The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (10 page)

Jessica, Cleveland

As I stood in the lift waiting for the fifth floor I started to worry that I couldn’t go through with this. It was a bit late to back out now, but I’d never been so
nervous. I’d never done anything like this before.

I’d even had to go and buy something more appropriate to wear. The sort of clothing normally worn for this sort of “meeting” was not my usual attire.

I walked out of the lift and down the hall with knees that were trembling. Number 532 was about halfway down. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

He stood on the other side of the door looking me up and down. I’d opened my coat while I was waiting for him to open the door, so that he could see the corset top and skirt I had on and
the black stiletto boots I’d bought specially that came over the knee.

The corset, although it certainly looked the part, was not too comfortable, but then, I supposed, it wouldn’t be on for too long.

As I entered the room he asked if I would like something to drink. I asked for a glass of white wine and while he took my coat and put it away I gulped down half the glass in one go.

As he came back I smiled at him and said, “Hi, I’m Jessica, what would you like to do tonight?”

“How about I refill your glass to start with, then we could sit and get comfortable.”

As I sat down on the corner of the bed I noticed the corset had pushed my breasts up even more. Normally I would have self-consciously realigned the top until I felt more comfortable, but that
was not what this was about so tonight I changed the habit of a lifetime and left my breasts bulging out of the top. He seemed appreciative, I thought, by the way he looked at them as he handed me
my glass.

He sat down next to me and brushed the hair off one side of my face. As he brought his hand back it wandered down and his thumb caressed over my left breast. My breathing had quickened and not
only from nerves, I was actually finding this quite surprisingly exciting! I thought I would just be full of nerves and find it hard to fit into this role, but I was starting to enjoy it.

I turned myself more towards him and pushed my shoulders down and back, which made my breasts stand out even more. He put his hand on my hip and ran it up my body. As it got to the underside of
my breast he pressed upwards and the breast popped out of the top of the corset, exposing my nipple. He looked me in the eye as he slowly took a mouthful of wine then bent down and sucked my
nipple. As he swallowed, a bit of the wine escaped and ran down between my breasts. I inhaled sharply at the sensation of him sucking the nipple, already sensitive.

I pushed the other breast out of the top of the corset and moved his head over so that he could suck that too. I moaned slightly at the sensation. I was starting to feel totally wanton, this was
sexy stuff; I was getting a real buzz from it. His hand had moved to my knee and was slowly making its way up my leg, which was parting of its own accord so that his hand had no opposition.

As he got to the top of my leg, his hand stopped and I wriggled impatiently. He laughed then kissed me deeply, his tongue filling my mouth. I stood up and moved round so I was standing in front
of him. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall around my ankles. He looked at me standing there in my corset, stockings and boots, totally open to him as I’d worn no underwear, and he pulled me
towards him.

My legs almost gave way as his tongue licked at my pussy. I clung to his shoulders while he kissed and licked my clit. I managed to get myself together enough to start to undress him. I took off
his top, which just slipped over his head, then knelt in front of him and undid his trousers. As I was doing this I was feeling his balls and cock, rubbing them through his clothes. I noticed his
breathing had quickened and pulled off his trousers then boxers. I took hold of his cock with one hand and in the other had his balls. I slowly licked his cock and felt it jump in response. I took
it as far in my mouth as I could then started to lick and suck it, all the time kneading his balls with my hands.

After a while he pulled me up and started to kiss me and he undid the corset. Once I was free he took both breasts in his hands and played with my nipples, then sucked and bit at them till I was
moaning and more than ready to be fucked.

He turned us both around so I was stood against the bed then pushed me back onto it. He pushed my legs apart and went down on my pussy again. By now I was dripping and he slipped his finger into
me. I groaned as my hips moved against him, wanting more than just his finger. He played with my pussy and clit for a while and I was starting to think I was going to come, but he moved up onto the
bed and looked into my eyes as he thrust his cock into me.

I sighed and moaned at the same time; that was just what I wanted. He started to fuck me, slowly at first then faster and harder. My legs were wrapped around him; the feel of his hard cock
thrusting in and out of me was pushing me towards the ultimate end. I could feel it building up and my breathing was getting more and more ragged. I realized I was digging my nails into his back
and buttocks as I was clinging to him, but I couldn’t let go. Then I was there, my whole body seemed to spasm and I felt a great release, and my pussy was just sort of pulsating with pleasure
as he still kept thrusting. I don’t know if I cried out or not, I didn’t really notice anything except the sensations that were going through my body. Then he thrust harder and groaned.
He thrust a few more times then started to slow down. After a few more gentle thrusts he stopped.

As I came out of the shower about half an hour later he was laid on the bed. “I think that went quite well,” he said grinning at me. “What do you want to try next
time?”

“I don’t know just yet, let me get over this one first, though I have to admit it certainly spiced things up a bit, you were right there!”

“Well, I thought you made a very sexy prostitute,” he said, laughing as I pulled a face at him.

“It does make it easier when you know the ‘client’ you’re going to see is your boyfriend,” I said as I lay on the bed beside him and took a sip of his wine.
“Even so, I was still nervous as I was coming up here. I thought someone from the hotel might think I was a real prostitute and ask me to leave!”

Larry, Hod Hasharon

I was almost fifteen when I first attended summer camp, but old snapshots from that period show a kid looking closer to twelve or thirteen. We’d just gone through a hard
winter and my health, delicate at the best of times, had suffered accordingly. Imagine, if you will, a scrawny, undersized youth whose only signs of adolescence were a skin problem and compulsive
masturbation.

Short on self-confidence but lavishly endowed with the cravings that gave my body no rest, I passed my days in furtive contemplation of the nubile teenage girls in my high school classes and my
nights jerking off to lurid visions of Nancy Durbiner’s pubic triangle, Sylvia Crage’s dark-nippled breasts and Millicent Berko’s resplendent rump. Of course, I had never seen
these maidens in the altogether, but combining their faces with the bare tits, pussies and asses populating the semi-porno pages glimpsed over the shoulders of bolder boys fed the fantasies that
brought me to climax after climax.

Picky about the charms of my virtual harem, I couldn’t imagine myself enjoying the erotic favours of ladies less enthralling than Greek goddesses – big-bosomed beauties who thrust
their pointy nipples in my mouth and their fingers up my rectum while they moaned their gratitude for the giant cock with which I reciprocated their attentions. The sad truth, however, was that
only the women of my daydreams appreciated this supposedly awesome tool, of whose actual mediocrity I was only too well aware – barely five inches fully rampant if the tape measure lifted
from my mother’s sewing kit was to be believed.

It was this sad owner of post-pubescent shortcomings (a play on words the aptness of which was a source of much melancholy) who was sent off to Lake Kiniwaukie Camp for Young Adults in the
Laurentian Mountains north of Montreal following a winter of antibiotics and thermometers. The theory was that the outdoor life would serve as a tonic and build up my strength. Due to a last-minute
bout of stomach flu, however, I was the Johnny-come-lately of this rural arcadia.

I was not a happy camper during my first fortnight among the young adult nature lovers. As for me, I hated nature. I hated the mosquitoes and the sunburn I got my first day after forgetting to
smear myself with sunscreen. I hated the hot cereal they forced me to eat at breakfast. I hated the smell of mildew that wafted from the mattress on my upper bunk. I especially hated the lack of
privacy that forced me to whack off inside the concealing confines of an outhouse while my less inhibited tent mates joyously took part in circle jerks during siestas and after lights out.

What I hated most of all, however, was having to sit on the pebbly shore of Lake Kiniwaukie during the morning and afternoon swims while everyone else waded out into the chest-deep water. The
trouble was that the buddy system was in effect, and all the other kids had paired off before my late arrival on the scene. No one was available to be my buddy.

“Let me be a third buddy with two others,” I begged the swimming counsellor.

The hairy-chested whistle-bearer was adamant. “Sorry, son, the rule is one on one. Just be patient, I expect one or two to drop out in a couple of days and we’ll be able to match you
up.”

Day after day, however, the camp population remained stable. A week went by, then two. I remained the only camper stranded on the beach. In the end, something snapped.

“The hell with it!” I muttered at last between gritted teeth, got to my feet and marched into the water. They would have to use force to get me out.

The counsellor’s whistle shrilled, a long blast of fury. “You with the ribcage, out of the water!”

I stood my ground (or rather, water).

“Out, goddamn it! Out I say, or I’m coming in to get you and both of us will be sorry.”

Though naturally timid, I ignored the threat, determined to make him sorrier than I if push came to shove. What was the worst that could happen? My parents would be called to remove me from the
camp.

Arms akimbo, the counsellor studied me with evident reluctance to make good on his ultimatum. Finally he climbed down his tree.

“Muri,” he called, “get in there and take care of that boy.”

Muriel Slovak was the counsellor-in-training assigned lifeguard duty on the raft anchored twenty metres from shore. She was a tall, skinny beanpole of a girl with large feet and little frontage,
universally known as ‘the carpenter’s dream’ because she was as flat as a board. To compensate for her unlovely appearance, she was blessed with a disposition as sour as a crab
apple.

“Aw, Jeez, Eddy, not with that squirt,” she protested.

“Don’t be a wise ass,” he warned. “You’re a C.I.T. on probation.”

You didn’t have to draw Muriel a picture. Without another word, she dived into the water and paddled to my side. From her superior height, she gave me a dirty look.

“You rotten little shrimp,” she said, “get back to shore.”

I crossed my arms to hide my nipples. “No way, Jose.”

She plunged one hand below the surface. I felt a sharp nip below my left buttock. Ow! The bitch had pinched me, hard.

With the courage of a cornered rabbit, I returned the favour, not just with thumb and forefinger but the other three digits as well, grabbing and squeezing all I could of the bony butt beneath
the lower edge of her bathing suit.

She didn’t cry out, but turned very red. “That’s enough, kid. Let go,” she whispered.

“Say you’re sorry,” I demanded.

I must have been drunk with audacity. Her heinie felt very malleable in my hand. I pressed my palm against it and loosened my grip, then squeezed more gently. The sensation was very
pleasant.

She sighed and I felt her hand navigate like a submarine to the small of my back. It slithered beneath the elastic waist of my bathing suit. A fingernail indented the top of the cleavage between
my buttocks and then raced south along this track to the back of my scrotum. My mast rose instantly to take advantage of the impending fair weather.

It’s hard for me to picture what we must have looked like to the casual observer, either in the water or on shore. To all intents and purposes, two kids – an older, taller girl and
an apparently immature boy the top of whose head barely reached her shoulder – standing stiffly (and I use the term advisedly) side by side immersed above the navel. All the action was going
on invisibly beneath the surface.

It took all my self-control to keep from gasping and my face expressionless as her fingers moved from back to front and began massaging the base of my engorged phallus. She frowned at me, as if
still resentful of the imposition, but her thighs trembled with excitement, as my own questing fingertips homed in on her crotch, lightly brushed the thick, wiry pelt of her bearded groin, and
pressed for admittance into the honeypot to which her spreading legs made me welcome.

Preeeeep! The swimming counsellor’s whistle drilled through the hubbub of bathers. “Everybody out, everybody out. Fifteen minutes for showers.”

“Oh, Christ!” I groaned. “It’s impossible. I won’t be able to for half an hour at least.”

Imagine the jeers and laughter as the cantilevered front of my swimsuit emerged from the lake. No, I would drown myself first.

“Let me handle this,” she murmured, and laboriously trudged ashore. A brief consultation with her boss followed. A small conspiratorial smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she
headed back.

“It’s OK,” she reassured me, “I told him you can’t swim, and I volunteered to teach you. I just got my instructor’s badge and he promised me the first
learner. We have an extra twenty minutes.”

“But I can swim,” I protested.

She gave me an evil grin. “Not in the free style I’m gonna show you. Float on your belly face down.”