Chapter 16 May sat within the sleek black coupe in a stupor. She stared out the small window as dusk dropped over Manhattan. There was a whirring in her ears from the rush of her own blood. She couldn't hear the horses’s hooves or the wooden wheels, not even when Park Avenue changed from dirt to paving stones. She didn't hear the driver wrapping at the coupe door. She didn't even hear the words that the happy stable boy s...

Kara stood in the entryway, her eyes sweeping the room, and I closed the door behind us. "Wow, what a nice place,” she commented quietly. "Thank you. I like it." I took her hand and led her to the bedroom, telling her to put her purse on the dresser. She swung it off her shoulder and placed it down, glancing at the canopy-covered king-sized bed and the love seat along the wall by the windows. "This room is huge!" "Yes, it...

It is 1987, the last Sunday in August, and my arm is around Brenda. She is my new bull lesbian girlfriend and my first openly gay relationship. But my life is complicated. I am standing there by the apartment block’s front door, watching, and waving as David and Sarah get into their car and, with a wave of their own, drive away. Internally, I was experiencing two dominant emotions, one new and the other very familiar, yet...

I glanced over at the other bed, seeing him stroke his cock mindlessly while he watched. He was on his knees, pants around his ankles and shirt unbuttoned, his hairy paunch bouncing with the movement of his fist, and his eyes locked on her mouth around my cock. I moved slightly, bringing my balls to her chin, and pulled her head towards me. She gagged, pulled back a little, then took more of my thick shaft past her lips....

Of mental anguish, I was amply blessed, but those who have tend to receive—a form of Karmic compound interest. I’d spent twenty years getting my head straightened out to evolve into a woman who was strong, independent, comfortable in her sexuality, and who wore the slut label with pride. It only took one man and his merry band of misfits, over a few hours, to unravel me, completely. He didn’t play fair, and it had me off-...

“Hello. My name is Krystal, and I’m a slut… a fucking horny slut.” The bitch in the mirror stared back at me with indignant condescension; she’d heard my chant a hundred times in the past week. “My pussy is always dripping wet.” I flashed my reflection, fingering my cunt. “And… oh, fuck…I cum…so hard, so fast, uh, aah, aah!” The bitchy image of me called me all sorts of vile names. Bitch, slut, whore, skank, witch-slut, a...

Years passed, but time stopped. While external, life-changing things happened, externally, my body, mind, and heart were in a sort of stasis-like holding pattern. Life and my age advanced; the house was now my home, and I was hitting the venerable thirty years old. The relationship between my parents, especially my mother, and me remained strained, but we still kept in contact. But, in that span of years, I’d evolved from...

Hawk was a bad boy, and just looking at him made my pussy gush. That was the first time any person had that effect on me, and it changed my life. Although his name was Dale, everyone called him Hawk, a truncated version of Hawkson, his last name. I’d become something of a serial girlfriend in my quest to find love, and I was, as usual, between partners at that moment. I’d gone for almost three weeks without hooking up, no...

In my youth, my home life was filled with love and acceptance. Perhaps the nature versus nurture debate is further confounded by my upbringing; the two intertwine to become almost one and the same. Looking at my life through one lens, the fact that I am exactly like my mother, despite my fullest efforts to the contrary, is starkly evident. Likewise, another snapshot would reveal that I am most definitely a product of my e...

Knowing why something is never changes the fact that it is, and, when cause and effect become intertwined, the topic or question becomes convoluted and mind-boggling. For instance, if one knows why Johnny Quarterback is an arrogant, self-entitled douche, it doesn’t change the fact that he truly is a feminine hygiene product that one might use on a Midsummer’s Eve. Causality just adds self-spiraling repetition. One can, by...

By the time I’d turned twenty-one, I had blossomed into a major, horny slut. With glacial slowness, I began to realize that I wasn’t the ugly duckling I’d been led to believe. That slow epiphany came through constant attention paid to me by every heterosexual male in a thousand-mile radius. It further confounded my inner turmoil; I had several identities that included a socially-acceptable, quirky but normal young woman,...