Moaning for Knowledge
Oct 10th, 2024 by Holiday
I have to give Natalie some credit, but not much. She introduced me to anal sex.
To this point, the idea never crossed my mind. I was young and still naïve.
My girlfriend had raven hair and stunning looks that compared to a young Elizabeth Taylor or Catherine Zeta-Jones. The good fortune of attracting her favors seemed inexplicable, though I enjoyed the privilege for at least two years.
By day Natalie worked with elementary school children. She was well-educated, and professional.
After hours, Natalie could be – by turns, either a virtuous nun or a wanton slut. She embraced the Madonna-Whore complex, and there was no middle ground.
When she acted the wanton slut, the sex was wicked and intoxicating. Natalie urged me – as if challenging my love, to degrade her sexually.
In this mode, she yearned for cum facials, spankings and, of course: anal sex. She equated this form of male dominance with love.
Once this fever passed, Natalie anguished over her moral deficiency and admonished me for disgracing her. This pattern characterized our history. Natalie was either hot, or she was cold.
When desire possessed her, Natalie wanted a constant dose of cock. She demanded a complete experience: in her mouth, across her face, between her ample cleavage, between her thighs, in her pussy and especially in her ass.
Yet when the freeze descended, Natalie didn’t want to acknowledge that filthy business.
I offered her my friendly cock, anyway.
“Get that thing away from me,” she said.
My foray into bisexual adventures occurred a few years before I met Natalie. She knew of these proclivities, though my reports from the land of deviance were strictly superficial and not revealing at all.
I allowed her to believe that a man had sucked my cock just once. I allowed my girlfriend to believe what was necessary to gain access to her heart and her body:
I was straight.
This was not an admirable trait. I’m not going to soft-pedal my egregious side, but I had read Machiavelli and he was right.
The truth is I had already lost count of the men who performed oral sex on me. There were too many times when I had been sufficiently drunk, stoned, wasted and obliged willing males I encountered at parties, gay bars and the baths. The number exceeded a dozen easily.
These males touched me, unzipped my pants, fondled my stiff appendage and paid respectful homage to my cock with luxuriant blow jobs. I remained detached, like a boy on his way to reform school.
The idea of anal sex with males …. me penetrating a tight inviting ass, held no appeal. Past tense, present tense, future tense. No appeal.
Yet after Natalie offered me her ass to fuck, I became an immediate convert – with qualification.
In no time, I absolutely loved seeing her on her knees with her enchanting derriere in the air. I grasped her hips and plumbed her passage with all degrees of exertion: slow, moderate, fast, rapid, crazed.
My God; it was wonderfully intense.
I wondered how I had neglected this part of my education.
And yet, the more I observed Natalie’s sexual delirium – when the fever possessed her, the more I wondered how it felt to be serviced the same way.
One night when I cruised the local bath house, I stepped across the line. I dropped my pose of the hustler out for a quick blow job.
I went fag and lay on my stomach in a small public room, inviting an experienced male to take my ass.
Everything is possible in a gay bath.
A black man approached me and suggested I follow him to a more private cubicle. He removed the standard white towel all cruisers wear and revealed a rather large cock.
It seemed impossible to accommodate him.
Yet this anonymous man entered me with such graceful ease that I was stunned. The experience seemed natural. Perfectly natural.
My God; it was wonderfully intense.
I loved the experience. Past tense, present tense, future tense.
I knew why my girlfriend moaned that special way when a hard cock slid in-and-out of her tight ass.
Now I moan the same way.
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my god, that was wonderfully intense.