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She appeared to be in her fifties, with a figure that was not slim, but not conspicuously overweight, either. With wide hips, a modest waistline, and a generous bosom, she was what some men might describe as “on the solid side.” She was dressed in a white blouse, gray skirt, nylons, and sensible flats. Her jewelry was not ostentatious, and she wore a minimum of make-up: a little lipstick, some nail polish. There was nothing to call attention to her except a quick smile and an expression in her eyes that she knew something you didn’t. Her name was Alice.
We were two members of a reading club of six women, all of a similar age, which would meet to discuss a book that we’d all read. After a couple of bottles of wine, our tongues got a little looser, and somehow the discussion veered off into our sex lives, and how many lovers we’d had. I confessed to six of them, of which my late husband had been the last, and another woman named Gladys claimed to have had over twenty. Then we asked Alice.
“Do you really want to know? I bet you won’t believe me!”
“Try us!” Gladys said, the challenge heavy in her voice.
“Let me see…” Alice leaned back and did a quick mental calculation. “About…two thousand, I think.”
We were thunderstruck.
“Two thousand men?” I finally managed to ask.
“Maybe more. Maybe not as many. I never counted, really.”
“No way! We’re talking about penetration, not just making out.”
“That’s what I meant. I’ve had around two thousand cocks inside me. Most of them more than once. And I’d say that well over a thousand of them were virgins.” She smiled. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me!”
“Were you…a prostitute?”
“No. I never took money. Gifts, sometimes. Things like jewelry, perfume, theater tickets, that sort of thing. But never money.”
Gladys scoffed. “I don’t see how you could have a track record like that and still keep a job!”
“Well, in a way, it was my job. I was a dorm mother. My husband and I were resident assistants for one of the underclass dorms at a private college in New England. I won’t name it, but you’d recognize it. We had that job for twenty-five years.”
“You had a husband? Did he know about it?”
“Of course he did. He even suggested it. Do you want to know the whole story? I’ve never told it before, but now that my husband has passed on, it really doesn’t matter any more.”
The room fell silent. Alice took a sip of her wine, paused for a moment to put her recollections in order, and then told us this story:
“We got the job shortly after we were married. Jerry was a graduate student at the college, and I was a college dropout waitressing at a nearby diner where all the students ate when they needed something besides dorm food. That’s where I met him. I loved Jerry, and Jerry loved me. The only thing about him that bothered me was that he’d never give me anything more than a kiss and a hug, but I figured that he was ‘saving himself for marriage.’ When he said that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, I said ‘Yes.’ What else could I say? I was in love.
“But I found out on our honeymoon that he was gay. We made clumsy love, and it took forever to get him hard. When I did, he told me that it was he was thinking about guys, not me. When he finally came in me, he was out of me in a flash, his body in full panic mode. We tried a few more times, but it never got any better.
“I have to say he tried really hard to ‘go straight” for me, but it just didn’t work out. He said that I couldn’t arouse him sexually, and that he needed other men for sex, but swore that he loved me for who I was and would never leave me. And I loved him, too, even after he told me he wouldn’t sleep with me. And we stayed married for twenty-six years. In most ways, he was the ideal husband. He never brought problems home. He helped with the housework. He cheered me up when I was down, never forgot our anniversaries. He was always my best friend, the one constant in my life. He was my rock.
“I told him that if he wanted to sleep with other men from time to time, then that was all right with me. But I also him that I wasn’t going to be resigned to a sexless marriage, and he agreed that I could take sexual partners as I pleased, that he’d never get jealous of them. But I made a promise to him that I’d always use condoms, so as not to bring any diseases home, and so that I wouldn’t get pregnant. I never broke that promise.
“Anyway, we saw the job offered for the resident assistant. They were looking for a married couple, and we were perfect. They gave us a suite with a kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, bedroom and a large study. We simply used the study as a second bedroom. We ate together, watched TV together, chatted together, all that stuff. But we didn’t sleep together.
“It didn’t take us long to get to know the students, and it became apparent to me that some of them were very lonely. They were far from home and they canlı bahis şirketleri didn’t have steady girlfriends. Most of these young men were what we’d call “nerds” today, with no social life outside their studies. And they were very, very horny. I’d catch them staring at my boobs instead of looking me in the eye. I started to dress more provocatively, but always within the bounds of propriety. I’d flirt with them and occasionally stole a kiss that was more than maternal, and when I reached down to caress a crotch, I could feel a penis swelling and thickening under the denim of their jeans.
“Well, I discussed it with Jerry, and he suggested that I ask them to make love to me. He told me about a dorm room down at the end of the hall, across from our suite, which had been vacated by a student who had been in a car accident a couple of weeks into the term, and wouldn’t be back. I will remember the number of that room until the day I die; it was 244.
“It seemed to be the ideal solution for a horny young wife: a whole dorm filled with horny young men. So I agreed, and the next day, I found myself talking to a shy young man named John, I think…it’s been so long, but I think it was John…and he was the perfect candidate. I told him to meet me at two o’clock in room 244. When he got there, I pulled him inside and started stripping. I’ll never forget the expression on his face when I took my bra off! He’d never seen a woman’s naked tits before, and I swear he was this close to bolting out of the room! But then I started undressing him, telling him that everything was all right, that my husband didn’t mind, that we were going to have a lot of fun together. Soon he was naked, and he was sucking my nipples as I rolled a condom onto his hard dick. And then I pulled down my panties, grabbed his hand, and pressed it against my bush. His hand was shaking.
“It turned out that he was a virgin, and when we finally got into bed, he came as soon as he was inside me. I didn’t care. It was my first cock in months, and the sensation alone was pleasurable. I spent the next hour teasing him back to hardness and telling him how handsome and kind he was, and explaining what a woman needs in a lover. When he was hard again, I gave him another rubber and showed him how to use it. Then I guided him into me and told him to take it slow and gentle. He lasted a bit longer this time, and I actually climaxed before he did. Then, as he softened and slipped out of me, I told him that this was a wonderful thing for me, but that it probably wouldn’t happen again, and that he wouldn’t have any trouble finding and pleasing a girl if he put his mind to it and treated her with kindness and respect. That was really all he needed to know. There’s something that happens to a boy after he loses his cherry: he becomes more self-confident, and finds it easier to get dates. I’ve seen it hundreds of times.
“I took my next partner a few days later, a friend of John’s. He was a sophomore from Angola. He was a fine black man, and he wasn’t a virgin, but he hadn’t had a woman since he arrived in the States over a year ago. I fucked him two or three times that year, until I convinced him that he should be looking for his own dates. The girls would make fun of his English, which was more British than American, but after a while he became fluent enough to keep up small talk, and he was a wonderful boy, and an attentive lover. He actually ended up marrying an American woman and took her home to Africa, I think. And since you ladies are probably dying to know, his cock was big when it was soft, but about the same size as most men’s when it was hard.
“I guess you should know about that, too. I’ve had two thousand cocks in me, as I’ve said, and there were a few that were really small, and a few that were really large, but most of them were around five to seven inches, more or less. My hand span is seven inches, and I’d do a quick measurement when their cocks were hard to see if I had to be careful about my cervix. Other than that, they were pretty much all the same to me, except that I tended to like the thick ones more than the thin ones. It really depended on the guy, though, and how sensitive I was that day.
“The only thing these cocks had in common were that they were all dying for release, and for most of them, that meant in my pussy. But there were quite a few men that didn’t respond to my caresses. Most of them turned out to be gay, and I explained to them that being gay was perfectly all right, and that if they wanted gay sex, all they had to do was ask Jerry. And they did. We had it arranged that some days room 244 would be for him and his trysts. That was all right with me, since I needed a day off once in a while.
“And I met a few boys that were really, truly asexual. They didn’t have any interest in either men or women. I told them that that was all right, too. They needed to hear that. There’s a lot of pressure in the dorms to at least pretend to have a normal sex life, and canlı kaçak iddaa it was causing these boys a lot of distress. It was a relief to hear somebody praising them for being who they are. I bet I did more real counseling for those boys than any of those people at the school clinic!
“I was probably getting laid at least twice a day, sometimes three times. If it was a guy I really liked, I’d spend the whole day with him, getting him off two or three times, and masturbating myself in between. God, I was a horny bitch! I loved to finger-fuck myself in front of them, watching their eyes nearly pop out of their heads. When they got hard the second or third time, they could give me the shagging of my life, leaving me so that I was feeling no pain. You know, in later years, we’d hear about students with drug problems, who needed their fixes. I was kind of like that. I even used the school library to find out what I could about nymphomania; I wondered if I was normal or nuts.
“I did talk to one of the psychology professors at the college, after swearing him to silence. It turned out that my case was unique; there was no medical record of any woman with the history of serial sex that I had. He suggested that it wasn’t so much the sexual response that triggered it, but my craving for novelty. That was certainly true; after a few sessions with a lover, I would become bored. I knew what he’d do, I knew what his cock felt like in me. And I certainly didn’t want him to get an emotional attachment to me, since I couldn’t reciprocate it. We agreed that while my sex life certainly wasn’t normal, it couldn’t really be called dysfunctional, since it never interfered with the rest of my life. We had a series of interviews, and he ended up writing up my case in one of the professional journals. He gave me the pseudonym ‘Jessamyn’ and I’m sure you could dig it up if you don’t believe me.
“And those young men got some excellent training in sex! They learned what to do with a girl’s clitoris. I was telling them about my G-spot even before I heard the thing called by that name. And I taught them about a woman’s arousal patterns, and how she didn’t always have an orgasm, and didn’t need to. And I always made sure they learned their lessons! I should have been part of the curriculum, and getting paid as a teacher! But you can’t have everything, I suppose. And I took some satisfaction in giving hundreds and hundreds of boys their first real lessons in how to make love. I like to think that they became better lovers, but I have no idea whether that was true.
“OK, I know the next question you’re going to ask me: did I ever get it on with more than one boy at a time? The answer is: yes, at first. Usually, they were already roommates, and wanted to act out something they’d fantasized, about fucking the same woman at the same time. But I stopped doing them after a while. It turned out to be harder on the guys than they thought it would be. Too much jealousy. One guy would be in me and the other guy wanted it, too, but they really didn’t want to share. I wasn’t into blowing one guy as I fucked another, like they always do in the skin flicks. It didn’t get me off at all, so I figured: why do it? I was doing these guys a favor, not the other way around. And I didn’t do anal at all.
“Speaking of skin flicks, you also have to understand that I didn’t always climax. In fact, I probably climaxed less than half the time. Every once in a while, I’d have an orgasm that went right through the roof, but the funny thing was that the next time I slept with the guy, it usually didn’t happen again. I eventually figured out that it wasn’t just the guys, and it wasn’t just me, and it wasn’t the phases of the moon, either. It either happened or it didn’t. And when it didn’t, it was still fun and pleasurable with the right guy. When a guy cums in you, particularly if it’s his first time, there’s a thrill of power that’s almost better than a climax. I told that professor that, and he suggested that it could really be for that thrill that I was doing all this shagging. I think he was right about that.
“And I never faked an orgasm. I never needed to. These guys didn’t really care. In fact, when that movie came out, where they girl faked an orgasm in the cafeteria, a lot of guys were asking me if I could do that, too, to make it hotter for them. I said that I could, but I wouldn’t. And they were fine with that, most of them. They were glad to be getting any pussy at all!
“In fact, they were fine with just about anything. Their inexperience meant that they didn’t have any real preconceptions of what the sex act was all about, so they were open to any suggestions and criticisms. Well, they had usually read some pornography, and maybe even seen some skin flicks, but it didn’t take them long to realize that those things didn’t have much to do with real sex.
“In the early years, I screwed a few of the jocks, just for the novelty of it. But the funny thing was that they weren’t as good at canlı kaçak bahis sex as the nerds were. They had this competitive thing, where every fuck had to be better than the last one. And they had grown up with everybody telling them how great they were, and they thought they already knew it all. I was never turned on by muscles, anyway. But a sweet kiss from a shy, trembling young man would go straight to my pussy. So I gave up on the jocks; they just weren’t worth the trouble. And they were getting plenty of nooky anyway, from girls who usually didn’t know their clit from their big toe. The blind leading the blind! Of course, I shouldn’t talk. Those girls were on another power trip, since fucking the jocks made them more popular and desirable, at least in their own minds.
“Well, I guess I was balling almost a hundred guys a year. They weren’t just from my dorm. You know, word got out, and soon these guys were seeking me out instead of the other way around. So I had my pick of them. I always chose the lonely and insecure ones, the freshmen who were having trouble fitting in, the ones far from home. And, you know, they never blabbed to the administration. Not my guys, not Jerry’s guys. Not one.
“We were getting our condoms by mail order, because if we’d bought them at the local drugstore, it would have aroused some interest. I mean, who buys three or four hundred condoms in a year? And I only had two failures that resulted in a pregnancy.
“The first time that happened, Jerry and I talked it over and decided to keep the kid. It was a boy. I don’t know who his real father was, since I’d fucked four guys the previous week. But I didn’t care, and neither did Jerry. And Jerry turned out to be the perfect father. He was a tenured professor by then, but it never occurred to us to resign our jobs as RAs. The cock was just too good to turn down!
“The college wasn’t prepared for an RA couple with a kid, but Jerry persuaded them to let us stay on. And I found out later that the students themselves started a campaign to keep us, and hundreds of letters from past and present students flooded the offices of the dean of students. Well, the administration couldn’t afford to alienate all these potentially generous alumni, so they relented, even so far as giving us room 239 for the kid’s bedroom. That room shared a wall with our suite. We knocked out the wall and put a door in there.
“When the second kid, another boy, came along a few years later, we took that completely in stride. This time, I had a pretty good idea who the biological father was, but we didn’t see any sense in ruining a young man’s life by telling him that he had a kid he wasn’t planning on. And both of our little boys grew up to be fine people. That stuff about gay people not being good parents is all bullshit, let me tell you. Jerry did everything that any heterosexual father would have done for them. The kids always knew he was gay, and it was fine with them, although both of them are straight. And having two kids certainly helped quiet the rumors about Jerry’s sexual orientation. In those days, people weren’t as tolerant as they are now, so the kids turned out to be good camouflage, so to speak.
“Those two pregnancies kind of took the wind out of my sexual sails for a while, but after each baby was weaned, I would go back to taking care of the horny students who needed me. In fact, some of those students would baby-sit for me, to return a sexual favor. So I had plenty of time for screwing. The kids knew about that, too, because I didn’t try to hide it, and they grew up thinking that it was perfectly normal for a mother to do. As for them, I’ve told them that they were happy to pursue any lifestyle they wanted, as long as it wasn’t hurtful to somebody. We all accept each other as we are, and that’s the best way to raise a family, in my opinion.
“Well, room 244 was a very busy place over the years. In our first year there, Jerry somehow fixed it so we’d have it as a love nest. I think it had something to do with the computers being told that the room didn’t exist anymore, so they never assigned a student to it. But room service would still change the sheets and clean the room. In return, I was always making them cookies for their lunch breaks, and I got to know quite a few of them over the years. The maids knew what was going on — it’s hard to ignore four or five discarded condoms in the trash can — but they never said a word about it to anybody.
“I’m not going to say that our love life would have worked for everybody. But I got what I wanted: a chance to make life easier for thousands of lonely students, and a never-ending supply of fresh hard cocks. I didn’t need any emotional connection with any of them, since I had Jerry, and Jerry was all the emotional connection I needed. And he got a loving wife who cooked his meals and listened to his troubles and let him screw all the fine young men he wanted. And he got plenty of cock, too, although it was with a lower number of students, since the straight kids outnumbered the gay kids maybe eight to one. So his relationships with his lovers turned out to be somewhat deeper and more intense than mine, but that was all right with me. I just wanted him to be happy, and he was.
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