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This is the tale of the first chick I saw on any regular basis who used a diaphragm for birth control, but it’s really a story about another kind of control. Though I remember her in detail, I have racked my brain and am embarrassed to say that I cannot recall her name.
It was the fall of 1982, and I was on what turned out to be one of my last dates with then-girlfriend Judy when we met this woman and her date in a bar. Both couples had been waiting for a shuffleboard table, and when one became available, we made it a game of the two of us versus the two of them.
To even up the competition after a couple of one-sided games, we switched partners, so I played with the new woman on my side and got better acquainted. Around a dozen years older than me in her mid-30s, she was an interior decorator.
That she was an attractive and sexy natural blonde with an extremely nice physique was of secondary importance, as Judy, also a good-looking, sexy blonde with a fine body, was my steady girlfriend that I was delighted with. We’d started dating when I was home the spring break before I graduated college, and I had been faithful to her since returning home for good at the end of the summer. So, I wasn’t seeking a new girlfriend or even any “extracurricular activities.”
No, my primary interest in the interior decorator was business. You see, I was building a home restoration business at the time, and had learned from experience that interior decorators can be an excellent source of referrals. Homeowners using a decorator to spruce up their home often need painting, cabinets, flooring, and such, and that’s where I came in.
Anyway, we got along really fine that night, with a splash of something beyond the purely professional, and exchanged business cards.
Shortly thereafter, Judy stopped calling and returning my phone calls, and then my birthday came and went unacknowledged, so I knew our relationship was toast. She’d been a great girlfriend, but sure sucked at breaking up.
I’d remembered where the interior decorator said she lived, and made a mental note of approximately where her house was at the time she told me, only a mile or so from me.
I was out riding my bike one cold and gray December afternoon when I realized I was very near her house in the sharp bend of the street. I was freezing, but with no girlfriend or sex in over a month, very horny. Her business card in my Rolodex back home had her address on it, but there I was. Let’s see, exactly which house was hers?
A car guy, I recalled the decorator had mentioned she’d just bought a red BMW. Aha, there, parked in a driveway of a small but very tastefully appointed home, was a new red 318i. This had to be her place.
I was still debating with m myself as to whether to knock on the door, go back home and call her, or just forget about it. After all, it had been a couple months since we’d met, with no contact since. All of a sudden, she comes out the front door and saw me right away, straddling my 10-speed on the sidewalk.
Surprised that she actually remembered my name, the cutie called out, “Hey, what a coincidence, I was just thinking about you! I remembered you said you knew a lot about wine, but I couldn’t find your card, and I could sure use your expertise to stock up for the holidays.”
She was glad to see me, REALLY glad, and gave me a big hug. Having a wonderful, wide smile; beautiful, shoulder-length blonde hair blowing in the wind; and exceptionally nice curves quite obvious in tight white turtleneck and corduroy jeans; she was a true ray of sunshine on that dreary day.
She said she was on her way to the liquor store and invited me to come along to help her pick out vino, so we stashed my bike inside, and off we scooted in her zippy Bimmer. We were getting along fabulously.
On the way back, she said, “Listen, I don’t have any plans for tonight and was just going to stay in alone and watch a movie I rented. Would you like to drink some of this wine and watch it with me?”
I pondered that for all of a nanosecond and said, “Sounds great!”
Back at her tastefully decorated little house, she said she was in the mood for champagne—a good sign—but, of course, not one bottle of the entire case of excellent yet affordable Cordoniu I suggested she get was cold. While putting several bottles in the fridge, I noticed sitting on the floor beside it a fire extinguisher, the wrong kind for a kitchen fire but perfect for what I had in mind.
“Watch this,” I grinned, taking a bottle of bubbly and the extinguisher out back.
In a few moments, she followed me out, where I sat the bottle down in the back yard, gave it a few short blasts with the fire extinguisher, and voila, ice-cold champagne.
“Wow, what a great idea. You sure know how to handle your hose!” she kidded with a double entendre. “How’d you learn that trick?” she asked, standing on the back steps in the cold outside air, her bare, rigid nipples clearly visible through the loose weave of the cable knit sweater. I was Zonguldak Escort almost sure she’d had a bra on earlier, yet now it was gone. Hmmm.
“I staged a stupid stunt in college when I pulled the fire alarm in the girls’ dorm early one morning and ran down the halls blasting a fire extinguisher just like this one. The intent was to get the girls in the shower to run out naked—which worked—but in the process, the blast hit my feet, and I found out the hard way that this kind of extinguisher expels a super-frigid, wide blanket of ‘snow,'” I explained.
“You are a wild man,” she commented with an approving tone.
Back inside, she closed the back door and fastened no less than three locks. I opened the bottle with a festive flourish, and poured the bubbly into her Waterford fluted champagne glasses on the antique mahogany coffee table sitting on a genuine Tabriz rug. She was well into her career with the means to collect the finer things in life, and it was a refreshing to be with a cultured woman in contrast to the somewhat redneck Judy. We sat there in the den on the couch, drank that bottle, then another, and had such a lively conversation that we didn’t pay much attention to the flick. Every time we’d get up to pee, we’d sit a little closer to one another until our legs were touching.
One of the things I remember vividly that still cracks me up when I think about it was her pet greyhound, Jeeves, a former race dog she had rescued at the end of its “career.” A very large, intelligent-looking animal, it just lay there on the rug, quiet but so alert and attentive, turning its head toward me when I’d speak, then toward her as she talked, back and forth, as though it found our conversation ever-so interesting! Don’t ask me why I remember its name and not hers.
“You remember my date at the bar? That was my girlfriend, Judy. I say ‘was’ because she suddenly and without one iota of warning, dropped me like a hot potato,” I said, letting the decorator know I was available without complications.
“Really? The fellow I was with that night—well, I’ll just tell you straight up I was in an abusive relationship. After we came back here, the son of a bitch slapped me around just because I was friendly with you. I made up my mind right then and there he was history, so I had some guy-friends come over the next day to make sure he didn’t beat me to a pulp when I told him I was dumping him. Been scared ever since. He bird-dogs my house and beats on the door, but he’s the LAST person I’d ever let in. No telling what he’d do if he knew YOU were here. It’s perfect that you’re on a bike, and that it’s hidden inside—there’s no sign anyone’s here but me. But don’t freak out if he shows up tonight,” she said, glancing at the well-fortified front door.
So, she was available, too, but perhaps WITH complications.
Up until that point, I’d been really uneasy about the big Browning Hi-Power semi-automatic stuck under my jacket in the small of my back. People tend to be either very pro- or very anti-gun, and I’d been carefully keeping my back against the cushion so she wouldn’t discover it and possibly think I was some kind of nut. Even the most liberal people become suddenly pro-gun when they meet violence head-on, and no matter what her politics, I could now safely predict where she stood on the gun issue. With no car outside to stash it in, I’d been wondering just what the hell I was going to do with it if things got any more touchy-feely with her, and this was the perfect opportunity.
“Don’t worry about a thing as long as I’m here,” I said, removing my jacket and nonchalantly placing the hefty 14-shot Belgian pistol carefully on the coffee table with the business end pointing away from us. “Yes, it’s loaded. Yes, I’m carrying it legally. And, yes, I know how to use it.”
The greyhound looked at it, then back at me approvingly, and then at her.
A decorator, her comments were, predictably, purely aesthetic.
“It’s beautiful, really a work of art. I don’t know anything about guns—except that I’m thankful you have one—but I do know that wood in the handle is a very fine grade of walnut, and I see how exceptionally smooth and shiny the finish is,” she remarked, hovering over it to run a finger sensuously down the length of the slide.
That could be her finger running down the length of my cock, I imagined, feeling it pulse to life within the tight confines of my Levi’s. But for the gun, I would have made a move much earlier. Now was the time to move in.
I leaned for her lips, she shifted toward me, and we met in the middle for a passionate French kiss that portended just how good in bed she would be.
Taking me by the hand, she led me back to her lovely bedroom, where she slowly undressed herself and me. She looked her age in the face, which was just fine with me, but I tell you, her body was that of a twenty-year-old, taught and firm, though soft and feminine, slender yet curvaceous. About 5’2″, she probably didn’t weigh 100 pounds, a sweet, petite Zonguldak Escort Bayan treat.
Her tiny pink nipples were centered in apricot-size breasts and puckered up to points the moment I touched them. A deep, sexy navel punctured her impossibly slim waist, and a light brown Brazilian pointed towards fleshy rolls of outer labia hugging a pink slit of pussy. Above it, a pooched-out hood partially concealed a big, mouth-watering nubbin.
Though very light complexioned, she had that healthy glow from the aerobics workout she’d told me she did religiously every day, so her skin was just gorgeous. Silky smooth legs extended up from almost miniature feet to a bottom that was ample for her diminutive size yet perfectly apple-shaped and all muscle.
We fell across the peach-colored satin sheets of her bed in a naked embrace, and then, suddenly, she put the breaks on. Uh-oh, I thought, one of those who back out at the last minute.
“If I’d had any idea I was going to make love tonight, I would have already put my diaphragm in. You see, you have to wait 4 hours to make sure it works. If you’re up for that much foreplay, I sure am.”
Whew! Well, of course I was.
She then reached over onto the side table and extracted from a dome-shaped container her diaphragm. She handed it to me, reared back and spread her legs super-wide. “Would you like to put it in me?”
Well, shit, this was the first time I’d ever seen a diaphragm, much less touched one. Though of course synthetic, it had a curiously lifelike feel, so soft and smooth. Much thicker than I would have guessed from the pics I’d seen in the Physicians Desk Reference, it was also much bigger than I expected, nearly three inches in diameter. That I was astonished at the sheer expanse of her genitals—the name “Pussy Galore” from that James Bond film came to mind—made the new-to-me birth control device all the more difficult to process.
“I have to be honest, I’m a newbie at the diaphragm thing. I appreciate your wanting me to be involved in its insertion and all, but I don’t have a clue what to do,” I confessed, fumbling the device when I handed it back to her because I could not tear my eyes away from that large, luscious, wide-open pussy.
“Oh, my, there’s no room for error when it comes to birth control, so thanks for telling me. It IS kinda hard to get in and then position just right. I’ll show you how to do it, just watch me.”
THAT was a sight to behold. Like the rest of her, her hands were very small, but, even so, she had the right one up to the wrist to get the diaphragm in, then she wiggled it around for a bit before saying, “There. See how I had to gently work it way up in there and then seat it in?”
I was just speechless. Her vagina was heavenly, simply devine, but disproportionately large for her petite dimensions. In fact, were such a thing possible, it could have been transplanted from a woman twice her size. Good thing I like big pussies and have a thick dick!
Then, we both looked over at the antique clock on the wall to note the time. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the old clock counted down the four hours one second at a time.
So, in no hurry whatsoever, I popped another cork, and we had protracted foreplay of every possible kind for hours, all the while continuing to sip champagne, talk at total ease about what we were doing, and, occasionally, glance over at the clock.
She was a terrific lover in every way, never in a rush, and knew how to use every part of her body for sex: Her mouth and tongue (she could twist it 360 degrees around for fabulous head), hands (hand-jobs), breasts (terrific titty-fucks despite their relatively small B-cup size), feet (foot-jobs), buns (see below), thighs (thigh jobs), hair (read on), and even her underarms (trapping my cock there and swabbing it back and forth and all around on the tender skin).
She came numerous times from my tongue and finger play and by grinding her clit on my knee. She even came once while I wiggled my toes in her drenching-wet pussy! I could write an entire book on what all we did that night, but this is a short story, so I’ll zero in on two segments:
The first was when she was lying in a prone position with me on top of her doing this amazing bun-fucking thing in which she would contract and relax them around my cock nestled in between. Her crack was so wet from pussy juice that my cock was sliding easily in her anal cleavage with no other lube necessary. She was so enjoying the sensation of the bottom of my cock sliding across her anus as she used her fingers to diddle her clit from below, that she surprised both of us and had a sudden, intense climax.
I was choking back my own ejaculation with all my might, but at the moment she came, she clamped her buns together around my dick as she twisted her head around and looked back at me with the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen. That did it. Ka-blewie! My initial spurt was an intercontinental ballistic load that launched Escort Zonguldak all the way over her back onto the left cheek of her face. She then positioned her head so that gravity would draw the glob of goo down to the corner of her lips, where it slowly crept across to the other side.
Licking it off and savoring the taste before swallowing, she giggled, “Ummm, delicious! You may know wine, but I’m a cum connoisseur, and I must say, yours is exquisite!”
It just does not get much better than that, my friends! The rest of my jizz spewed onto her lovely, smooth back, so I carved it off and finger-fed it to her. Like a Russian vixen consuming caviar and Stolichnaya, she relished every sticky drop and actually seemed intoxicated by it.
Speaking of intoxication, I popped the cork on yet another bottle, and we sipped bubbly and chatted there sprawled out nude on the huge expanse of her California King bed. I just love a woman who’s completely comfortable with her nakedness and sexuality, and I’ve never been with a woman more that way than she.
By the time we were halfway through that bottle, it was just a few minutes shy of four long hours since we began our extended sexual adventure and the beginning of the second segment I’ll describe in detail:
After looking back from the clock, she leaned over my crotch and slowly swirled her soft blonde hair around and around and around my cock, bringing it to full erection. If you’ve never had a girl do this, you’re really missing something that feels stupendous. Just make sure the skin of your dick is dry, for if it’s the least bit wet from saliva or pussy juice or sweat, the hair seizes.
After that, she started nibble-sucking on my scrotum, gradually working her way up and around the shaft, stimulating it with twirling tongue and agile lips, leaving plenty of lubricating saliva. Suddenly, she sucked it ALL THE WAY DOWN to the base and held it there for a minute or so without even a hint of gagging. The whole time, her bright green eyes stared up into mine, and if they could have spoken, would have said, “See, even a petite thing like me can deep-throat a sizable dick.”
Then, mouth concave with suction, she up-and-downed The Man while following her lips with both little hands in tight fists spiraling around him in opposite directions. Carrying on, she looked up into my eyes again and began to hum the theme to the game show Jeopardy—everyone knows that melody. After an exaggerated retardando to end the last line of the tune (duhmmmm-tee-duhmmm-duhmmm-duhmmmmmmm…duhmmmmmmm…duhmmm), she popped her mouth dramatically off my never-been-harder cock, held it like a microphone, and announced, “All right, my fellow contestant, it’s time for our final round—intercourse!”
She was not only cute and super-sexy, but also very creative and humorous. She’d timed the hummer to end coincident with exactly 4 hours expiring on the “game clock.” I liked this girl, er, woman.
Wasting not one more precious moment, she guided my back down against the mattress, hopped on me cowgirl, impaled herself on my raging erection, and whispered in my ear, “Just let me take charge, OK?”
And so I just relaxed and let her take complete control. Apparently starved for a fuck, she quickly ramped up from a slow and easy pace to a frenetic one. Her apricots flounced wildly as she smiled big and joyful just as she had when she first saw me outside on my bike. I watched her beautiful boobs and face as long I could without touching. Then I dove into those tits to nestle my face between them, do the motorboat thing, twiddle, squeeze and suck those hard little pink nips, and then sloppy-kiss her engorged lips as we alternately sucked one another’s tongues. She never slowed down or missed a stroke.
Despite her petite size, she had that big sex hole, which, unlike most men’s fixation on tight pussy, I actually PREFER because I can really go the distance, so I figured we’d be fucking for hours. However, when she orgasmed, she clamped those vaginal muscles so tightly around my cock that I immediately filled her with hot man-juice.
Climaxing incredibly intensely atop me, she arched her back, crooned her head towards the ceiling, and howled like a wolf at the moon. “Owwww-Oooooooooo!”
Of course I was cumming, too, and joined her with my own howl. It was just an act, but seemed the right thing to do at the time.
Drawing out her orgasm by continuing to pump me at a gradually slower pace until perfectly still, she took a deep breath, quickly ooched forward so that her pussy was right over my face and asked ever-so-politely, “Would you mind sucking your semen out of my coochie into your mouth and then transferring it into mine with a nice, long kiss?”
I did not mind at all. In the process, I latched onto her lovely large love button, and she came yet again, squeezing out every remaining drop of cum into my mouth. When I snowballed it into hers, she paused to savor it, then swallowed, smacked her lips loudly, smiled big, and exclaimed, “Yummy!”
Start to finish, the actual coitus was barely 15 minutes. But, hey, it didn’t matter; we’d been having sex for the previous four fucking hours! All the while, the big greyhound Jeeves watched—even climbing up in the love seat for a better view—a canine voyeur! If a dog can smile, this one certainly was.
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