Sex News Sunday #1

As mentioned in my post on Tuesday the 15th 'My News' I am starting a regular item for Sundays: current events about sex.

The first bit of news involves research coming from The Kinsey Institute at the University of Indiana.
As the newswise site puts it, they have found that:
WHEN IT COMES TO SEX, SOME MEN ARE FROM MARS, OTHERS FROM VENUS
It's research about men reporting a variety of different experiences involving sexual desire and arousal.

The focus groups involved 50 men divided into three groups based on their age (18-24 years, 25-45 years and 46 and older). Below are some examples of the different experiences reported by the men:

* Some factors, such as depression or a risk of being caught having sex, were reported by some men as inhibiting sex, while other men found that they can enhance their desire and arousal.
* An erection is not the main cue for men to know they are sexually aroused. Most of the men responded that they can experience erections without feeling aroused or interested, leading researchers to suggest that erections are not good criteria for determining sexual arousal in men.
* Many men found it difficult to distinguish between sexual desire and sexual arousal, a distinction prominent in most sexual response models used by researchers and clinicians.
* The changes in the quality of older men's erections had a direct effect on their sexual encounters, including, for some, a shifting focus to the partner and her sexual enjoyment. Older men also consistently mentioned that as they aged, they became more careful and particular in choosing sexual partners.
* The sexual history of women also mattered to the men -- but differently for different age groups. Sexually experienced women were considered more threatening by younger men, who had concerns about "measuring up," but such women were considered more arousing for older men.

To read more about this subject and the research go to:
Research and Insights from Indiana University at newswise.

Secret Sins: Chapter 3, "Meine Ehre heist Treue"

Returning to reality after my all too brief reverie of the past, I shook off thoughts of Joel to see Ben still staring holes deep into my blissful face.
What manner of person was this that would approach me, openly challenging my inner sexual desire with a look that reminded me of a cherished memory while frightening my core with paranoid thoughts? With my mind racing faster as I attempted to grasp just what Ben was asking of me, various words spilled from my mouth in a torrent of petulant rage.
"Who the fuck are you and why do you know so much about me? How in the name of Athena do you know about who or what the fuck I like to do and where in shit to did you find out about what I choose to wear or not wear under my clothes?"

A slight smirk of a smile crossed Ben's face for a millisecond as he starred down towards his shoes, and I could almost see a glimmer of a dimple on his cheek as he began to talk to his feet. "Well, that's kind of a long story, and it is a bit secret, but we think that we can trust you with a bit of information at this point". Shifting his feet from the top of one Thom McAn to another (hey, a girl can tell a lot about a man by what kind of shoes he wears, and these were a strictly Industrial Office type shoes that had been polished a lot) Ben began to vaguely describe a scene from my past, and not necessarily a pretty one that I chose to remember until he brought it back to my memory.
"Do you happen to recall a fellow named Paul Stansfield? Big guy, about 6'6", 230 pounds, long haired fellow?"
Frantically searching my recollections from the hundreds of men that I had met in the past, not all of which I had dalliances with, I just couldn't recall the name in order to associate a face.
"Biker bar called On the Rocks in Virginia Beach ring a bell?
How about the name "Dagger"?
Oh.
My.
God.

Do ya know how some parts of you life stick out like a sore festering thumb while others just get buried farther as time goes on? The mind is like that. It shoves the bad stuff down in to little cracks and crevices and removes all traces of light from incidences that are best not remembered except in a confessional. This was one of them, and it came boiling to the surface as soon as Ben said the words "Virginia Beach". Coupled with the words "biker bar", a sodden beam of wood came careening off my head, forcing me to remember times left forgotten.
The name Dagger then was a brick thrown straight to the center of my forehead, and the whole episode came flooding back.

It was the mid 80's and I was young, and the Spring Break thing was getting into full swing, what with the headiness and pain of the 70's giving way to the exhilarating optimism of the Reagan administration. The greed generation was underway, and Bolivian Marching Powder was everywhere to be found. Knowing this, my freshman college girlfriends and I had saved the dollars we earned at one of the various low-paying slop outlets in the town that employed 17 year old girls, and pooled resources to head to what was then the hot spot of teenage debauchery.



Scoring a room near the beach, we spent our days lounging in the sun or playing bikini beach ball, hoping that our outfits were skimpy enough and our boobs bouncing hard enough to attract some young cock stud out on the make. The beer flowed and the sand flew as we made our choices for the night, a regular meat market affair on a grand and sweaty scale.
The first day in town some of my girlfriends got gluttonous, hankering for the first cock they saw swinging in their face though swim trunks, and began humping like whores in an orgy fuck fest.
That soon gave way to the realization that there were soooo many boys out there that they could actually be choosy. I hope that this doesn't come as a complete shock guys, we girls want to be something more than a cum dump that gets rolled out the door after a few minutes of grunting a groaning.

So I laid back and perused the scene as it flowed by, pulling hard on the joints that occasionally were passed, enjoying the newfound freedom that my pussy was craving in that God-forsaken Midwestern college town. I think it was on the fourth or fifth night that the beer, dope and fucking random boys actually began to get boring (I know! Listen to me!) that I began to crave something different, something more experienced, something a bit more randy with a hint of danger attached.
With this in mind, I began to cruise Virginia Beach's famous Pacific Avenue in search of that something different. What a scene this is with the vendors and bars, but it's more tightly controlled these days with cameras mounted on light poles and policemen quietly sneaking up on you via mountain bikes. In those days, you could just about get away with smoking a joint out in the open as you walked down the street, but I guess thanks to this attitude and Pat Robertson who has his church here, VB has become more "family friendly", and they don't cotton to the open attitude that we so earnestly embraced.
Out here I felt a bit freer, and even though I was surrounded by tons of people I kept my eye out for just that one Big Thing, and there it was. Stopped at the intersection of Pacific Avenue and 22nd street were a group of guys on big Harley Davidson motorcycles, sitting there on chrome beasts vibrating and glistening as the late afternoon sun beat down hard upon them.
Something came over me to this day I don't know why I did it except by virtue of youthful hubris, and I ran over and hopped on the back of the nearest rumbling stallion, grasping the huge guy in front of me around the waist hard as the light turned green and he roared off toward the South side of town.


I thought it strange that he didn't say anything or react in any way to this intrusion of his mechanical solitude, but a mile down the road I heard him grunt "Wot's yer name?" in a rumbling voice that matched his machines motor.
"Uh, Debbie" I said back. "Speak up girl!" the biker shouted again.
"DEBBIE!" I shouted into his ear.
"Name's Paul, but my 'bros call me Dagger"
Dagger.
Dagger danger. Danger dagger. Danger, meet Dagger - Dagger, danger.
It was about then that I realized that he was wearing a vest stitched with patches, the top one with the words "Pope's of Hell" embroidered upon it. I said it before and I'll say it again: Oh. My. God!
As Dagger went zooming hard into a sharp corner, my hands slipped down for a better grip and I quickly understood his nickname.
It was a dagger all right, one I found out later was originally given to the notorious Oskar Dirlewanger by the equally loathsome Heinrich Müller, but then returned to the SS chief to prove that Dirlewanger had indeed been arrested by the French. Dagger was reluctant to say more about his namesake save to say that his grandfather had given it to him before he died.

Finally zooming into the parking lot of what resembled a large, broken down shack with a bent up sign that read "On the Rocks", Dagger put his kickstand down, shut off the engine, and just sat there. One of his fellow bikers sauntered over and addressed Dagger directly. "Hey bro, looks like ya picked up a little baggage in town!" "Yeah," said Dagger, "but I ain't seen her yet. She a dog?"
"Hell no Dag, she's stone cold fox and frum the look of it, she's got a nice rack too!"
"Yeah, I figgered that when I felt 'em press'n into me on the turn back there."
He turned to look at me and said "Well, you gonna get off bitch er wot?"
I'm sure my mouth was hanging open at that point as I climbed off the big Harley's back butt pad, because Dagger's biker brother said to him "Looks like that mouth flapp'n open could suck the exhaust out of my tailpipe any day dude!" Both laughing hard, they each gave the other a High Five and I knew I was in for trouble, how much so I would just have to find out on my own.
"Well," said Dagger, she DID say her name wasss 'Debbie'" and with that, the two men fell all over each other howling and hooting.
My name has given me trouble ever since some boys in 6th grade class snuck into a local porn store.

I had turned around red faced with my back to the bikers and was staring at the empty lot across the street when I felt a hard slap on my ass and a huge, calloused hand grab me by the arm to swing me around. "Lemme look at you girl" said Dagger as I stumbled under his firm grasp.
Looking me up and down, his gaze turned to my bikini-tethered breasts as I felt my nipples stiffen with a combination of excitement and fear.
"Damn! You got some fine tits there little girl, some FINE ass tits!"
A look of fear and trepidation must have crossed my face because as Dagger lead me to the entrance of the bar with his other club members, he stopped for a second, looked me in the eye and asked me how old I was. "How old do you think I am?" I asked. "That's not the point." Dagger hissed at me. "Tell me the truth."
"I'm 18." I said.
I lied, or course.
Perhaps a muscle twitch betrayed me, but cocking one eyebrow in the air, Dagger surveyed me for a moment and with his hand firmly planted on my arm, began to walk me to his hangout. Lowering his voice as we walked he said, "OK, but if you want to leave, you just let me know. You're here with me, and you're safe as long as I'm around, but don't go off anywhere with any of the other bro's or you're on your own." A somewhat sigh of relief crossed my mind, and I lightened up a bit.

It was your usual stereotypical biker bar or at least it was everything I had ever imagined in the Midwest, watching B-movies as I babysat some long asleep youngster.
Loud music blared from a jukebox - I swear to God, it was "Tequila" by The Champs - fairly dark, a long grimy bar with a guy passed out on it, pool tables and pinball machines, and the slightly sickening smell of beer that had been spilled on the floor ages ago. Whether it was out of a glass or out of a stomach was entirely up to interpretation.
Several other women dressed in jeans and leather vests were pawing over some of the bikers we had come in with, and looking to the right, I saw a stage bathed in blue light, bedecked with a large pole going floor to ceiling. Having never seen or been in a strip club before, I deduced from the girls slobbering over the men there, and from descriptions gained reading novellas as a horny teenager that this was indeed, a strip club or sorts, albeit, probably private I thought. After all, who in their right mind would come in here?

"Ya wanna beer?" asked Dagger as he led me over to a side wall booth. Noting the parched feeling in my throat after the bike ride, I nodded my acceptance at the offer. "Doris! Gimmee four Millers, four shots of Jack, and get the lead out bitch!" he screamed at the bartender over the background music.
Turning back to me, he asked me why the fuck I had jumped on the back of his bike back in town, and if I knew how dangerous that kind of stunt was with "his type". More questions came before the beer; where was I from, how many siblings, did I go to school, who was I here with and most importantly, did my friends know what I had done.
Answering quickly and needing that beer desperately, I told him about life in the Midwest, and why I had come to Virginia Beach: cock, beer and drugs.
"Oh yeah, spring break. Lots of pussy, an ocean of beer, and tons of drugs. Ain't America great?"
I had to agree with him that it was.

Next: Secret Sins: Chapter 3 - "Meine Ehre heist Treue", Part 2

Secret Sins: The Undisclosed Story of my Bad Reputation

Throughout my life I've been and done many things, but nothing as weird and kinky as being an on-call slut for the FBI in WITSEC.Now let's clarify something here: I didn't get it on with every field agent or assistant director, no, I was on call just in case one of their people in the witness protection program or perhaps a snitch, wanted a little relief and comfort.There, I said it, and frankly it feels good to get it out in the open after all these years.
How I became a highly paid confidential "companion" was all by accident or so I thought for quite some time. I was just a normal working girl - get your mind out of the gutter, not THAT kind of working girl - who went to college and was spending time slaving away in the normal workaday world as a secretary, with designs on a masters program at one of the local colleges when one evening I accepted an invitation from some of my coworkers to go to one of their favorite hangouts for a drink or two. Wanting to fit in with my newish colleagues, I readily accepted the invitation.

Sitting at the pub chatting with my fellow office droids was at first exciting as I wanted to fit in with them just a little bit better, but soon I learned that they were just another part of the large percentage of 'droids out here in the business world that are fed up, frustrated, and angry with the direction that their lives have taken, with not a scintilla of ambition to change the situation other than to stab each other in the back as they attempt to kiss the boss's ass on the way up the corporate ladder.

Finding such dreck virtually unappealing, I had just turned around on my stool at the bar when the bartender approached me with a drink in his hand. "This is from the guy at the end of the bar" he intoned in a rather bland I've-heard-this-a-thousand-times-before voice as he set the cocktail in front of me.
I'm sure the quizzical look on my face was priceless as I glanced at the other end of the room, but sure enough, there was your standard young executive giving me a short wave of hello.
"Hmm. Not bad looking I guess, and I like his suit although he sure didn't spend a lot of money on it" I thought. Waving back with a little grin on my face, my next thought was one of excitement that a guy had found me attractive enough to buy me a drink, but then turned a little downward as I winced while thinking of some of the tools that I had met in meat market ventures of the past. Too late, he had left his stool and was heading for me.

I was genuinely freaked but in a kinky sort of way, I wanted to know more - much more.

My mind now racing at a hundred miles a second, I quickly turned back to my coworkers and began chatting with my friend Dawn when Mr. Mystery Man sidled up to me and sat down. "Hi there" he said to me, obviously not caring that I was engaged in conversation with another girl. Not wanting to be too forward, I twisted my head around and said "Just a second" to him before turning back to my conversation. Dawn leaned in towards me and whispered excitedly "I think he wants to talk to you", whereupon I whispered back "Yeah, I know, but I don't want him to think I'm too eager". "Oh go on!" chimed Dawn, and so I turned around to MMM and said, "Hi, I'm Debbie, and this is Dawn" as I extended my hand. "Thanks for the drink". "Hi there yourself. My name's Ben, and I couldn't help noticing you from across the bar".
Drivel. Poor pickup line. Bleh. Those were the first thoughts that crossed my mind. Not wanting to be impolite, after all, my parents raised me right, I swiveled back around to the bar with a flourish and that's when I noticed Ben's eyes. Deep pools of blue drilled into me like a bullet, and somewhere in my gut, a punch had been thrown. "Uh, yeah, I umm, I mean we're just, uh.." was all I could stammer out. "Yeah I know" said Ben, "Just out with the office, eh"
I heard what he said, but I just couldn't look away from those eyes. I mean, Ben's face was just OK as guys go, but those eyes got to me somehow, they were deep and intense, burning their way into me with a cold fire that I hadn't felt in some time. Pinch me. Hard!

"Soooo, you come here often,” Ben said smoothly, and I just about passed out laughing from such a juvenile come-on line.
"If that's the best you can do, then thanks for the drink and see ya" I said.
"Oh come on, I'm sorry. Give me another chance. I mean, you just looked so LONELY sitting there surrounded by your friends, I just thought that you might be up for an adventure".
That got my attention.
"What kind of adventure?" I asked.
"The kind that you could perhaps, make some money with in your spare time"
Oh God.
"Sorry Ben, I'm not that kind of girl. Maybe you should try one of the decked out bimbos at the other end of the bar".
"Sheesh, I'm sorry, I gave you the wrong impression. Look" he said holding up his hand to show me a gold band around his left fourth finger, "I'm married".
Yeah, I've heard that one before too.
"Look champ, I told you that I'm not that kind of girl, so bug off!"
"Wait a minute Ms. Cooper, what I'm offering you is a way out of boring office drudgery every so often, and the chance to make the kind of money that would allow you to finish your graduate studies” said Ben.
Now, it wasn't the suggestion that I could get away from a boring job, or even that I would be able to finish my Masters degree in record time, but the first thing he said that really caught my attention.
"How did you know my last name?" I asked.
Looking downwards with a little blush on his face, Ben answered, "I know a lot about you - A LOT" "Like for instance that your online chat handle is 'apple1959' or the fact that you prefer to wear lace La Perla underwear, or even that you go out to bars like this one with no underwear on at all"Whoa whoa whoa! Now it's getting intense, bordering on creepy. I mean, stop the presses!
"Like I said, I know a lot about you" said Ben, his eyes boring into mine.

The cat in me was curious, very curious, so I said, "Go on".
"Well, I know for a fact that you would stumble all over yourself to smoke some pipe.
You know, worshiping the big salami. To be quite blunt, I know for a fact that you love to suck cock, almost any cock. You worship at the alter of the big snake and would do almost anything to have the feel of a fat penis in your mouth, sucking the guy off until shoves it in hard and fast and cums down your throat."
His said this with such little emotion or kink in his voice that frankly I was aghast and quite a bit scare, and Ben allowed me to sit there in stunned silence for moment as the thought of what he has said sank into my brain.
Just about then, Dawn came over and asked me if I was all right. "Deb, what's wrong, you seem to be trembling. Ish this guy bother'n you 'cause if heish I can get Stan to come over and pound the shit out him!" she slurred.
"No, I'm fine Dawn. Ben just gave me something to think about all of a sudden. I'll be fine, really".
With a reassuring look that bordered on concern, Dawn said OK, and returned to my fellow workers, leaving me pondering some pretty tough thoughts in my mind.
Who was this guy who was hitting on me, why did he know so much about me? I mean, my inner thoughts and desires, and for God's sake, even what kind (if any) underwear I decided to wear that day.
I was genuinely freaked, but in a kinky sort of way, I wanted to know more, much more.

Next in Secret Sins chapter 2: My first cock

Look for it Friday...

Baby Can You Wear Your Man?

I have gotten bored with my workday wardrobe. Right now I can’t afford to buy anything new, it’s not in the budget. Therefore, I asked my fashion advisor (my daughter) for any ideas. She told me most people accessorize when they feel they’re in a clothing rut. That only goes so far in a work environment.

CJ is the one who came to the rescue. Have I ever told you how much I like men’s clothing? Or how much I enjoy the men’s department of a fine store? Perhaps it all ties into that fetish I have of seeing a fully dressed man with his stuff cock escaping his suit.
However, I digress.

Today I went to work in a totally new outfit; light tan pants, a black ribbed tank, and a wonderful washable silk shirt. That silk shirt wasn’t mine. CJ suggested it from his side of the closet. It’s perfect for the summer.
In the past, I have bought men’s shirts to add to my wardrobe, but it’s not the same as wearing your lover’s.
Not only have I gotten several compliments throughout the day, but that silk against my skin constantly reminded me of the sexiest man I’ve had the pleasure to know. No it’s not just the 96-degree weather that’s making me hot today, it’s the feeling of a constant embrace of CJ’s arms.

One of my best friends one time shared a kink along the lines of wearing your man. Her husband wore boxer shorts and sometimes when they made love, she would put them on. He would fuck her through the fly in the shorts. Although I’m not a fan of boxers, when she told me that I thought it would be a great turn on.

So baby, can you, or do you, wear your man?
What do you wear of your mans?
Shirts, shorts, cologne, or something else?
Let me know.