Zane's Sex Chronicles, page 8
He snapped one last picture, and then I heard the humming while the camera automatically rewound the film. It was that moment I opened my eyes. I was shocked to see that he was naked. To this day, I still don’t know when he took off his clothes. All I know is that he looked good. Damn good.
I sat up on the bed and reached out my arms for him. He put the camera down on the foot of the bed and joined me. Then I jumped his bones for real. We did all the things I had imagined when I was masturbating.
Curtis and I have been living together for more than a year now. Our wedding is next month. I just can’t wait to see how the wedding pictures turn out.
Lust in a Bus Depot
“Simone? Is that you?”
I turned around to see who was calling out my name. “Wendell? Wow! Long time, no see!”
It had indeed been a long time since Wendell and I had laid eyes on each other—at least four or five years. We walked up to each other and engaged in a long, comforting embrace.
“Damn, Simone, you look fantastic! How long has it been?” His smile was still the same. So beautiful, I wanted to jump his bones.
“Hmmm, it has been quite some time. Funny how time flies.” I was in shock, but tried not to show it. Ever since my freshman year in high school, I had wanted Wendell. I was always too shy to tell him, though. I spent hours upon hours daydreaming about him in class, but he never knew it. He was so busy dating all the cheerleaders and school queens, I’m not sure he even cared.
In high school, I was dumpy and far from a sex goddess. My mother used to imply that I purposely made myself look unattractive so boys wouldn’t pay me any mind. Looking back on it, I realize she may have not only hit the nail on the head but all the way through the fucking headboard.
I got lost in thought, daydreaming again, when the woman over the loudspeaker started blaring out the bus arrival and departure schedule again. Her voice was nothing short of obnoxious and knocked me out of my trance. Wendell wasn’t saying anything either. He was too busy checking my new and improved ass out.
The Simone from high school and the Simone standing before him in the bus depot were from two different planets. I was shy all the way through high school, but everything changed when I got to college. Two people are responsible for the dramatic changes in me that came about freshman year: my roommate and my man.
Melinda was my roommate freshman year and was a real wild chile. She insisted I shed the dumpy look and threw hoochie clothes on me instead, did my hair and makeup, and even showed me how to seduce a man. At first, I thought she was plum foolish, but after being bored to death too many weekends in a row while she was out on dates, I decided to give it a shot.
It didn’t take long for the Melinda Mind-Bender Plan, as she called it, to work. I met Duncan at the very first club we hit on my virgin voyage into the nightlife. The areas Melinda couldn’t help me in, Duncan damn sure did. He taught me how to free myself from the imprisonment I created in my mind growing up. He taught me how to experiment with my feelings and emotions, wants and desires. In other words, he taught me how to fuck.
Duncan used to get this pussy anywhere and everywhere and at anytime. I never complained. I was glad I had waited for the right lover to come along because he broke my ass in right. I never loved him, though; never that. It was almost like fucking a play brother or something. I cared for him, but not in a relationship kind of way.
Eventually my feelings, or lack thereof, caused our demise. That was perfectly cool with me. It’s not like I was sweating it or anything. I left the relationship with more than I entered it with, and that’s all that matters.
Wendell, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether. I always wanted the real deal with him. Now that fate had intervened, I wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by to get with him. “So, Wendell, what are you doing in a bus depot in Charlotte in the middle of the night?”
He laughed. “I might ask you the same thing. I’m on my way from NYC to Atlanta, and you?”
“Oh, you still live in the Apple, huh? I live in D.C. now. I’m on my way to meet my parents in Florida for a few days. Gonna do the mouse-ears thing.” We both giggled like a couple of kindergarten students.
“How long before your bus leaves?”
“Hmm, about an hour or so, but you know how it is with buses. An hour could mean three.”
People were walking past and bumping into us, since we were in the direct path of the main pedestrian traffic inside the terminal. Wendell suggested we find a couple of seats and helped me with my duffel bag. The bag was extremely heavy, and it was a relief not to have to drag it for a moment. As usual, I had packed everything but the kitchen sink and would end up not wearing even half of the clothes in it.
Wendell and I sat there, reminiscing about the good old days for about half an hour. Underneath my calm and cool exterior, I was working myself up into a frenzy. My eyes kept wandering to the gigantic clock on the depot wall, and I was dreading the moment when we would have to split up again.
What if I didn’t see him for another four or five years? Ten years? Ever again? The mental anguish was too much to bear. Even though there had been drastic changes in my personality since high school, in an instant, I reverted back to those days and was shy all over again.
The time Wendell and I had together was seeping away like sand in an hourglass. I couldn’t imagine not knowing how good the sex between him and me really would be. So I went for it! Wendell was talking about the weather when I blurted it out. “Wendell, how about a quickie?”
“Wha-wha-what you mean?” He started stuttering.
“How about you and I going somewhere right quick and fucking the shit out each other?” I looked him dead in the eyes so he would realize I wasn’t kidding.
“Let me get this straight, Simone!” He started blushing. “You want to fuck me? Right here? Right now?”
“Word!” I put my hand on his knee and started caressing his thigh. “So where do you suggest? We don’t have that much time.”
“Ummm, let’s see!” Wendell started looking around the depot for a suitable spot, as did I.
As an afterthought, I asked him, “Do you have a condom?”
He looked at me with that damn-I-can’t-get-none look on his face and replied, “Naw, boo, you?”
“Nope! Where there’s a will, there’s a way, though.” I jumped to my feet and told him, “You look for a spot, and I’ll be right back!”
The little convenience store inside the depot had closed at midnight, so I was shit out of luck on that end. I was about to go tell Wendell maybe we could hook up some other time when I spotted what I was looking for. Standing over in a corner were three guys in army uniforms. I knew one of them, if not all of them, was packing a condom, so I simply went over, tapped one of them on the shoulder, pulled him aside, and asked, “Got a condom?” He was a bit surprised, since he probably was expecting me to ask the time or to bum a cigarette, and wanted to know if he was going to get the privilege of using it on me. I told him, “No, not tonight.” He and I both laughed while he gave me one from his wallet.
I went back to look for Wendell. Our bags were there, but he was nowhere in sight. I heard someone whistle and turned around. I spotted him by the ladies’ bathroom area and rushed over to him. We only had about twenty minutes left before my bus was due in. That was the one and only time I was hoping to have a transportation delay.
Once I entered the enclave, I noticed there were two separate ladies’ bathrooms, each with its own door. The only other things in the enclave were a row of three pay telephones and a cleaning cart containing a mop, broom, cleaning supplies, rolls of toilet tissue, and packages of paper towels.
Wendell asked me to go into the one on the right and see if it was empty. I went in and checked to see if all the stalls were vacant. One wasn’t, but I heard the toilet flush. I went back out and told Wendell it should be empty in a moment, and it was. An elderly woman, who appeared very down on her luck, exited the bathroom and walked away.
Wendell grabbed the closed for cleaning sign off the side of the cleaning cart, which I didn’t even notice at first, and put it on the door. We rushed inside, and I sat on the countertop area, where there were about five or six sinks lined up along a huge mirror.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Simone?” I was hoping his ass wasn’t having second thoughts, worried about being faithful to some lover he had waiting for him back in NYC.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life!” I motioned for him to come over to me, opened my arms, and said, “Come here, baby!”
If he did have any reservations, they didn’t show any longer, because he hurried over. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs behind his back. We started kissing and taking off each other’s clothes.
We didn’t take off everything. There wasn’t enough time. He pushed my coat off my shoulders, and it landed sprawled out on the countertop. I lifted my shirt and bra so he could get to my nipples. He pushed my panties to the side.
While I was lying back, with the rear of my head pressed against the glass of the mirror and Wendell sucking on my nipples, I ripped open the condom packet with my teeth and pulled it out, tossing the wrapper into one of the sinks.
I undid the zipper on his jeans and whipped his dick out. I was overanxious, we both were, but I was determined to get some of his dick before I got on any damn bus. I told him to let up off my tits for a minute so I could slap the condom on. I had a little trouble getting it on ’cause his dick was so thick. We really needed one of those extralarge condoms, but beggars can’t be choosers.
After managing to get the condom halfway up the shaft of his juicy dick, I made a special request. “Now, boo, fuck me like this is the last pussy you’ll ever get!”
Wendell must have taken the shit to heart because he rammed his dick up in me and tore my little pussy up. I pressed his head between my breasts and worked my pussy all over his dick.
I heard a little girl outside the rest room door and told Wendell to stop for a second. He raised his head up, stopped pumping his dick into me, and we both listened intently. The only sounds were water dripping from a couple of the faucets and our heavy panting.
“Mommy, over here!” The door to the bathroom started opening, and I was thinking, “Oh, shit, no! Don’t let that little girl come in here!”
As if someone was answering my prayers, I heard her mother say, “No, Lisa, that one’s closed. We have to go in the other one.”
We were both relieved and went back to fucking. Wendell started fucking me so hard, my head was banging against the mirror. I was getting one hell of a headache, so he told me to get up and bend over the counter. No sooner had I assumed the position before he was at it again. As usual, being fucked doggy-style made me cum something fierce.
Just then, the obnoxious-sounding woman on the loudspeaker announced my bus was now boarding. All I could say was, “Shit, not now!”
Wendell was about to take his dick out, but I told him not to. “No, boo, I want you to cum too. Just fuck me faster until you do!”
That’s when I had to control myself from having spasms and shit. Never had I been fucked so royally. For it to finally happen in the bathroom of a bus depot was a trip. He fucked the hell out of me, and I know I came at least three more times in the few minutes that followed. Wendell finally came and pulled it out real quick when they announced the final call for my bus.
I pulled my shirt and bra down and flung my coat over my arm while Wendell got himself together real quick, ripping the condom off and making a nothing-but-net shot into the trash receptacle.
We rushed out the bathroom, and I noticed there was now a little crowd of people outside the enclave area. I really didn’t give a fuck, though, because I got mine. Wendell grabbed my duffel bag from the seating area and hurried behind me outside to the bus loading area. I located the bus that had a sign for Orlando, handed the driver my ticket while Wendell flung my bag underneath the bus in the luggage area, and then got on.
I didn’t have a pen on me anywhere and asked the driver for one so I could scribble my number on the envelope my ticket had been in. I wrote it down, handed it to Wendell, gave him a long wet kiss, and told him I would be home on Monday.
As the bus was pulling away, I waved at Wendell and drew a heart with my finger in the dew that had gathered on the cold window. I fell asleep before the bus made it thrity miles from the depot. I dreamt about him and woke up with his scent all over me. I could still feel his saliva on my lips and breasts.
I got home the following Monday afternoon, and Wendell called me that evening while I was doing the dinner dishes. I was thrilled, because I wasn’t sure he would call. We talked for hours on end, and he told me how he wanted to get with me all through high school as well, but didn’t know how to approach me.
Wendell and I spend at least one weekend together a month now, sometimes more. He and I catch the bus back and forth from D.C. to NYC to see each other. Every time we pass a bathroom in the bus depot of either station, we remember the time we did the wild thing in Charlotte. I told Wendell one day I want us to take a long cross-country train trip and get a private compartment so we can fuck in about ten states all in one shot. His reply was, “Hell, boo, why not?”
Nymph
My name is Page, and I’m a nymphomaniac, a sexual thrill-seeker, a sexual renegade. I love playing with fire, living a life full of drama and excitement, defying all the good girl rules, approaching situations that are both sexy and perilous. I’m a sexual rebel, and to me, danger itself is the most tremendous sexual stimulant of all.
One night I was at a club, and this sorry excuse for a man asked me was I pure. I asked him, “Do you mean pure as in pure chewing satisfaction?” He was dumbfounded, so I added, “Unless you want to suck on this pussy tonight, get the fuck!”
Like most men, he was intimidated by the sexual prowess I exude. Men like him disgust me. They brag about how they’re all that in bed and can make a woman scream out their name when half the time they have trouble even finding the clit. As for the G-spot, forget about it. They couldn’t find a woman’s G-spot if she handed him written instructions and a map.
Fortunately for me, there are plenty of mad fuckers around, too. A mad fucker is a man who doesn’t talk about turning a sistah out. He just does it. A mad fucker is a man whose cum tastes so damn good, it makes a sistah feel drunk. A mad fucker is someone who fucks a sistah so hard, the next day her pussy and nipples are sore, she has a helluva stomachache, and she has trouble sitting down. That’s how you know you’ve been the victim of a mad fucker drive-by.
Sex to a nymphomaniac is like doughnuts to a police officer. We both gotta have it. My body is so accustomed to cumming, if I don’t have at least three orgasms a day, I feel sick. Sometimes when there’s no man around, which is extremely rare because I have more male bitches than the electric company has switches, I make myself cum through the art of masturbation.
Masturbation is damn sure an art, too. Everyone can’t do that shit like a master. Those of us who have surpassed the amateurs masturbate so well, sometimes it seems like we’re actually fucking. I often wonder why people feel it’s more kosher and acceptable to touch the private parts of someone else than their own. Silly as shit, if you ask me. If you don’t want to play with your own coochie-coo, why should a man?
I play my whole body like it’s a trivia game. What’s the strongest part of a woman’s body? Her tongue. What are the most sensitive parts of a woman’s body? Her tits and clit. Where does a woman like a man to insert a finger during sex? In her ass. What’s a woman’s favorite sexual position? Doggy-style. What parts of a woman’s body should be sucked and licked on during foreplay? All of them bad boys.
When it comes to sucking dick, move over, ’cause there’s a new sheriff in town. I can just picture a big juicy dick in front of my face right now. Slobbering all over it, making those slurping sounds, teasing it around the tip just before I deep-throat the whole thing, bouncing my head up and down as I catch a good rhythm, licking and gently sucking on the nut sac, swallowing every last drop of cum. Ummm, damn, makes my pussy ache just thinking about it.
There have been several mad fuckers in my life, starting way back in high school with Ryan. I remember one Thanksgiving, he invited me over his parents’ house for dinner. After dinner was over, everyone except the two of us went downstairs to the family room to watch a football game.
Ryan and I were supposed to be cleaning off the table and washing the dishes, but we got sidetracked. Ryan took me off guard by forcing me up onto the dining room table and sitting in the chair between my legs. He pushed my panties to the side and starting fucking me with a roasted turkey leg. After he fucked me with it, he ate it down to the bone.
Ordinarily, the notion of being screwed with a greasyass turkey leg would be unappealing to me, but the fact his family was just a split-level away cheering for their respective football teams to win turned my ass on. That was the first sign I was kind of out there.
Then I started a scrapbook in high school where I kept everything from nude photos of myself and some of my menz to a male pubic hair collection. I even had a collection of used condoms with the guys’ names written beside them in the book. My friends thought I was a true freak, and they were right.
