinner Ron could not keep his eyes off Carolyn, every time she leaned over the table her tits bulged against the halter top with the nipples pressing against the cloth. I noticed that as she moved around the table she found several excuses to bump both Ron and myself with her ass, one time rubbing her cunt on Ron’s shoulder.

After dinner we all got fresh drinks and moved back into the den. Sitting on the floor in front of the fire Carolyn stretched her legs out and ran her hand slowly up and down the inside of her thigh.

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Hello. My name is Linda, and I’m 24 years old. I am about 5 foot 7 inches tall, and weigh somewhere around 125 pounds, depending on when you catch me. My measurements are 36C, 24, 35. I have dark black hair, and I guess you could say I’m pretty good looking, as I’ve never had any trouble attracting men. My eyes are green, and my best feature is probably my tits, although many guys also like my legs, which I keep trim and lean with a lot of bicycling and jogging. I have a master’s degree, income of over $75,000 a year, own my own home and closets full of expensive and luxurious clothes, all of which I bought myself, thank you. I work for a large company in a major metropolitan area, and am pretty outgoing and friendly.

Now, with that out of the way, I thought I’d let you know why I decided to put down some of my sexual experiences on paper. I’ve been sexually active since I was 15, from the first tentative petting and groping around with guys in high school, through various torrid affairs in college, and up to several fairly good and satisfying relationships since I graduated. I am not seeing any one particular man right now, but that’s more or less the way I want it.

You might say that I have a particular fetish. I love semen. Sperm. Jizz. Cum. Jizzum. Whatever you care to call it, I love it. I love the feeling of cum on my body, almost anywhere I can feel it. I love the warm, wet, sticky feeling it leaves me with. I love the smell, the starchy, kind of acrid odor it has (although that varies from guy to guy). I love the feeling of it. I just love the thought of semen, and the fact that it’s my attractiveness that makes a guy come. I love watching guys jerk off for me, and the more the merrier! Most of my early sexual experiences were jerking a guy off, or better yet, watching him do it himself, and the sight of that cock pulsing and then the little eye opening up and the semen spurting out just turns me on no end. And I think I’m different from most women in that regard. Most of my girlfriends seem to get all goofy at the thought of a guy’s cum. They think it’s messy or icky or something, and usually, in some manner, remove it from their bodies as soon as they can, either by rushing to the bathroom and holding their pussy lips open and dripping it all into the toilet, or wiping it off with a sheet or towel or something. NOT ME! I love the feeling of cum.

I can feel it when a guy comes in my pussy. I feel every shot, if it’s strong enough. But I must admit, I’d rather see it than feel it. So I don’t complain if the guy wants to pull out and come on my pubes or belly or wherever. When he does, I love to rub it around with my finger and feel it spreading over my skin. I shave my pussy lips and most of the hair around there, and just leave a little patch up top of my mound. I guess over the years I’ve rubbed gallons of semen into my skin, and I hope to be doing it for many years to come (no pun intended!).

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