In Chapter one our heroine, Kate, a successful business woman 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 she tells how she met and seduced the first of her husbands.
*****
"Hmm. That sounds like a most unusual literature class you were taking," my husband, Henry said as I signed the check for our brunch.
I looked up at him and thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess it was. For years I just thought of the whole thing as a rather strange affair I had with a professor and his wife, but eventually I was able to think about how much I learned beyond the subject of sex."
Henry gave me a quizzical look, his head tipped to one side, asking implicitly but clearly, "What else had I learned from those perverts besides sex?"
"Okay, I learned a lot about sex from the Professor and Halilli," I said laughing. "My God, those were my first experiences with lesbian sex, threesomes, anal sex (a skinny dick like the Professor's is the right way to start), mutual masturbation, dominance and submission, the use of sex toys, and, oh God a host of other perversions. Their imagination was not only perverse, but unlimited. But, believe it or not, those sessions out by his pool and in his office taught me skills about analyzing an author's work that I still use today. Sure, you can do the same thing with Dickens or Melville, but it is so much easier to bring yourself to read and think about the material if it is pornographic.
"I guess it helped," I continued, "that the Professor had such an extensive collection of Victorian porn. The books he gave me to read weren't necessarily typical. Just like today, most of what was written in the genre was purely prurient with no underlying story or moral. But the ones that the Professor gave me to read had some substance that you could focus on once you got past the sex."
"I see and how did you get past the sex to focus on the 'literary merit'?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I'll leave that to your nasty imagination."
"Hmm," he said. "That's a pretty thought."
It was noisy on the street, so we dropped the subject as we walked back to our loft. As we stood alone in the industrial style lift taking us up, I felt his hand begin to fondle my ass. "Didn't get enough last night?" I asked.
"It's your stories."
"Make you jealous?"
"No, just randy."
"Good. Want to hear another while I sit on your cock?"
"Yes," he responded eagerly. "Do you have more about the Professor and Halili?"
"Oh, there's lots more about them. I screwed the Professor on a nearly weekly basis for the rest of that quarter and on a more random basis for the rest of the time I was studying at Cal, and Halili was my occasional lesbian lover throughout that period."
"Always with the Professor in attendance?"
Sometimes, and sometimes not. I was never sure whether he understood the extent of my relationship with Halili. Of course, he's dead now, so I guess it doesn't matter."
"What about Halili? What's she doing these days?"
"I don't know. She eventually got a Masters degree in English and the last time I saw her, she was teaching freshman English at a junior college in the South Bay—some place in San Jose, I think. You know though, she is enough older than me that she is likely retired someplace by now."
"No longer seducing coeds, you think?"
"Who knows? She was pretty randy."
Changing the subject slightly, I said, "I have another story I was thinking about that I want to tell you. . . but first I want to fuck." As I spoke I reached down and stroked his rapidly hardening cock through his trousers. He opened the lift door and we went straight to the bed.
Three-quarters of an hour later, we were sitting naked at our kitchen table, feeling very satisfied as we sipped freshly brewed coffee.
"So what was this other story you were going to tell me?" Henry asked.
"Oh yes. I was, wasn't I. Someone with a very hard cock distracted me, but now I think I can focus on it. It goes like this:
It was a warm early fall day in my senior year at Cal. I had just finished a not-so-satisfying session with the Professor (I took a "Special Projects" class from him all three quarters of my Senior Year). It was one of those sessions when Halili didn't show up, and all the Professor wanted to do was talk literature. He was odd about that. Some days he was randy as hell, and other days you would have thought his libido had died. Believe me, it is hard as hell to spend two hours deconstructing pornographic novels and not get any following the discussion.
Anyhow, I was walking across the campus back to where I had parked my car. Just in front of the law school there is a small grove of trees. When I was a child and my mother was working at the University I spent a good deal of time climbing in the very same trees. They were perfect for climbing.
As I approached I noticed a guy stretched out on the lawn beneath the trees, reading a thick tome I assumed was a law book. I had seen this guy near the law school several times before. He was gorgeous. His medium brown hair was thick and long with a soft wave and a shine to it that women spend fortunes trying to recreate for themselves; and he was just born with it, the lucky bastard. His face was clean-shaven with even features and dark brown eyes. God, those eyes. They could look straight into your soul. His build was what you would call slight—perhaps five-ten and lean, narrow at both the hips and shoulders. I later learned that notwithstanding his slight build, the muscles under his clothing were hard and chiseled.
Each time I had seen him, he had caused me to pause and take a second look. When he had caught me looking a couple of days earlier, he had smiled, as if to say, "caught you looking, and I know what you're thinking." But then he had turned and gone on his way.
