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In Chapter one our heroine, Kate, a successful businesswoman turning 60, has asked herself a troubling question. Is she a slut? Thus began a series of chapters in which she describes to her husband Henry (her fourth husband) her life beginning with her late teen years and her sexual activities at each stage. The portion in italics in each story is her recollection of some memorable sexual experience from her past. In this chapter Kate, now employed in an entry-level position with a major publisher, takes an author to a book signing and they squeeze in a nooner before the signing.
“So what did the Professor and Halili think of your new love? Or was it a one time thing?” asked Henry.
I stood and walked naked over to the counter in our loft to refill our coffee cups. “Oh, I never told them about Howard, and I never told Howard about them.”
I laughed as I walked back. “I just fucked all three of them for the whole school year. I was a very busy girl. It was a miracle I graduated.”
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” Henry asked, but didn’t this Howard fellow become your first husband? How did that work out with the Professor and Halilli?”
“Oh, they left for Harvard about the time I got married, so they never knew. The Professor was a really big deal in English literary circles, and lots of universities were willing to bid for him. “Besides,” I laughed, “I have to admit, getting married was a bit of an accident. It certainly wasn’t the great white wedding. I don’t think my mother ever forgave me for the way I got married the first time.”
“What? Were you pregnant? I thought you told me you couldn’t get pregnant?” There was a tone of panic in his voice.
“Relax Henry. There is zero chance that I was pregnant then and less than zero chance that I am going to get pregnant now. For God’s sake, I’m sixty-two years old. It was the marriage that was an accident.”
“So how did that work?”
“Well, Howard liked to gamble, and he fancied himself a card counter. One day about six months into our relationship, he announced that he and some friends were going to Las Vegas for a long weekend and that they were going to make a fortune playing blackjack by counting the cards. One of his buddies had a big Cadillac convertibleÔÇöyou know the ones with tail fins that had as much metal in them as a Mini-Cooper has in the whole body today. I had never been to Las Vegas, so I thought, what the hell and agreed to go.
As it turned out, they wanted me along as the designated driver. The guy who owned the Caddie had a baggie of drugs that would have made a pharmaceuticals salesman feel inadequate. So I found myself behind the wheel of a ’68 Caddie convertible tearing across the Nevada desert at something slightly in excess of 100 mph, with three guys in the back seat who were hallucinating.
Sounds like “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” said Henry, referring to Hunter Thompson’s best-selling book about a drug-addled trip to Vegas.
“Exactly,” I said. “The first time I read that book, I wondered if Hunter Thompson had been one of the three amigos with me in the Cadillac. I never could remember who the other two were besides Howard.”
“So you were partaking from the magic drug baggie, too?”
“No, no. But I drank a shit load of beer as we rolled across the desert, and once we got to Vegas I pretty much killed a fifth of good Scotch. No drugs, but enough booze to make my memory at best highly unreliable and, for some parts of the trip, non-existent.”
“So okay, you went to Las Vegas and tied one on. Hardly an original strategy. But how did the marriage thing work?”
“Well, the guys were so fucked up that they could hardly play blackjack, much less count cards effectively, so they didn’t take long to run out of money. But somehow, on what should have been his last few hands, Howard scored big. He raked the chips off the table and announced to the world that he was going to marry me.”
“The rest of what happened is a bit of blur, but when I woke up late the next afternoon, I had a gigantic fake diamond on the third finger of my left hand and a fully signed and apparently valid and enforceable wedding license and certificate of marriage in my purse. The honeymoon consisted of a painfully hung over drive back to Berkeley with three guys in the back seat who were slowly reconnecting with reality. Howard didn’t figure out he was married until we got back to Berkeley.”
“I don’t think Howard was quite ready for marriage. He just got heavier into drugs, and about six months after the Las Vegas trip he announced he was quitting law school and going to India to join an Ashram. I never heard from him again, so after a couple of years of waiting, I divorced him. Even in those days California had lovely no-fault divorce laws. There weren’t any assets to divide, and asking for alimony would have been silly, so it was a pretty simple procedure. One of Howard’s law school buddies handled the whole thing for kartal escort bayan me.”
“Wow,” Henry said. “Everyone says you should have an interesting story about your wedding, but that one tops any that I have heard. So what did you do for sex after Howard bugged out to the Ashram?”
I looked at him over the top of my coffee cup with a smirk and said, “Oh, I learned to do without.”
Henry laughed and said, “Oh bullshit. I can’t imagine you going a week without having sex with someone.”
I smiled and said, “You know me too well, lover. Let’s just say that I returned to my pre-Howard habits. After all, it was Berkeley before the AIDS scare. If you couldn’t get laid, you just weren’t trying.”
“So have you got any good stories you want to tell me about your sex life after Howard left?”
I took a long sip of coffee and thought for a moment. “Yes, one especially good one, but first I have to get dressed and go to a meeting. As far as my accountant is concerned, I am here in New York to do some work, not just tell you lewd stories about my past and let you fuck me until my ears ring. Time to go earn some money.”
When I returned at around 7:00 that evening, Henry had prepared a marvelous Proven├žale-style beef saut├ę that we enjoyed along with a good bottle of vintage Burgundy I had picked up from a nice little wine store located a couple of blocks from our loft. It as a remarkable Gevrey-Chambertin, a Clos Saint-Jacques, as I recall.
The beef and the accompanying vegetables were gone, and we were nearing the bottom of the wine bottle when Henry asked, “So what can you tell me about your post-Howard love life?”
I smiled and thought for a moment or two. “Okay,” I said, “let me tell you about the Anderson twins:”
A few months before Howard left, I had graduated and, by some miracle (helped I’m sure by the Professor’s recommendation), landed a job in the San Francisco office of a major publishing house, A.H. Robards & Co. I was, of course, at the absolute bottom of the food chain in their San Francisco office, getting coffee, cleaning up meeting rooms, making copies. You know, all the menial shit. But it was a job in the publishing industry. I was sure that Truman Capote was going to walk into the office any day and demand that I be his editor (I think the house did publish his books, but I’m sure he never saw the inside of their offices except maybe in New York).
One day, the managing editor for San Francisco called me into his office and told me he had a job for me that didn’t involve coffee or making copies. There was an author, Lars Anderson from Minneapolis, coming to town the next day and he wanted me to take him to a meet and greet (book signing) at a bookstore out in Orinda. I guess he figured that since my mother lived out there I could get the author out there and back without getting lost. My job was to pick him up at the airport drive him out to the bookstore and then back to his hotel in the City. The signing copies for him had already been delivered to the bookstore.
“What’s his book about?” I asked, assuming it was a murder mystery or some such.
“Uhh, . . . I’m not sure. Let me look for a minute.” He shuffled around in some papers on his desk and finally pulled up a sheet of paper. “Yes, here it is, ‘The Art of Woodworking.’ His plane gets in at 10:30, and the signing is scheduled for 2:00. Make sure he gets there on time. Oh, and I guess you can buy him lunch on the way over there, but don’t spend too much.”
Oh shit. A manual, I thought. Well, I knew I was starting at the bottom of the heap, but woodworking, really? I’ll bet he’s about 70 years old.
None the less, he was a real author, and the company was going to let me represent it, so I grabbed the sheet of paper with the details of where and when and got out of the boss’ office before he changed his mind.
The next morning, I put on a nice dress and blouse with a wool blazer and headed down to SFO in my little Volkswagen. I had even made a little sign that said “Mr. Anderson.”
I stood waiting at the gate (yes, you could still go out to the gate in those days) with my little sign, focusing on the older gentlemen getting off the plane, when I suddenly heard a deep sexy voice asking, “Excuse me. I’m Lars Anderson. Are you from Robards?”
I turned and was left momentarily speechless. He was a tall blonde Minnesota Swede, maybe thirty years old, and breathtaking, absolutely one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen.
“Oh yes!” I finally said after I finished staring at him. “I’m Kate O’Riley and I’m from Robards. I’m supposed to take you out to Brandon Books in Orinda for your book signing this afternoon. Have you been to San Francisco before? You picked a perfect day. There’s no fog today. We have a lot of fog in the summer and it’s kind of cold, but I guess not like it is in Minnesota. It won’t take us long to get over there so we can get you a bite of lunch on escort maltepe the way.” I realized I was talking too much and way too fast, but I was so fixated on his sparkling blue eyes I couldn’t seem to stop.
Lars just smiled in response to my monolog, obviously enjoying my reaction to him. I suspect it happened to him on a regular basis. God only knows how long I would have kept talking if he hadn’t interrupted to ask where the baggage claim was.
“Oh yes. I guess you will want your bag, won’t you. Right this way.”
As we walked to the baggage claim, I continued to chatter. I hadn’t been this way with a man since I was 12 years old.
By the time we collected his bag and got to my car, I had decided I had to have this man. I was still talking a blue streak, but behind it I was scheming. How was I going to seduce him? As it turned out, it wasn’t too difficult. If I hadn’t been talking so much I might have noticed how much of the time he was spending staring at my tits. He told me about it later.
As we drove up the Bay Shore Freeway and then through the City and across the Bay Bridge, I let my dress gradually creep up my legs. Well, actually I helped it along a bit. I was paying attention to his reaction, and it was just what I had been hoping for. While I was continuing to talk and give him a detailed description of the sights we were passing, he was totally ignoring everything but my legs. By the time we neared the end of the Bay Bridge, my skirt had crept up so that it was above the top of my hose (I could never bring myself to wear panty hose).
Finally Lars interrupted. “You know you really have lovely legs,” he said.
“I turned and smiled at him, looking deep into his blue eyes, as I said, “Thank you.” Then I reached over and picked up his left hand and put it on my thigh, just below the top of my hem. His hand was warm, and he immediately began to massage my thigh. I pushed his hand down toward the inside of my thigh and then pulled it up higher on my leg. He immediately got the idea and begin working his hand up towards my pussy. By the time we got to the Caldecott Tunnel that cuts through the Oakland hills to Orinda and Walnut Creek he had pushed my panties aside and had two fingers inserted into my sopping wet cunt. I was really having to work to focus on the driving.
Fortunately, we got to the Orinda turn-off from the freeway before I climaxed or crashed the car, and I pulled the VW into the first lawful parking place I could find.
“Oh fuck, that feels good,” I told him as he continued to finger fuck me.
He smiled and said, “I could make it feel a lot better, but we need to go somewhere a bit more private. We still have a couple of hours before the book signing, and right now the only thing I want to eat is you.”
“It just so happens,” I said, “that my mother’s house is about a mile from here and I know for a fact that she is away on vacation, so I think we should go there.” As I spoke I reached over and began to stroke the lump in his trousers. “But you know,” I continued, if we are going to get there without a wreck you are going to have to stop finger fucking me. The road is twisty and I have to pay attention.”
“Okay,” he said as he slowly pulled his fingers from my cunt. “But let’s hurry. I really want you.” As I pulled away from the curb, he slid his fingers into his mouth savoring the flavor of my pussy.
Five minutes later we pulled up in front of my mother’s house. I didn’t have a key with me, but I knew there was one under the mat by the back door. Lars and I walked around to the back by the pool. As soon as we closed the gate behind us, he spun me around and began a long, sloppy, sensual kiss. His hands started around my back but quickly slid down so they were massaging my ass, pulling it up into his crotch.
Finally I pulled back from the kiss and said, “Wait, let’s go inside and take our clothes off.”
I walked to the back door and deliberately bent from the waist to retrieve the key from beneath the mat. Lars took the hint and grabbed my hips, pulling them into his crotch and dry humping me. I pushed back and swiveled my hips against him. I could feel a large, hard, erect cock pushing against my ass.
Once we got inside, I told him to lean against the back of the couch so I could do a striptease for him. He followed my instructions, and I slowly peeled off one garment after another until I was naked, except for a string of pearls and the sling-back pumps I had worn that day. I walked towards him, and when he reached for me, I softly said, “No,” as I pushed his hands back to the couch. Then I dropped to my knees and began to massage his erection through his trousers. I quickly followed that up by releasing his belt and the fastener on his trousers along with his zipper. His pants fell to the floor and I pushed his boxers after them. Now his erect cock was right in front of my face. I reached out with my tongue and began to lick pendik escort the head.
“Oh fuck!” he said.
“Shhh,” I responded. “It gets better.” Then I sucked his cock as far into my mouth as I could take it while I massaged it with my tongue.
This brought a groan.
For several minutes I sucked and stroked his cock, spilling plenty of saliva for lube, and as I occasionally looked up I saw that he was quickly stripping off the rest of his clothes. Now we were both naked.
Finally he said, “Oh fuck. That’s enough. I want to cum inside you, and if you keep this up I’ll cum in your mouth.”
I pulled back and then crouched down to untie his shoes and pull them and his socks off so like me he was completely naked. I don’t usually do submissive, but this felt kind of good for the brief time it took to get his shoes and socks off.
“Are you going to eat me,” I asked as I stood and walked around to the front of the couch. I sat leaning back against the back of the couch with my legs spread wide in invitation and now it was his turn to drop to his knees. He moved his face immediately to my pussy and began to use his tongue to lap long slow strokes from just above the entry to my cunt to just short of my clit. One hand was holding my outer lips apart so he could lick my sensitive inner lips and the two fingers of his other hand were slowly sliding in and out of my cunt.
“Oh God. So good, so good, so fucking good! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” Then I was moaning and crying as he continued to eat me.
I was using my hands to massage my tits and then to pull on my nipples.
My clit, my clit,” I said. “Suck on my clit!” He looked up at me with a wicked grin and then began to finish each of his tongue strokes with a flick of my clit. Not much. Just a quick touch, and each time he did it I screamed.
Now I was twisting my nipples hard and he had taken my clit between his lips and was sucking on it with an occasional light nip with his teeth.
“Oh fuck. I’m cumming. Now. Now, Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuuuuuuck! I screamed as an orgasm ripped through me.
As I came down from the peak, I couldn’t stand him continuing to maul my clit, so I pushed his head away.
He was leaning back on his heels looking at me as I came down. I wiped the tears from my eyes and when I finally could speak, I said, “Oh fuck that was so good. You are really good at that.” I paused for a moment and then I said, “Now I want to fuck that hard dick of yours.”
I lay back on the couch, threw one leg up on the back of the couch, and let the other reach for the floor, inviting him to mount me. Lars quickly climbed between my legs and began to force his cock into my still tight pussy.
He groaned as it sunk all the way in. Then he just held it there filling my cunt all the way to its end.
“Oh god!” I said. “I’m so full. So good . . . But now fuck me!” I growled and screamed at him, “Fuck me! Use that big hard thing to fuck me!”
He began fucking me with long slow strokes. “Faster!” I yelled at him. Soon he was pumping his cock in and out of me as hard and fast as he could and I was levering my hips up to meet each thrust. I could feel another orgasm approaching, and then it was there, suddenly and sharply turning my nervous system into a body-wide lightning bolt. I screamed as the orgasm tore through me.
Lars hadn’t cum. He pulled out of me and dragged me off the couch and onto the carpet. Then he turned me over and pulled my hips up so my head was on the ground and my ass was in the air. Suddenly his cock was in me again and he was pounding me. My tits were swinging beneath me and I was groaning and crying. Oh shit, it felt so good. Even though I had just cum, I wanted him to fuck me and keep fucking me and fucking me and fucking me.
He was grunting with every thrust, and I figured he would cum soon. I reached back and began to play with my clit. We held that position, Lars pounding my ass from behind, while I diddled my clit for a short period, and then he paused. I felt his prick stiffen inside me and then he made a final thrust so his cock was up against the end of my cunt. He groaned and I felt his hot jism flood my pussy as he pumped shot after shot of his cum into me. That set me off with another screaming climax.
Once his cock had shrunk down and slid from my cunt, we climbed onto the couch and fell asleep in each others’ arms, almost missing the time for his presentation at the book store.
About a dozen people showed up and we sold maybe ten books, tops. Not very exciting as far as book marketing goes, but the sex was marvelous. After we completed the meet and greet, I took him back over to the City. He had a room reserved in the Mark Hopkins (electronic publishing hadn’t set in yet, so we still had a great budget for author road shows). Lars and I had dinner at a big deal restaurant, and then I spent the night with him and took him down to the airport to catch his plane back to Minneapolis. We spent most of the night screwing, so I wasn’t exactly on top of my game when I showed up in the office later that morning. No one said anything about the fact that I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
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