GIRL 51 ~ THE FABULOUS CORVETTE GIRL
I had just hesitated in calling Girl 50, Naples Bistro Girl. When I came home, I walked into the Snake Ranch, sat down in the command chair, opened my email and there it was. The famous email from Corvette Girl.
"Dear Book Boy, tell me, what is your naughtiest, nastiest, hottest and sweatiest sexual fantasy? I promise you, if you tell me what it is, I will do my UTMOST to fulfill it for you, in a way you will never forget. Here's a kiss that you can put ANYWHERE you want or need it. Love always, Corvette Girl"
I stared at the screen, my mouth hanging open. Is it possible that letters like this arrived in real life? Was this a guy posing as a girl for a guilty thrill, or a joke from one of my friends borrowing a friend's internet dating account? Or even one female cattily attacking another one by hacking into her dating account and writing a slutty email to a guy? And did it matter?
I wrote her back a two pager, which took all of a one minute and thirty seconds to bang out. I filled an email with an orgy fantasy, imagining her naked, on her back, a female mouth on her left breast, a male mouth on the right, a cock in her soaked pussy, an even bigger cock rammed deep in her asshole, a gigantically huge black cock face fucking her while her hands were wrapped around yet two more hardons, and a man sucked the toes on her left foot while a girl sucked the toes of the right, and on command, like firecrackers in a row going off, first one guy would cum, then the next, spigots of hot, sticky, wet cum shooting in her mouth, then her pussy, then deep and hard in her asshole, and then the handjob boys would cum all over face, absolutely soaking her pretty face in gallons of great-smelling semen, all of it so hot it would seem almost feverish, and the room would smell of pussy juice, K-Y Jelly, sweat and cum.
I didn't even proof it. When it's a sexual fantasy, you let it fly and fuck the commas out of place and the misspellings, all of which can be forgiven by the fact that your penis is doing the typing, and it tends to hunt and peck.
Her profile's banner said ONLINE NOW! and her reply came within minutes.
"Dear Perverted But Fuckin' Hot Book Boy,
I really loved your fantasy, but it would take Steven Spielberg to cast the hundreds who would have to show up for that! I was thinking of a lower budget porno! Why don't we try this one - have you ever been in the parking lot where you work with your new girl in the shotgun seat and watch her unbuckle your belt and slowly undo your zipper, and while people walk by your truck, see her head slowly descend toward your crotch? Have you felt her lips teasing your hard cock, her tongue sloooooowly licking it's way down your shaft, until you can't take it and you pull her hair and ram her head down hard on your cock, until her mouth is sucking in every last inch of you, and you roughly pump her head up and down until you can feel the storm coming and then you explosively cum, shooting load after load into her eager, warm, soft, wet sucking mouth? And she slowly lifts her head dreamily from your lap, a stray line of cum on her cheek, and she takes her finger and slowly, while you watch her, puts the cum in her mouth and sucks her finger and swallows it all? And after that, have you tasted her mouth and tongue in the hot kiss that follows, tasting that wonderful, sweet and salty cum you just pumped into her grateful mouth? Honey, if you haven't experienced that, then you haven't lived.
Love always,
Corvette Girl"
I got light-headed reading it. I had to sit down. I went to my room and folded the laundry while thinking of a reply. Here was a woman so sexual that she was fantasizing about sucking my cock in email number two.
Either she was a psycho or my third wife. I smiled to myself. Maybe both!
I decided to see what her sense of humor was like.
"Dear Corvette Girl,
The only trouble is I work from my home office, so there's no work parking lot. Does that mean you'll suck my cock on my 'commute' home, which would be in the hallway leading to my bedroom?
Yours,
Book Boy"
Ten seconds later:
"Dear Book Boy,
You cracked me up! As to your request for a hallway suck job, you've totally got a deal! If your cock is as gorgeous as your face, I may never get around to kissing your face!
Love always,
Corvette Girl"
Of course, I had to send her penis pictures. I waited for her reaction.
"Dear, sweet, luscious Book Boy, all I have to say is...YUMMY!!!!! Love always, Corvette Girl P.S. Now, ask me any question you want! Anything!"
She was still testing me, I thought. That "free shot" question had to be a trap. If I asked her something sexual, she would be controlling the conversation, which would put her in charge. As Arnold Schwarzenegger would say, Beeg Meestake.
So my question was this -
"Have you ever had a near death experience?"
Her reply surprised me. She wrote about the accident on the rainy night as graphically as she had about her lips moving on my cock. The sudden gap in consciousness, from being normal one second, an instant later upside down in a smashed ruined wreck of the car, rain dropping on her forehead, unable to feel below her jaw, the panic as she wondered if she were paralyzed, the police radios, and how all her senses suddenly dimmed and the world went gray and then black and she heard the voice of her long dead mother, who died by her own hand, telling not to make the same mistake of leaving her children, urging her to stay alive so she could care for the kids, the kids, the kids…and the bright light that seemed to reach out for her anyway. Another consciousness gap, and she was back in her body, and now she did feel things below her neck, but it was a firehose stream of pain, pain she never thought she could withstand, and it came in waves. The ambulance ride to the hospital. Seeing herself from the ambulance roof. The hushed conversation of the paramedics, and how they thought she would be dead on arrival.
I stared at the email screen. So Miss Corvette was more than a nymphomaniac. My reply was to tell her to ask me a question.
She wanted to know about my near death experience.
Nothing as dramatic as hers, I typed. 1981. Navy Scuba. "Tank" exercise, in which tank meant the 10 meter deep indoor pool. You toss all your gear into the deep water, take a breath, and jump in after it. Somewhere down there is a tank of air and a regulator. By feel, you fit the regulator to the tank and valve it in, then put the regulator in your mouth and blow out the water. The trouble is, to simulate stress, the Navy dive instructors swim throughout the tank and hit the students. You're in a blurry, dim, watery half-reality, feeling the hose of the regulator and trying to get the end of it onto thescuba tank when suddenly you see a shadow. You flinch but it does no good, you get punched in the face by an instructor. As a simulator of stress, it is surprisingly effective. By the time I valved in my regulator, I was out of air. I tried to blow out the water from the mouthpiece. To use the automatic purge valve is to fail the entire grueling course. So I blew out the water, but I'd been down north of three minutes and I needed air, like, RIGHT FUCKING NOW! I took a fast, deep breath of air, but there was one problem.
It wasn't air.
As the water hit my lungs my brain disconnected and fell away from me. There was nothing left of me but reptilian brain stem and central nervous system, and like a fish flopping on a pier, I shook my body in purposeless panic. During this exercise, to pop your head above water was to be flunked in a sudden death fashion. I watched myself from ten feet away panicking and struggling, flailing and pumping arms and legs everywhere, and then a circular blackness constricted all around me until there was just a point of light, in front of me, bright and white and yellow and the size of a kernel of corn. There was almost nothing left of me, I thought, and I heard voices, and I remember having a conversation that must have lasted hours, and we talked about purpose and hope and love and a hundred philosophical concepts that had nothing to do with drowning at the bottom of the pool. And I saw the Marine Corps dive buddy I'd gone down with struggling with me, and I remember thinking by drowning I would be killing him too, because he was fighting to get his regulator into my mouth, and suddenly drowning my dive buddy seemed like a damned selfish thing to do, and I remember swan diving back into my body, and in an instant I saw the Marine Corps guy's eyes wide, his skin turning blue, and I took a hard pull of air and gave him back his mouthpiece and tried to cough out the water while still ten meters underwater. Later, on the pool deck, the dive instructor who had punched me sank to one knee, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
"You okay?" he asked. I nodded. His look was serious as he asked, "did you see God?"
I shook my head. I heard him, I said. But I was in darkness.
"Darkness. That's not a good sign, sir." He was my instructor, but as an officer I still outranked him, which was the reason for the "sir."
Really?
He nodded. "I don't know what you're life is like, sir, but if I were you, I'd think about changing something."
I stared at him as he walked away, and then he seemed to snap back to reality and his screaming voice came back.
The next day, I met Corvette Girl at the local City Streets restaurant for lunch. She got out of her two tone white and blue convertible 69 Corvette with the Tri-Power 427 and sidepipes. It was a cool car, but it was showing its age. Corvette Girl looked exactly like her photos - she was a hot, pretty girl-next-door type, but there was an incongruous purity about her. There was absolutely nothing slutty about the woman. Had I dreamt the oddness of the sexual exchange? The odd thing was, she was three years older than me, the same age as Naples Bistro Girl, the same age as my sister, and by God, she looked like my sister.
Now, for some reason, her resemblance to my sister made my cock quiver. I don't know what the hell happened to me. For some reason I am either just wired freakishly funny, or there was a major malfunction in my youth, because two thirds of my sexual fantasies are about incest - not with children, always with people older than me. Aunts and older cousins and my sister, but particularly mommy dearest, whom I swear to God never liked me, and the only time she was ever nice to me was when she was doing things to me that she shouldn't have been doing.
I once asked Girl 94, Bat Girl, what was going through her head when I was making her climb the long, steady slope to one of her earth-shattering orgasms, and she smiled shyly and said, all kinds of obscene and unmentionable things. So maybe I'm not all that different. Perhaps it's just that other people don't talk about the things that fly through their minds on the way to a climax.
But the sister resemblance got to me. We could have fun with this, I thought. But then, how long would that take before the fantasy reenactment was done?
I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. She turned her head at the last instant so that her lips were suddenly underneath mine, and her mouth opened and her tongue came swimming into my mouth.
It was Martin Luther King day, and we drank a toast to the man, then went back to the Snake Ranch.
She looked me right in the eye and told me she was a sex-on-the-first-date girl, but apologized profusely that she was on her period. No problem, I said, will you settle for a little anal third base, a couple of fingers in your ass? She smiled and said that would be perfect. We had to hurry up, as she had to get back to work, and so did I. I never did lunch dates, but we were both eager as hell.
A few days later, period or no period, I fucked Corvette Girl practically into a coma, and all the while, my fantasies went into overdrive. When a masturbation fantasy suddenly becomes real, it's like being let loose in Disney World with no crowds. I did Corvette Girl every way a woman can be done. I fucked her pussy. Without asking permission, when she was on her knees, her forehead on the mattress, I pulled my traitorous penis, Tyrannosaurus Rex out of her vagina and slowly rammed it up her ass, and she bit her lip in a momentary pang of pain, and then started moaning so sweetly I wished I'd had a video camera. Suddenly the purity of this woman had flown, and she was a degenerate slut, my cock ramming into her asshole, and I could feel its every quiver. And then I found out the coolest part.
I went to my bathroom and washed the ass off my cock with Dove soap and a washcloth, and I brought myself to her face for her to suck my cock. She relished it, crouching on her knees, her hair falling down and massaging my stomach and thighs. And then it happened. I came in a rush into her wet, willing mouth, and just as I did, Corvette Girl came herself.
Wait a minute. How can that be? I wasn't even touching her. Well, my cock was certainly touching her lips and the inside of her mouth as she sucked me, but a second after cum hit her tongue, she climaxed.
She had taken in every drop and swallowed loudly, and finally sat up straight.
Oh my God, Corvette Girl, that was great, I said.
She smiled. "It was, wasn't it?"
Just a question, I asked. Did you…climax when I came?
She smiled again like a toddler who had just done a successful somersault for her mommy.
"I sure did! It was great too. You taste really good. Really sweet."
It was strange, because when she talked about sex, she used guy words. Like cock and cunt and pussy and buttfucking. And her expression was completely level. She could have been talking about coefficients of drag in the wind tunnel she ran for a university. No more significance to the words than if they were obscure technical terms. I once tried to teach her how to talk dirty the way a woman should, with a hint of naughtiness and a pinch of sultriness. Corvette Girl, you have to raise an eyebrow and say archly, I want to suck…your…cock. Instead, she'd say, iwannasuckyourcock. Like, I want to go for a walk. No, no, no! I'd say. I want, then insert a pause, to suck, emphasize the word by lengthening it, wrap your pretty mouth around the word "suck" and then pause and say, your cock, and again, make the word cock seem naughty. Use the same tongue and lips that do the actual cocksucking to pronounce the word cocksucking. The strange thing is, this deadpan sex talk is exactly the way my sister is. There is some sensitivity that has just been electroshocked out of her, and she can talk about sex as matter-of-factly as she could about money. It had always unnerved me.
I was worried about jumping too soon into a new relationship. I decided to take it "slow" -- as slow as you can go while buttfucking the girl, I suppose. I pledged to myself that we wouldn't be exclusive until way down the road.
So Corvette Girl became a timeshare girlfriend…
While I dated her and fucked her, Corvette Girl also dated and fucked Land Rover Boy. She was sexual with him when she found me, and after we fucked the first time, Corvette Girl was writing up Land Rover Boy's walking papers, and I suddenly got insecure and ordered her to keep seeing Land Rover Boy.
What? she asked. Nothing says you have to fuck only one guy at a time, I said. Personally, if it were up to me, we'd have Land Rover Boy doing your mouth while I fuck your ass. Do you think he'd join us? She shook her head. Homophobic, she said. No way he wants to be in the same room as another guy, much less a naked guy, and even much less with a naked guy with a hardon. Damn, I said.
So we carved up the week. Land Rover Boy had her (and had her and had her) Tuesday. (Monday was rest, and with Corvette Girl, both Land Rover Boy and I needed it.) On Wednesday she was mine, and we'd warm up with her telling me how Land Rover Boy had fucked her. Land Rover Boy had a pretty cock but it was smaller than mine by 15% although was bigger in girth, but the thing about Land Rover Boy is that he was a heavy cummer. He could cum four times in a night, and every load was like the first in a year, cum blasting out on every cock convulsion. He loved to pull his cock out of her mouth and soak her face with cum for the first time. More than once she'd gotten her eyelids glued shut with cum, or the irritation and redness from cum hitting her in the eye. The second time he'd pump it into her pussy, the third time into her ass, and then deep in her throat. We'd both get so turned on talking about how Land Rover Boy ravaged her that I would just throw her body down and fuck her and fuck her and fuck her.
Now, I wasn't the cum maniac that Land Rover Boy was, but I was long, I got all those hard-to-reach places, and I had stamina unheard-of in Land Rover Boy Land. When Corvette Girl told Land Rover Boy about my performance, he was at once turned on and jealous. Land Rover Boy played dirty - he didn't masturbate at all and saved all his cum for Corvette Girl. I just couldn't do it. My sex drive is just too damned high, I need it all the time. I triednot to spunk off the day I'd see Corvette Girl, but I'd get excited that she would be coming over, and it would make me think of all the dirty stuff she did, which get me foaming over horny, and I'd have to touch myself.
And dear God, the dirty stuff she did. She'd bend over my desk with dirty downloads running onscreen, taking it up the ass while some triple-X porn played. She'd do her usual cocksucking and climaxing from semen in her mouth. One time I stroked myself while she fingered me, and just from that, when I came on my stomach, she climaxed as well. When I asked her how, she smiled and said it was from watching me and smelling me. In the mornings she was with me, I'd set the alarm an hour early, make coffee, put a steaming cup on her nightstand, then lick my finger and ram it up her ass, and she'd moan and then growl. Soon I was fucking her until she came in a screaming orgasm and when she came down from it, I'd hug her and hand her the coffee, and since she always came so fast, it would still be steaming hot. She called this routine being "fucked up." The remainder of the hour, after she got a cup of coffee in her, would naturally be her sucking me before her shower.
Corvette Girl was deliciously local. Once, at 3:15 in the morning, I was surfing for sluts on Match (remember, we were non-exclusive, I was allowed, even encouraged, to search for sluts!) and I saw that Corvette Girl was on AOL, so I instant messaged her, and at 3:20 I typed, I am so horny. She replied, "God so am I." I typed, well, then, come on over. By 3:30 am, my cock was wet.
Then there was St. Patrick's Day. I picked her up at the airport from a business trip. At home were $300 worth of new toys and bondage gear. I tied her up, bound her hand and foot, and while taking pictures, put each of a dozen toys into every hole, then used my cock on them, and Corvette Girl took the best pictures. She looked gorgeous with a cock in her mouth, even better with one in her ass with a vibrator stuffed into her pussy.
Finally, there was the matter of Land Rover Boy. On a Tuesday, which was his day, he opted out. Busy or something. My usual standing date with my daughter had been canceled, so I told Corvette Girl. She did the dance, saying she was horny, then I confessed I was too and invited her over, and as I hung up the phone, she knocked on the door. I opened it and said, what took you so long? She'd laugh, come in, grab a drink, drop off her bag, sit on the bed, pull off her boots, her pants, her blouse, her bra, her panties, and without a word, get on her knees with her head down, her back arched and she'd be ready for a hard cock in her ass. God, I loved Corvette Girl!
But Land Rover Boy, as a result of Corvette Girl's total disclosure policy, became furious that on "his day," she fucked me. In his mind, Corvette Girl fucking me on a Tuesday was cheating. But if she fucked me on Wednesday, that was fine. At first I thought it was a joke, but he was truly upset. The madder he got, the angrier Corvette Girl got with him, until she dumped him. I felt uncomfortable about it. I wanted her to make it back up with him, but she wouldn't. Suddenly I was alone in the room with her, and it made me feel strange.
Two things happened simultaneously. She went away for ten days to the west coast for vacation with her grown daughter and grandchildren (yikes, I'm fucking a grandmother! But Corvette Girl and her lovely daughter could do a mother-daughter porno if they ever wanted to). Just as she left, I felt something kick in. Actual relationship feelings for her, rather than just the lust-friendship thing we'd had so far. I genuinely missed her. I pined for her. I wanted her. On the phone I told her that she mattered to me.
It got away from me. We went too far, too fast, and maybe it was just "you're in Washington state and I'm horny" emptiness that made me confess to big feelings that perhaps weren't as big as I thought. I picked her up from the airport, and the rush of good feelings I expected didn't quite arrive with her.
Something was different. Perhaps Land Rover Boy being gone. Perhaps both of us saying the L-word, and hearing ourselves say it aloud made molecules of inhibition form.
A three day weekend in early April came. We argued about the townhouse I was moving into, because it was the exact same unit as the one Girl Zero and I had lived in 1996 and 1997. She thought it would be improper. My son liked the idea - I was taking custody of him for his last two years in high school. Corvette Girl thought there would be too many ghosts there. That and the fact that she absolutely fucked me into a coma for two days straight, until there was nothing left of my mojo at all, and the general malaise plus the fight contributed to a mood. I went to see the townhouse alone, sneaking out instead of taking her with me. When I got back, she'd gone back to her place. I sat at the computer and typed up a quick Dear Jane letter.
Her replies were bitter and long and filled my email every day. I patiently waited two weeks, then approached her again, apologized, and asked if we could be friends, and I meant it. Shyly, she confessed that she was already two boyfriends down the road.
You slut! I shouted playfully. Give me details. Oh man, the stuff she told me about Muffin Boy would curl your hair.
Over the next few months we consulted with each other about relationships. Today I like to think we arranged each other's safe landing. She's with a guy who seems completely perfect, and I found Bat Girl.
I always considered Corvette Girl a monument to what female sexuality can be at its peak. She is the proof of what a woman can be in bed. When women tell me that females are constructed differently than men, I beg to differ. I hold up Corvette Girl as the example, and she helped me keep my standard for females high.
After her, almost no one measured up. It was a long wait for Bat Girl. But today, I am absolutely convinced that there would BE no Bat Girl unless there had been a Corvette Girl. I think of Girl 6 and Corvette Girl as sort of the Moses and John the Baptist to Bat Girl's Christ. They came first and paved the way.
Thank you for existing, Corvette Girl. Many happy orgasms to you. I hope you're still furiously fucking and sucking until you're 106 and they force you to stop.
All my love,
Book Boy
Aka Playboy Author Boy
I had just hesitated in calling Girl 50, Naples Bistro Girl. When I came home, I walked into the Snake Ranch, sat down in the command chair, opened my email and there it was. The famous email from Corvette Girl.
"Dear Book Boy, tell me, what is your naughtiest, nastiest, hottest and sweatiest sexual fantasy? I promise you, if you tell me what it is, I will do my UTMOST to fulfill it for you, in a way you will never forget. Here's a kiss that you can put ANYWHERE you want or need it. Love always, Corvette Girl"
I stared at the screen, my mouth hanging open. Is it possible that letters like this arrived in real life? Was this a guy posing as a girl for a guilty thrill, or a joke from one of my friends borrowing a friend's internet dating account? Or even one female cattily attacking another one by hacking into her dating account and writing a slutty email to a guy? And did it matter?
I wrote her back a two pager, which took all of a one minute and thirty seconds to bang out. I filled an email with an orgy fantasy, imagining her naked, on her back, a female mouth on her left breast, a male mouth on the right, a cock in her soaked pussy, an even bigger cock rammed deep in her asshole, a gigantically huge black cock face fucking her while her hands were wrapped around yet two more hardons, and a man sucked the toes on her left foot while a girl sucked the toes of the right, and on command, like firecrackers in a row going off, first one guy would cum, then the next, spigots of hot, sticky, wet cum shooting in her mouth, then her pussy, then deep and hard in her asshole, and then the handjob boys would cum all over face, absolutely soaking her pretty face in gallons of great-smelling semen, all of it so hot it would seem almost feverish, and the room would smell of pussy juice, K-Y Jelly, sweat and cum.
I didn't even proof it. When it's a sexual fantasy, you let it fly and fuck the commas out of place and the misspellings, all of which can be forgiven by the fact that your penis is doing the typing, and it tends to hunt and peck.
Her profile's banner said ONLINE NOW! and her reply came within minutes.
"Dear Perverted But Fuckin' Hot Book Boy,
I really loved your fantasy, but it would take Steven Spielberg to cast the hundreds who would have to show up for that! I was thinking of a lower budget porno! Why don't we try this one - have you ever been in the parking lot where you work with your new girl in the shotgun seat and watch her unbuckle your belt and slowly undo your zipper, and while people walk by your truck, see her head slowly descend toward your crotch? Have you felt her lips teasing your hard cock, her tongue sloooooowly licking it's way down your shaft, until you can't take it and you pull her hair and ram her head down hard on your cock, until her mouth is sucking in every last inch of you, and you roughly pump her head up and down until you can feel the storm coming and then you explosively cum, shooting load after load into her eager, warm, soft, wet sucking mouth? And she slowly lifts her head dreamily from your lap, a stray line of cum on her cheek, and she takes her finger and slowly, while you watch her, puts the cum in her mouth and sucks her finger and swallows it all? And after that, have you tasted her mouth and tongue in the hot kiss that follows, tasting that wonderful, sweet and salty cum you just pumped into her grateful mouth? Honey, if you haven't experienced that, then you haven't lived.
Love always,
Corvette Girl"
I got light-headed reading it. I had to sit down. I went to my room and folded the laundry while thinking of a reply. Here was a woman so sexual that she was fantasizing about sucking my cock in email number two.
Either she was a psycho or my third wife. I smiled to myself. Maybe both!
I decided to see what her sense of humor was like.
"Dear Corvette Girl,
The only trouble is I work from my home office, so there's no work parking lot. Does that mean you'll suck my cock on my 'commute' home, which would be in the hallway leading to my bedroom?
Yours,
Book Boy"
Ten seconds later:
"Dear Book Boy,
You cracked me up! As to your request for a hallway suck job, you've totally got a deal! If your cock is as gorgeous as your face, I may never get around to kissing your face!
Love always,
Corvette Girl"
Of course, I had to send her penis pictures. I waited for her reaction.
"Dear, sweet, luscious Book Boy, all I have to say is...YUMMY!!!!! Love always, Corvette Girl P.S. Now, ask me any question you want! Anything!"
She was still testing me, I thought. That "free shot" question had to be a trap. If I asked her something sexual, she would be controlling the conversation, which would put her in charge. As Arnold Schwarzenegger would say, Beeg Meestake.
So my question was this -
"Have you ever had a near death experience?"
Her reply surprised me. She wrote about the accident on the rainy night as graphically as she had about her lips moving on my cock. The sudden gap in consciousness, from being normal one second, an instant later upside down in a smashed ruined wreck of the car, rain dropping on her forehead, unable to feel below her jaw, the panic as she wondered if she were paralyzed, the police radios, and how all her senses suddenly dimmed and the world went gray and then black and she heard the voice of her long dead mother, who died by her own hand, telling not to make the same mistake of leaving her children, urging her to stay alive so she could care for the kids, the kids, the kids…and the bright light that seemed to reach out for her anyway. Another consciousness gap, and she was back in her body, and now she did feel things below her neck, but it was a firehose stream of pain, pain she never thought she could withstand, and it came in waves. The ambulance ride to the hospital. Seeing herself from the ambulance roof. The hushed conversation of the paramedics, and how they thought she would be dead on arrival.
I stared at the email screen. So Miss Corvette was more than a nymphomaniac. My reply was to tell her to ask me a question.
She wanted to know about my near death experience.
Nothing as dramatic as hers, I typed. 1981. Navy Scuba. "Tank" exercise, in which tank meant the 10 meter deep indoor pool. You toss all your gear into the deep water, take a breath, and jump in after it. Somewhere down there is a tank of air and a regulator. By feel, you fit the regulator to the tank and valve it in, then put the regulator in your mouth and blow out the water. The trouble is, to simulate stress, the Navy dive instructors swim throughout the tank and hit the students. You're in a blurry, dim, watery half-reality, feeling the hose of the regulator and trying to get the end of it onto thescuba tank when suddenly you see a shadow. You flinch but it does no good, you get punched in the face by an instructor. As a simulator of stress, it is surprisingly effective. By the time I valved in my regulator, I was out of air. I tried to blow out the water from the mouthpiece. To use the automatic purge valve is to fail the entire grueling course. So I blew out the water, but I'd been down north of three minutes and I needed air, like, RIGHT FUCKING NOW! I took a fast, deep breath of air, but there was one problem.
It wasn't air.
As the water hit my lungs my brain disconnected and fell away from me. There was nothing left of me but reptilian brain stem and central nervous system, and like a fish flopping on a pier, I shook my body in purposeless panic. During this exercise, to pop your head above water was to be flunked in a sudden death fashion. I watched myself from ten feet away panicking and struggling, flailing and pumping arms and legs everywhere, and then a circular blackness constricted all around me until there was just a point of light, in front of me, bright and white and yellow and the size of a kernel of corn. There was almost nothing left of me, I thought, and I heard voices, and I remember having a conversation that must have lasted hours, and we talked about purpose and hope and love and a hundred philosophical concepts that had nothing to do with drowning at the bottom of the pool. And I saw the Marine Corps dive buddy I'd gone down with struggling with me, and I remember thinking by drowning I would be killing him too, because he was fighting to get his regulator into my mouth, and suddenly drowning my dive buddy seemed like a damned selfish thing to do, and I remember swan diving back into my body, and in an instant I saw the Marine Corps guy's eyes wide, his skin turning blue, and I took a hard pull of air and gave him back his mouthpiece and tried to cough out the water while still ten meters underwater. Later, on the pool deck, the dive instructor who had punched me sank to one knee, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
"You okay?" he asked. I nodded. His look was serious as he asked, "did you see God?"
I shook my head. I heard him, I said. But I was in darkness.
"Darkness. That's not a good sign, sir." He was my instructor, but as an officer I still outranked him, which was the reason for the "sir."
Really?
He nodded. "I don't know what you're life is like, sir, but if I were you, I'd think about changing something."
I stared at him as he walked away, and then he seemed to snap back to reality and his screaming voice came back.
The next day, I met Corvette Girl at the local City Streets restaurant for lunch. She got out of her two tone white and blue convertible 69 Corvette with the Tri-Power 427 and sidepipes. It was a cool car, but it was showing its age. Corvette Girl looked exactly like her photos - she was a hot, pretty girl-next-door type, but there was an incongruous purity about her. There was absolutely nothing slutty about the woman. Had I dreamt the oddness of the sexual exchange? The odd thing was, she was three years older than me, the same age as Naples Bistro Girl, the same age as my sister, and by God, she looked like my sister.
Now, for some reason, her resemblance to my sister made my cock quiver. I don't know what the hell happened to me. For some reason I am either just wired freakishly funny, or there was a major malfunction in my youth, because two thirds of my sexual fantasies are about incest - not with children, always with people older than me. Aunts and older cousins and my sister, but particularly mommy dearest, whom I swear to God never liked me, and the only time she was ever nice to me was when she was doing things to me that she shouldn't have been doing.
I once asked Girl 94, Bat Girl, what was going through her head when I was making her climb the long, steady slope to one of her earth-shattering orgasms, and she smiled shyly and said, all kinds of obscene and unmentionable things. So maybe I'm not all that different. Perhaps it's just that other people don't talk about the things that fly through their minds on the way to a climax.
But the sister resemblance got to me. We could have fun with this, I thought. But then, how long would that take before the fantasy reenactment was done?
I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. She turned her head at the last instant so that her lips were suddenly underneath mine, and her mouth opened and her tongue came swimming into my mouth.
It was Martin Luther King day, and we drank a toast to the man, then went back to the Snake Ranch.
She looked me right in the eye and told me she was a sex-on-the-first-date girl, but apologized profusely that she was on her period. No problem, I said, will you settle for a little anal third base, a couple of fingers in your ass? She smiled and said that would be perfect. We had to hurry up, as she had to get back to work, and so did I. I never did lunch dates, but we were both eager as hell.
A few days later, period or no period, I fucked Corvette Girl practically into a coma, and all the while, my fantasies went into overdrive. When a masturbation fantasy suddenly becomes real, it's like being let loose in Disney World with no crowds. I did Corvette Girl every way a woman can be done. I fucked her pussy. Without asking permission, when she was on her knees, her forehead on the mattress, I pulled my traitorous penis, Tyrannosaurus Rex out of her vagina and slowly rammed it up her ass, and she bit her lip in a momentary pang of pain, and then started moaning so sweetly I wished I'd had a video camera. Suddenly the purity of this woman had flown, and she was a degenerate slut, my cock ramming into her asshole, and I could feel its every quiver. And then I found out the coolest part.
I went to my bathroom and washed the ass off my cock with Dove soap and a washcloth, and I brought myself to her face for her to suck my cock. She relished it, crouching on her knees, her hair falling down and massaging my stomach and thighs. And then it happened. I came in a rush into her wet, willing mouth, and just as I did, Corvette Girl came herself.
Wait a minute. How can that be? I wasn't even touching her. Well, my cock was certainly touching her lips and the inside of her mouth as she sucked me, but a second after cum hit her tongue, she climaxed.
She had taken in every drop and swallowed loudly, and finally sat up straight.
Oh my God, Corvette Girl, that was great, I said.
She smiled. "It was, wasn't it?"
Just a question, I asked. Did you…climax when I came?
She smiled again like a toddler who had just done a successful somersault for her mommy.
"I sure did! It was great too. You taste really good. Really sweet."
It was strange, because when she talked about sex, she used guy words. Like cock and cunt and pussy and buttfucking. And her expression was completely level. She could have been talking about coefficients of drag in the wind tunnel she ran for a university. No more significance to the words than if they were obscure technical terms. I once tried to teach her how to talk dirty the way a woman should, with a hint of naughtiness and a pinch of sultriness. Corvette Girl, you have to raise an eyebrow and say archly, I want to suck…your…cock. Instead, she'd say, iwannasuckyourcock. Like, I want to go for a walk. No, no, no! I'd say. I want, then insert a pause, to suck, emphasize the word by lengthening it, wrap your pretty mouth around the word "suck" and then pause and say, your cock, and again, make the word cock seem naughty. Use the same tongue and lips that do the actual cocksucking to pronounce the word cocksucking. The strange thing is, this deadpan sex talk is exactly the way my sister is. There is some sensitivity that has just been electroshocked out of her, and she can talk about sex as matter-of-factly as she could about money. It had always unnerved me.
I was worried about jumping too soon into a new relationship. I decided to take it "slow" -- as slow as you can go while buttfucking the girl, I suppose. I pledged to myself that we wouldn't be exclusive until way down the road.
So Corvette Girl became a timeshare girlfriend…
While I dated her and fucked her, Corvette Girl also dated and fucked Land Rover Boy. She was sexual with him when she found me, and after we fucked the first time, Corvette Girl was writing up Land Rover Boy's walking papers, and I suddenly got insecure and ordered her to keep seeing Land Rover Boy.
What? she asked. Nothing says you have to fuck only one guy at a time, I said. Personally, if it were up to me, we'd have Land Rover Boy doing your mouth while I fuck your ass. Do you think he'd join us? She shook her head. Homophobic, she said. No way he wants to be in the same room as another guy, much less a naked guy, and even much less with a naked guy with a hardon. Damn, I said.
So we carved up the week. Land Rover Boy had her (and had her and had her) Tuesday. (Monday was rest, and with Corvette Girl, both Land Rover Boy and I needed it.) On Wednesday she was mine, and we'd warm up with her telling me how Land Rover Boy had fucked her. Land Rover Boy had a pretty cock but it was smaller than mine by 15% although was bigger in girth, but the thing about Land Rover Boy is that he was a heavy cummer. He could cum four times in a night, and every load was like the first in a year, cum blasting out on every cock convulsion. He loved to pull his cock out of her mouth and soak her face with cum for the first time. More than once she'd gotten her eyelids glued shut with cum, or the irritation and redness from cum hitting her in the eye. The second time he'd pump it into her pussy, the third time into her ass, and then deep in her throat. We'd both get so turned on talking about how Land Rover Boy ravaged her that I would just throw her body down and fuck her and fuck her and fuck her.
Now, I wasn't the cum maniac that Land Rover Boy was, but I was long, I got all those hard-to-reach places, and I had stamina unheard-of in Land Rover Boy Land. When Corvette Girl told Land Rover Boy about my performance, he was at once turned on and jealous. Land Rover Boy played dirty - he didn't masturbate at all and saved all his cum for Corvette Girl. I just couldn't do it. My sex drive is just too damned high, I need it all the time. I triednot to spunk off the day I'd see Corvette Girl, but I'd get excited that she would be coming over, and it would make me think of all the dirty stuff she did, which get me foaming over horny, and I'd have to touch myself.
And dear God, the dirty stuff she did. She'd bend over my desk with dirty downloads running onscreen, taking it up the ass while some triple-X porn played. She'd do her usual cocksucking and climaxing from semen in her mouth. One time I stroked myself while she fingered me, and just from that, when I came on my stomach, she climaxed as well. When I asked her how, she smiled and said it was from watching me and smelling me. In the mornings she was with me, I'd set the alarm an hour early, make coffee, put a steaming cup on her nightstand, then lick my finger and ram it up her ass, and she'd moan and then growl. Soon I was fucking her until she came in a screaming orgasm and when she came down from it, I'd hug her and hand her the coffee, and since she always came so fast, it would still be steaming hot. She called this routine being "fucked up." The remainder of the hour, after she got a cup of coffee in her, would naturally be her sucking me before her shower.
Corvette Girl was deliciously local. Once, at 3:15 in the morning, I was surfing for sluts on Match (remember, we were non-exclusive, I was allowed, even encouraged, to search for sluts!) and I saw that Corvette Girl was on AOL, so I instant messaged her, and at 3:20 I typed, I am so horny. She replied, "God so am I." I typed, well, then, come on over. By 3:30 am, my cock was wet.
Then there was St. Patrick's Day. I picked her up at the airport from a business trip. At home were $300 worth of new toys and bondage gear. I tied her up, bound her hand and foot, and while taking pictures, put each of a dozen toys into every hole, then used my cock on them, and Corvette Girl took the best pictures. She looked gorgeous with a cock in her mouth, even better with one in her ass with a vibrator stuffed into her pussy.
Finally, there was the matter of Land Rover Boy. On a Tuesday, which was his day, he opted out. Busy or something. My usual standing date with my daughter had been canceled, so I told Corvette Girl. She did the dance, saying she was horny, then I confessed I was too and invited her over, and as I hung up the phone, she knocked on the door. I opened it and said, what took you so long? She'd laugh, come in, grab a drink, drop off her bag, sit on the bed, pull off her boots, her pants, her blouse, her bra, her panties, and without a word, get on her knees with her head down, her back arched and she'd be ready for a hard cock in her ass. God, I loved Corvette Girl!
But Land Rover Boy, as a result of Corvette Girl's total disclosure policy, became furious that on "his day," she fucked me. In his mind, Corvette Girl fucking me on a Tuesday was cheating. But if she fucked me on Wednesday, that was fine. At first I thought it was a joke, but he was truly upset. The madder he got, the angrier Corvette Girl got with him, until she dumped him. I felt uncomfortable about it. I wanted her to make it back up with him, but she wouldn't. Suddenly I was alone in the room with her, and it made me feel strange.
Two things happened simultaneously. She went away for ten days to the west coast for vacation with her grown daughter and grandchildren (yikes, I'm fucking a grandmother! But Corvette Girl and her lovely daughter could do a mother-daughter porno if they ever wanted to). Just as she left, I felt something kick in. Actual relationship feelings for her, rather than just the lust-friendship thing we'd had so far. I genuinely missed her. I pined for her. I wanted her. On the phone I told her that she mattered to me.
It got away from me. We went too far, too fast, and maybe it was just "you're in Washington state and I'm horny" emptiness that made me confess to big feelings that perhaps weren't as big as I thought. I picked her up from the airport, and the rush of good feelings I expected didn't quite arrive with her.
Something was different. Perhaps Land Rover Boy being gone. Perhaps both of us saying the L-word, and hearing ourselves say it aloud made molecules of inhibition form.
A three day weekend in early April came. We argued about the townhouse I was moving into, because it was the exact same unit as the one Girl Zero and I had lived in 1996 and 1997. She thought it would be improper. My son liked the idea - I was taking custody of him for his last two years in high school. Corvette Girl thought there would be too many ghosts there. That and the fact that she absolutely fucked me into a coma for two days straight, until there was nothing left of my mojo at all, and the general malaise plus the fight contributed to a mood. I went to see the townhouse alone, sneaking out instead of taking her with me. When I got back, she'd gone back to her place. I sat at the computer and typed up a quick Dear Jane letter.
Her replies were bitter and long and filled my email every day. I patiently waited two weeks, then approached her again, apologized, and asked if we could be friends, and I meant it. Shyly, she confessed that she was already two boyfriends down the road.
You slut! I shouted playfully. Give me details. Oh man, the stuff she told me about Muffin Boy would curl your hair.
Over the next few months we consulted with each other about relationships. Today I like to think we arranged each other's safe landing. She's with a guy who seems completely perfect, and I found Bat Girl.
I always considered Corvette Girl a monument to what female sexuality can be at its peak. She is the proof of what a woman can be in bed. When women tell me that females are constructed differently than men, I beg to differ. I hold up Corvette Girl as the example, and she helped me keep my standard for females high.
After her, almost no one measured up. It was a long wait for Bat Girl. But today, I am absolutely convinced that there would BE no Bat Girl unless there had been a Corvette Girl. I think of Girl 6 and Corvette Girl as sort of the Moses and John the Baptist to Bat Girl's Christ. They came first and paved the way.
Thank you for existing, Corvette Girl. Many happy orgasms to you. I hope you're still furiously fucking and sucking until you're 106 and they force you to stop.
All my love,
Book Boy
Aka Playboy Author Boy