X S E X


Sweet To Eat by khemistry

So I have this problem, see? Like everyone else on this planet, I know. But mine is kinda freaky. And kinda vanilla. Maybe not so strange. I’m just not sure how weird I am. I mean, I was married once. Sort of. Back then a girl couldn’t marry another girl, not legally. But we had the ceremony. Both of us were lipstick lezzies. Everyone we knew said it wouldn’t last. And it didn’t. I mean, I’m not strictly speaking a lesbian. Neither was she. But I liked her pussy, and when she left she took it with her.

So what is my problem, then? Well, she did leave this little denim one-piece dress I liked a lot. It zipped up the back, slick as sin. An oh how I loved to reach behind her while we were kissing and unzip her. She was a tiny thing with curly blonde hair. Let’s call her J for the purpose of this discussion.

I don’t know why she left the dress. Maybe she just forgot it. But it was one of her favorite outfits, and she looked so sweet inside it. Like a piece of candy, all for me. And she used to wear a certain perfume. I think it was called ‘Red Door’. She left a little spray bottle of it, too.

Now I’ve had several partners since those days: two men and another woman. But no matter how serious it gets, I do this thing with the denim dress…not a lot…but every few months the feeling will get me going, right? Now, I’m basically a good girl. I write about my sex life with three other college friends. We started XSEX a long time ago, to discuss our ex-girlfriends and boyfriends. Our x-sexlife. Now none of us have really kept up with the site. My college buddy G actually did all the work building the site because I don’t like computers. But we all know the login codes and we all contribute. Until G stopped to become “serious” about a sci-fi novel. Plus, he said talking about this stuff was not “healthy”. I disagree. And it makes me horny.

And it’s been awhile since I got the urge, with the dress. So here it is: last night it just hit me like a wall. I even thought about calling J up. We’ve talked a few times. She’s married to a guy. She has video of him wearing women’s clothes and she will take care of him with a plastic dick. So I don’t know what that means. I guess he’s a freak like all of us. But I have these urges…maybe if I had a copy of the video I could make him leave. I could get into J’s panties. Because I really want to. So instead I find the old bottle of ‘Red Door’ and spray it on the denim dress. The denim dress is way out of style now. But I keep it in the bottom drawer of my dresser. With the perfume and some pictures (PG-13 or a soft R) we took on our “wedding night”.

I lay the denim dress over me, like J used to lay on top of me and we would touch each other. So now I have this physical weight, and it smells like her, and I unzip it and touch myself and remember it all. All the stuff we used to do. And in five minutes I am a wet rag, all wrung out. Breathing heavy. Wow.

I guess I need to get out more. I mean, I’m 40 years old now! I feel cheap when I do this. Once a year now. Maybe twice. And I went for about three years without it. So why do I still think about her? I don’t love her, she doesn’t love me. We’ve talked on the phone. She sent me a picture of her tits once. Still firm. “Remember when these used to be yours?” she texted me. What a bitch.

My boyfriend is home. Oh shit.

 

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Dress-up Rebel Without a Cause by Gregory Purvis

The Uber-sexual: today’s Generation Next is in truth Generation X…or, to be more precise, Generation XXX.

By the time your average teenaged male reaches “adulthood” (supposedly 18 if Uncle Sam needs the deed on your ass…just don’t expect to be able to browse your local adult bookstore or buy a beer to lower your inhibitions…as if you had any left to lower, right?)  he’s seen over a gazillion sex acts.

The Internet has made porn just as much a part of the American (wet) dream as momma, apple pie and the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

And Columbine, ‘torture videos’, and youTube braggin’ rights for killing puppies and girl-gang gang-bangs. So maybe sex really IS more dangerous than violence? Well, there is the whole AIDS thing still lurking about.

But as long as we’re humpin’ apple pies

Once again, America celebrates its Puritanical witch-burnin’ Good Ole Boy past: violence? okay by me. Sex? Ummmm….no. Sorry. That’s just going a bit too far.

You can play with all the guns and grenades you want…but what you CAN’T play with is yourself.

Masturbation is a no-no.