that went with it, the rest of the time to pleasure. And to whoring.
Bill Britten became a regular customer again, playing out the little half-hour dramas with me as I let him look up my dress and play with myself once a week for thirty dollars. One of my best clients was a 50-year-old preacher who came by every Monday and Thursday afternoon at four. I could set my watch by him.
He was not unfriendly, but certainly not interested in conversation. He was always in a hurry, and one time left his motor running in the car while he rushed in to have me go down on him. He only paid ten dollars, but he was never there longer than five or ten minutes.
The performance was always the same. I would meet him at the door in a bikini or just briefs and bra. He would look me over and denounce me as a contemptuous harlot in about one or two sentences. Sitting down on the couch, he would unzip his trousers to release his erect penis, and I would kneel on the floor and go down on him, taking every last bit of his ejaculation. After that, he couldn't get out of the house fast enough and I was often afraid that a neighbor might see him zipping up his trousers on the way out.
Most of my clients were married and interested in more or less normal sessions of intercourse or oral sex. Some would drop by for an hour or more in an evening, others would take me out to dinner and then to their place or a hotel. There were weeks when I had as many as a dozen dates, and there were those times when I had only my two or three regulars.
I wanted to be satisfied by my commercial dates. I wanted them to go down on me or have intercourse until I had orgasms too. However, there were few of them who ever stayed that long. When I am making love for pleasure, I like to be worked on for a long time. There are few men who could ever really satisfy me.
One such man was Arthur, a fellow about 30 who owned a pretty large business in town and always stayed with me an hour or two. He was the only customer I ever allowed to spend, the night. Arthur was a great lover, a tall and athletic man with black curly hair and a handsome face. But when I say that he was a great lover, I don't mean in exactly the conventional way. Arthur was completely impotent!
His greatest satisfaction came from going down on me for great long periods of time, and usually in front of a mirror. He would sometimes spend an hour down there with his mouth and tongue keeping me in a high state of delirious stimulation. He knew precisely where to hit and how to agitate. I would often become almost numb on my clitoris after he would work on me for an hour.
Arthur's orgasm, if you could call it that, could only come after one of these very long sessions of going down on me. It would be weak, very weak, and accomplished without any erection, but with a great deal of effort, a lot of grunting and groaning. He always paid me a hundred dollars.
It was at the swinging swap parties that I became involved with the real offbeat and perverted practices. I went to these for my own pleasure (or was it torment), or at least there was nothing commercial about it. Bill took me to some, and Cindy introduced me to some men she thought I would like and also to some married couples who ran in the sex party crowd and who liked threesomes.
Joe and Martha Layton were the strangest couple I met during this time, although not necessarily the type that usually attracted me. They intrigued me at first, particularly Joe, because he was the most completely sexual person I had ever met. I wanted to try out everything, to learn about everything, and Joe had once told me at a party, “Baby, there's not anything in this world I haven't done with man, beast or machine.”
Joe was a slim and even fragile looking man of about 35 with very neat hair and neat clothes. He was a neat man all around. Not a handsome man. Not a pansy. Just neat. His face seemed dirty and yet interesting. He had definitely the attractiveness of evil about him.
“I'll bet you've never screwed a mouse,” I smart-talked back to him that first time he was bragging about all that he'd done.
“No, but I screwed a St. Bernard when I was in the Air Force in Germany,” he told me with that dirty laugh of his, the degenerate gleam in his eye as he continued with obvious enjoyment, “Yeah… we was on guard duty at this damn place up in the mountains, this A.C. amp; W. Station. Hell, I used to get that dog in there when my buddy was out, and she loved it right up there. I think that dog had the schnitzel from some of the krauts around there too.”
“Where were all the sexy frauleins?” I asked him curiously, noticing Martha walk up behind him. “I thought you guys always had plenty of women over there.”
“Women… yeah, they were a dime a dozen,” he scoffed. “You could get yourself a little girl 12 or 13 over there for ten bucks. Crap, this was different, gal. You don't many times find a good dog you can screw heh-heh… heh-heh-heh…”
I thought Joe was pulling my leg at first, although there was the dirty look I mentioned that told me he might enjoy the idea, even if he hadn't actually done it. But Martha was even more of an enigma to me at that point. For a swinging wife, she seemed so possessive or jealous of Joe.
Martha was a couple of years older than he, a pretty enough girl with almost no breasts and a real “butch” look. She was cute all right, with her short and straight black hair and a youthful dress and appearance that made her look as young as I did. Because of her small build, she had even been mistaken for a teenager a couple of times.
“How do you live with him?” I asked jokingly when she came up behind us there at the party, “Does he tell you about the St. Bernards he's made when you're in bed at night?”
“Not usually… my dear,” Martha replied very stiffly, eyeing me, looking me over as if she wanted to find some terrible flaw. “No, my dear, he usually regales me with the stories about how many high school boys' asses he's felt that day, or how many nice cocks he's played with. He's going to end up in jail some day and then I can go out and marry me a human being.”
“Shi… yet!” Joe snarled at her, brazenly rubbing the front of his trousers until his penis pressed out in relief against the material. “You think you're some damn saint, baby? Is that why you come to these parties and bird-dog these gals so you can kiss their ass when they go to the bathroom? Damn, you got a hell of a lot of room to talk. Yeah! Yeah, Denise. I ain't kiddin'. You seen her go in the bathroom at the party last week with Eleanor and Ginnie..
“I don't do it with animals or little boys.”
“Oh, hell, honey,” he cooled his temper suddenly, smiled broadly, and threw an arm around Martha. “We're both queer and perverted as hell. That's why we love each other. Say, this party hasn't even started swingin' yet. You ditch that crazy Bill Britten an' come over to our place, huh!”
I could say that I was sure they were kidding about all those things and that was why I went with them. But the real reason was that I was so evilly intrigued by it all, that I went because of the idea that it might just all be true. It was cold that night, and I remember being so disappointed when I saw their apartment-a cheap old place with bleak furnishings in the living room and a veneer bedroom suit in limed oak that was peeling badly.
We had a drink and sat around the bed talking. Joe had only a high school education, had been in the Air Force a number of years, and worked now as an X-Ray technician for the county health department. He used his job as an entree sometimes to seducing young boys and girls when he traveled around to the schools with the mobile- unit.
They had not been kidding. Joe delighted in explaining how he would grasp the children by their hips or buttock to line them up in the front of the machine:
These little gals… hell, with them short skirts they wear, I just reach under and grab their ass and get so damn hot I can cream in my pants, and if there's a kid I think likes for men to play with him, I get him at the end of the line so he'll be in there alone with me, then I tell him it's better if he drops his britches for the X-ray. I mess around a little bit and if it gets hard, I start playin' with it…”
Beside Joe, Martha was a real doll. As I said before, she was a genuinely cute girl. And she also had two years of college and a job as a medical secretary. She was sharp and displayed a great deal of personality as well as an interest and knowledge of so many subjects other than sex. However, Joe had not been lying about her having an array of sexual quirks that, while they did not equal his, certainly tended toward the truly bizarre.
We had advanced to the stage of mutual nudity and feeling and groping around on the bed, when Martha began to open up:
“That party tonight would have been a damn drag, Denise. Most of those people are so square they look at a girl funny if she starts playing with assholes. Last week was so damn much better. Those people were real swingers, and that Ginnie… jee-whizz! You look at her bent over from the rear and you've got something, Denise. I
