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My first experience of female sex and a threesome.

But in his absence, I'll have to settle for a nice Argentinian Cabernet. They're best known for their Malbecs, of course, but the Mendoza Cabernets are really good value (Oops! When does a personal opinion become product promotion?).

Don't scoff! I can hear the oenophiles among you saying: 'That's special?' (And I can hear the rest of you saying: 'Forget the fucking wine; just get on with the sex!' Be patient; it's coming...)

We all live at the point where our aspirations intersect with our means, don't we? And my means are pretty mean. You think I wouldn't drink first-growth French Bordeaux if I could afford them? Think again! Hell, I can get wet just thinking about Ch__teaux L__oville-Barton or Cos d'Estournel, and they're only second growths! But at least I've tasted them, so I know what I'm missing! The others are merely rumors...

Next, draw the curtains. My cottage is really isolated, but I once caught this kid from the local High School with his pants around his ankles peering in my living-room window. He claimed he was lost. 'In more ways than one,' I told him.

Next, clothes. Do I want any? You know I love being naked, but have you ever felt terry-cloth rubbing against your nipples? I'm no seamstress, but I had a ball making this terry-cloth T-shirt that fits me like a glove and rubs against my tits every time I move. That's the one for tonight, I think. And below the waist? Nada! I want to see my ass and pussy in the mirror, as I watch myself masturbating.

Now, decision time. How do I want to do this? Lying on my bed in front of the mirror with Paul Simon between my legs? (You'll need to read Chapter 1 if you don't understand what I'm talking about). No; much as I love Paul, I need something specialer tonight (Well, it should be a word!)

I know! A couple of years ago, during a dry spell in my normally bustling sex life, I made a sort of sling that I can hang from a door lintel and sit astride. It's also made of terry-cloth (surprise!), and it's strong enough to carry my whole weight (about 110 pounds soaking wet, since you asked). I ride it like a hobby-horse, with this thick rope of toweling between my legs.

If I rock backwards, it separates my ass cheeks and rubs my entire crack and asshole, which is lovely; and if I rock forwards, it pushes in between my pussy lips and rubs my clit, which is even lovelier. And if I rock back and forth... Well, you get the picture! It's never failed me yet... Now, where did I put it after the last time I used it?


Okay, now we're all set. Imagine me, if you will... Oh, I simply hate that phrase! Why on earth do I use it, then? Well, some phrases are just infectious, like STDs - know what I'm saying?

See? There goes another one! Ugh! Expunge them both from my vocabulary!

Let's try again... Imagine me, sitting in my sling (hoping the door lintel won't give way), dressed only in a white terry-cloth T-shirt that fits me like a glove, and sipping - never gulping! - my wine. I've moved my cheval mirror so I can watch myself in the saddle. Appropriate for a girl on horseback, don't you think? (Work it out for yourself.) Ride him, cowgirl!

None of this will be any good if I can't find a good movie to run through my mind as I rock back and forth. What'll it be tonight: memory or fantasy? Boyfriend, brother, aunt, someone I haven't met yet? Decisions, decisions...

I know! I've never told you how we met - my bf and I - have I? Oh, this one's a real doozy!

I'd just graduated from college, with a Liberal Arts degree and a minor in Latin. Extremely well-educated... and totally unemployable. For some reason, even the UN doesn't want simultaneous English/Latin translators these days. Believe me - I called them and asked.

No one had ever warned me that the

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