Erotica from Penthouse (16 page)
Shortly thereafter, without warning or discussion, she moved into an all-women's dorm, leaving me utterly crushed. The magnitude of my hurt was that of a lover's betrayal, and I knew, though I have never been attracted to her, that I had trusted her implicitly, as one does a lover. I also began to understand why I was always bored and strangely guilty with my boyfriends. The same dynamic was happening again with Annie, complicated by Mark and by the fact that when I masturbated it was Annie's mouth I imagined pressing on my cunt.
One night after an exercise class, Annie paraded naked around the empty locker room. She had an elegant bearing, long-legged and unself-conscious. Her hair slapped her hips. Her breasts were very large and round. She said she was getting her period and her body was swelling up. She came over to me and leaned against the lockers, touching my hair. As I pulled my sweater over my head, she stopped me with my arms in mid-air and ran her fingers down the middle of my back. She did it again with her nails, softly.
I let the sweater drift off my arms and drop. I turned to look at her. We were the same height and our eyes were exactly level. Hers were sad and full. She reached out her hand and touched my ear then traced the side of my face with her fingers. “We are just alike,” she said. “We should not be afraid of each other.”
Fantasy:
This one begins where Annie left off. We go to my room, running. She is in my room, my bed, next to me. My hands reach for her crotch and part the lips, touching wetness. She has pulled my mouth against hers, slid her tongue inside. I slide my finger into her cunt. I think that this is what men feel, this strange opening in the body. I slide in two more fingers and it is a tight squeeze. My thumb finds her clitoris, she presses her pelvis into my hand and comes so easily, like breathing. My hand is soaked, I run it up her body, making a wet trail until it reaches our mouths, still touching. She darts her tongue around my fingers. And then she slides between my legs. She rests her elbows in the crooks of my knees, pushing my legs apart. Slowly she slips her thumb into my cunt then plants her lips between them, licking.
But it never happened. We fucked our boyfriends. We masturbated thinking of each other. And we graduated. It took time for me to get over the feeling of loss I had about Annie and to put it into perspective. I have still not slept with a woman and don't fully expect to because it wasn't any woman I wanted, it was Annie.
A GIZMO NAMED DESIRE
By John Garside
My wife and I like to spend our yearly tax refund on something wild and, preferably, erotic. We call this windfall our Intimate Recreational Savings, in honor of the IRS. The king-size water bed with the mirrored canopy was our first extravagance (big refund
that
year). Next we treated ourselves to the sensuous “honeymoon suite” in a Poconos resort. The third time around, Pam, my wife, splurged on a dozen naughty nighties from the Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue.
But this year we wanted something more daring and less likely to be tomorrow's fad. Water beds are now standard bedroom equipment, and the Poconos place advertises in
Redbook.
A local Frederick's outlet has moved into the same end of the mall with J. C. Penney.
Then I saw an ad for Accu-Jac in
Penthouse Variations.
Intrigued, I glanced down the copy: “Lubricated flexible sleeve feels just like a woman.” “Add suction for oral sensation.”
All right!
“Hey, honey,” I called out,
“you'll
like this. A machine with variable speed and depth of stroke on the ‘amazingly lifelike erect penis.’
And …
‘choice of bellows or piston-driven dildo.’” I read the lust part to her word for word: “’Can handle up to four people at the same time.’”
“Yes,” said Pam, peering at the photo of the two dildos. “But we don't know two other people that well.”
“Just in case,” I reminded her. “Isn't it nice to know that in a pinch, we always have the two extra outlets? Four fuckers. No waiting.”
I sent $3 for complete details. By return mail we received the packet of particulars, plus photos and quotes from reviews (“Futuristic eroticism”; “The apex of sexual technology”; “A hot item”). The Accu-Jac promised to be a male-female, super-masturbation, fucking, sucking, come-one-come-all pleasure machine, with more attachments than our vacuum cleaner. After careful deliberation, Pam and I decided to spend every penny of our $850 refund on this Electrolux of sex, convinced that it was going to change our sex life forever.
While Pam wrote a personal check, I struggled with the most intimidating order form a man can be asked to fill out.
Measurements.
“Be as precise as possible,” the instructions read, “in submitting the
erect
penis measurements. The sleeve fit is important.” A diagram on the order blank showed how to measure for topside length and circumference near base.
It was my moment of truth. I got out my tape measure and the latest copy of
Penthouse.
With a little finagling I could
just
manage six inches. On the circumference I was a trifle under five, which translated into a diameter of about an inch and a half. “Not too impressive,” I mumbled to my wife, imagining some well-hung hulk in the mail room opening my order form and reading it to the gang for laughs.
But I remembered that the standard Accu-Jac dildo was the same size. Men, I told myself, worry
too much
about
too little.
Out of curiosity I called Funways, the California company that makes and distributes Accu-Jac, to see how precise my measurements had to be.
“A lot of men overestimate slightly,” said spokesman Charles Boynton. “I always laugh, because they'll have to give us the correct measurements eventually, even if they don't the first time.”
All penis sleeves must be custom-made, since only a snug fit ensures a proper air seal. I asked Boynton for the smallest penis measurement on record. He recalled a fitting for less than an inch in diameter and about three inches long. The largest is a matter of debate. Funways once made a sleeve to accommodate a cock seven inches long and four inches in diameter. The customer who requested it must have mounted fire-plugs before Accu-Jac came along. Another order specified a sleeve eleven inches long—obviously for a man who had never worn swimming trunks.
The standard Accu-Jac unit, consisting of console, two dildos and two penis sleeves, had a base price of $695. I decided to order all eight sleeve models, plus extra tubing for four people and a few spare sleeves in various sizes. I would take my change in lubricant. Boynton recommended Astroglide.
Two weeks later the UPS man was stacking up boxes outside our door as if it were Christmas. That night, after the children went to bed, we returned to our bedroom and began ripping open the cardboard cartons. The console was about the size of a four-loaf breadbox and weighed in at just over 40 pounds.
“Will it be hard to set up?” Pam asked, pulling off the plastic wrapping. “It's not going to be like the high chairs and the bicycle, is it?” Over the years we have bought various easy-to-assemble kits that still sit in our basement, missing step, screw or widget.
“No,” I assured her. “The man told me it came ready to use. Just plug it right in.”
“It or us?”
“Both,” I replied, unwinding the cord and finding a socket nearby.
Pam suddenly burst into laughter and waved a brick-red dildo at me. “Look!” she exclaimed. “Aztec dick.”
“Or sunburned lifeguard,” I said, taking it from her. Flexible but firm, it looked like a cock with a round rubber plug, about two inches thick, at its base. Pam grabbed it back and slapped it in her palm like a black-jack. “Assault with a lively weapon,” she teased, leinting at me with it.
I soon located the piston cylinder for the dildo. The instruction booklet stated that the apparatus, operating on air pressure and suction, was easy to set up. It was. Within moments we had the eight-foot-long plastic tube connected to the console and the plug end of the dildo lubricated.
The “gold-anodized” control panel was a marvel of simplicity. Dead center were a large on/off toggle switch and a dial for setting the speed. On either side of the speed dial were metal tips marked “external” and “internal” respectively.
We switched the dildo tube to “internal” and put another tube $$$ my tube—on “external.” Above the tube connection on my side of the machine were two knobs marked “suction” and “stroke length.” Pam's side had only one knob—”stroke length.” The manual stated that stroke length varied from half an inch to three inches and that the speed could be moderated independently. Stroke combinations included long/fast, short/fast, long/slow, short/slow or anything in between.
“Shall we get started?” I asked, waving my plastic sleeve. It looked like a soft, oversized test tube with a nub at one end.
“Not yet,” Pam replied, unwrapping the bellows dildo and plunking it down on the water bed. Obviously heavy, it bobbed gently and settled in. A block of rubber with concave sides for the thighs, it was powered by a round, accordion-fold plastic tube.
Reading from the booklet, I informed Pam that the bellows model was designed exclusively for vaginal sex. The piston-driven dildo, whose speed and direction could be more precisely controlled, could be used anally as well. The dildo came with a belt-and-ring harness to hold it in place.
I hadn't been this excited since I got my first Lionel train.
By now we were at Step 8 in the manual, which suggested a “dry run” for beginners. “Okay, let's get going,” I urged. “Hold the dildo-driver.”
“The what?” Pam asked, looking around frantically. “You said this would be easy.”
I pointed to the piston dildo.
“That,”
I explained, “is what the book calls a dildo-driver, and you are supposed to keep it in with one hand while I turn it on.”
Grimacing, she inserted it while I set speed and stroke length to “minimum.” The directions said the dildo would “pulse gently.” I flicked the toggle switch.
The machine started wheezing like a dirty old man. My wife began to giggle.
“It sounds like a horny respirator,” she quipped as the dildo began to move in and out in slow motion.
“This is great!” I exclaimed. “There's a pump somewhere in that machine, and it sounds like a heartbeat.”
I slowly increased the stroke length and turned up the speed. The rubber cock began to slide in and out with a solid, rapid stroke that brought a smile to my wife's face.
“It's powerful,” Pam murmured, curling her hands around the dildo, letting it slither back and forth through her fingers. She was still smiling.
I swallowed. “Maybe we should, uh, take our clothes off.” She set the dildo-driver on the bed, where it tried to copulate with our comforter. We undressed about as quickly as we had on our honeymoon night.
I shut the machine off long enough to slap some more lubricant on Mr. Aztec Dick. (The instructions suggested fitting it with a condom to ensure both sanitary and anti-irritant protection.)
“Could you start slow at first?” Pam asked, reminding me again of our honeymoon.
I lowered the settings and she reinserted the disembodied cock. Enraptured, I watched it gliding back and forth. It was almost, but not quite, the fulfillment of a lifelong fantasy—seeing her making love with another man. But when I saw the glow of pleasure on her lace, I felt a curious, surprising twinge of jealousy.
I had assumed Accu-Jac would be a good, nonthreatening way of indulging my fantasies. Instead I found myself thinking: Who is this
intruder
in my bed? What is it
doing
with my wife?
“How is it?” I managed to ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“Ummmmmm,” she murmured. “Turn it up.”
“The length or the speed?” I asked briskly.
“Both,” she sighed.
“Right.” I complied with her request.
“Honey,” she moaned. “Do you know what I've always wanted to do?”
I did know, and scrambled up beside her on the bed. Moments later she was sucking my cock. Pam's favorite fantasy had always been to get fucked and give head at the same time. Mmmmmm. Big Chief bring peace.
The sensation at first was like getting head in a moving car—both of us were too distracted to enjoy it. But Pam soon began to respond to the steady thrust of the piston-cock, opening her legs and arching her back while undulating her pelvis in a sensuous dance that made me tremble with excitement.
Suddenly Pam abandoned her usual “dainty” style of giving head $$$ a combination of gentle licking and tentative nibbles that rarely brought me to climax. Now she was sucking my cock as though she were famished. Writhing and squirming with each thrust of the Accu-Jac, she pressed her mouth deeper and deeper around my penis.
When I came, she hungrily swallowed every drop, something she had never done before. A moment later she began to moan, pounding her head back into the pillow in the throes of an orgasm that seemed to go on and on. Finally she relaxed and gestured feebly toward the machine. I shut the Accu-Jac off.
After getting our breath back, we discussed the experience like two rational adults.
“Was it okay?” I asked, (Translation: You liked it better than me, didn't you?)
“Oh, it was pretty good.” (Especially the part where my eyes rolled back in my head.)
“Did it feel … authentic?” (Does this mean you don't need me anymore?)
“It had the heft and feel of a real cock. But I'd rather have the real thing. After all, it was
just
a cock. You haven't tried your side yet.” (Don't be too eager getting around to it, either.)
I set the controls to slow speed and heavy suction, lubricated my limp cock and stuffed it into the opening of the sheath.
Fwoop
! went the machine. Three seconds later I had the fastest and perhaps biggest erection of my life.
(In my conversation with Accu-Jac spokesman Charles Boynton, he said Accu-Jac would probably produce an optimum erection. He added that some customers reordered sleeves in a larger size, or even two or three sizes larger over a few years.)
