Chapter 1

The lovely blonde woman was screaming at her husband, "Did it ever dawn on you that I'm interested in other things besides the names of the state capitals?" She was shouting with such vehemence that her large breasts were visibly shaking through the pullover sweater. "If you ever put away your stupid geography books and took a look around at the real world, you might see that there's more to life than knowing that the capital of South Dakota is Pierre."

"That's important, Connie," her husband, Herschel, replied.

"Ha!" she screamed. "Nobody cares except the people who live in Pierre, South Dakota. Nobody!"

Her husband bowed his head and whimpered.

"And that's another thing that I can't stand. Your stupid whimpering. When you argue with me, be a man-damn it! Show some fucking grit." For Connie to use the word "damn" was a major event. For her to use the word "fucking" was unheard of.

Herschel continued to sniff.

Connie turned and looked at him with her dazzling blue eyes. "Good grief! Is that all you geographers know how to do-cry whenever someone challenges your ignoramus profession."

He stopped sobbing just long enough to say, "It's not an ignoramus profession, Connie. It's paid our bills for the past decade, hasn't it?"

"Be serious," she said with a sneer. "We live like paupers. We can barely pay our rent. Neither of us has had a new wardrobe in over five years. We wouldn't even have any furniture if my aunt Ethel hadn't died and willed us hers. Furthermore, look at how many years of schooling you have. What is it-twenty-including your Ph.D.? "

"Yes."

"Ha!" she laughed. "Twenty years of schooling and you could make more as a high school dropout managing a McDonald's. John went to night school at the local junior college for six months and makes more than you. Harry drives a bus and makes twice as much."

Herschel was in tears again. "The only thing that I know is geography, Connie. I never bothered to study anything else. Let's drop this conversation, okay."

"Let's not. I'm tired of your stupid geography conversations. I'm tired of your questions about geography. I'm tired of you-you fucking geographer. "

Poor Herschel didn't know what to do. He was at an impasse. Whenever someone condemned his profession, he could usually bullshit his way out of the situation by pulling the old "I've got a Ph.D. and you don't," routine. But that argument wouldn't work on his lovely wife. She knew the score. He couldn't bullshit her.

He looked at her and noted that she was beautiful even when she was angry. Nothing detracted from her attractive appearance. When she got mad her blue eyes became bluer, her large breasts became larger, and her narrow waist became narrower. And he could have sworn that her blonde hair became blonder. He had no idea what he had done to deserve such a lovely creature.

Recently, she had become increasingly angry. She was frustrated with her life in a small university town. She wanted to see and do things now, while she was still young enough to enjoy them. She didn't want to wait until she was an old dried-up prune, living off of her spouse's life insurance.

Herschel had noticed this change in attitude. He thought it might he blamed on her increasing sexual appetite. She seemed to be especially hungry for sex the past few months. He had seen her sleeping with a hand on her pussy, and had also seen her rubbing it while seated at the dinner table. Well, if that was the problem, he could do something about it.

"I've got an idea," he said. "Let's go to bed and make love."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Don't make me laugh. You're the lousiest lover this side of the Continental Divide. Pee Wee Herman would be better in the sack than you."

Herschel hung his head and started crying uncontrollably. The criticism was slicing like a knife through his self-esteem. First, she had knocked his career, then she had challenged his manhood, now she was making vile comments about his sexual performance.

"Oh no!" she screamed. "I'm getting out of here while I still have my sanity. Cry yourself to sleep, you crybaby."

Connie picked up her purse, slammed the front door, and rushed away from the house. Herschel watched her walk down the front steps and realized that everything she said was true. He didn't have any brains, he didn't have any grit, and he couldn't maintain an erection. If only he'd made the football team in high school, or had at least tried out for a team sport, maybe he would have developed the fortitude and determination it took to succeed in life. But alas, he had chosen to study stupid fucking , geography-the most worthless discipline still taught in academia, and as a result he had wound up at the bottom of the Heap of Life. He couldn't even make enough money to support a gorgeous wife like Connie. He sniffed several times very loudly.

Connie strolled down the street to Bev's house. Along the way, she swayed her ass seductively, thus providing a savory sight for every male in the neighborhood.

There was no doubt that she possessed a gorgeous body. She was tall, narrow-waisted, long-legged, and symmetrically proportioned. She always wore tight-fitting jeans that highlighted her firm posterior, or a pullover sweater that emphasized her ample breasts. Furthermore, her posture was perfect. She always stood straight and erect and kept her head held high. As a result, her magnificent breasts were displayed in luscious eye-popping splendor.

Whenever she went shopping, the male cashiers always stared at her nipples. They all wanted to suck on them. Whenever she went to the bank, the male tellers always stared at her lips. They all wanted them wrapped around their cocks. Whenever she went to a restaurant, the waiters always stared at her ass. They all wanted to comhole it.

Every man in town wanted to spread her out and fuck her. She had no idea how many penises she hardened, nor how many erotic fantasies she induced. And she certainly didn't realize that hundreds of pricks were being pounded into ejaculatory release every night because of her. Young ones, old ones, middle-aged ones. She could have had any man in town. Just how she wound up with a loser like Herschel was anybody's guess.

They were complete opposites. She was blonde, he was dark-haired and bald. She was sexy, he was sexless. She was in terrific physical shape, whereas he looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. She was extroverted and wore a charming smile in public. He was introverted and always had a permanent shit-faced expression. She was well-coordinated, whereas he was a total klutz.

Perhaps she proved the axiom that opposites attract. Unfortunately, in a marriage at least, the novelty wears off after a while.

Connie stepped onto Bev's front porch and rang the doorbell. In several minutes her friend answered, "Oh hi, come on in."

They had been friends for a very long time and could tell when something was bothering the other. "What's wrong?" Bev asked.

"Herschel and I just had another fight."

Bev bit her lower lip and asked, "Was it about his idiotic profession of geography again?"

"You've got it. I've had it with his infantile allegiance to that pauper discipline. I swear, when I married a Ph.D. I had no idea that I would be living in the same financial straits that I lived in when I was a struggling college student. I should have married the mailman-at least he has a future."

Bev stepped forward and embraced her. "I hate it when you're distraught. You always look so pretty otherwise. Come on in."

They were a study in contrasts. Bev was brunette, Connie was blonde. Bev was always fun-loving and perky, Connie was more reserved. Bev was adventuresome, Connie was cautious. Bev was nearly six inches shorter than her friend, yet she had an equally appealing body. More compact rather than voluptuous.

Connie stepped through the doorway and into the spacious living room. She sat on the new sofa. She couldn't get over how nice the house was furnished. It made hers look like a halfway house for transients.

"I swear, Bev! Your place looks fabulous."

"I just had it redecorated. How do you like it?"

"It's wonderful. Did you only do the living room?"

"No. I decided to go all out. I had the entire house redone. My bedroom, the guest bedroom, the bathrooms--everything."

"Wow!" Connie exclaimed. "I must confess that I'm a bit jealous. I would love to undertake something like this, but we can't afford it."

Connie sat in silence and grew pensive. Bev sat beside her and asked, "Now, tell me everything that's on your mind."

A tear welled in Connie's eye. "Thanks. You're always a friend when I need one." She wiped her eye and said, "I don't know what's wrong. I feel that life is passing me by."

"Oh don't say that," consoled Bev. "You're still beautiful. You're still young."

"I may be fairly good-looking, but I can't kid myself. I'm not that young anymore."

"Silly girl, you're only in your early thirties. I wouldn't call that 'old'. "

"Nevertheless, I'm beginning to feel old."

"Physically?" Bev inquired.

"No. I'm in great physical shape. I'm beginning to feel old psychologically. I want more out of life, but I'm not experiencing it. As a result, I feel that time, and life itself, is passing me by. I want to feel alive, damn it! Not like I'm merely existing as an extra in a small town play."

"My god, Connie! You must really be down in the dumps. I never hear you swear."

"Yea, I know. A little while ago I used the word 'fucking' when I was arguing with Herschel."

"Good for you," Bev laughed. "I use it all the time. It's the most useful word in the English language."

"It may be useful, but it's not very lady-like."

"The fuck you say?" Bev said with a smile.

Connie looked at her and laughed. That was the great thing about Bev-she knew how to handle life. She couldn't tolerate bullshit rules nor outmoded parameters of behavior. To her, life was meant for living. Fuck what others thought.

Bev got up and made a cup of coffee. When she returned Connie asked, "So, where have you been keeping yourself? You haven't been around much lately."

"I've got a new boyfriend."

"Really!" Connie said, surprised. "I didn't know that. Tell me all about him."

"I met him about three weeks ago at a bar called O'Malley's. He came over and started talking. We seemed to hit it off right from the start. Later we danced and had a great time. I had never been out with a black man before...."

"He's ... black?" Connie said with hesitation.

"Yes. And I've never enjoyed sex so much. That first night he walked me home, I knew I just had to have him. My curiosity was driving me wild."

"You did it on your first date?" Connie was surprised. "Really!"

"He was so damn good-looking that I didn't have the willpower to refuse him if I had wanted. Tall, dark, and handsome-what more could a woman want. And I swear," she said with a wink, "he had muscles in places where I didn't even know men had body parts. His arms, his legs, even his fingers."

Connie giggled while playing with her coffee cup. She was having fun for the first time that day. But she became reflective, "I wish that Herschel were more muscular. Whenever we make love, it's like I'm holding onto a fat slab of beef. I don't think he has a single developed muscle anywhere. Everything beneath his skin is composed of doughnut batter and creampuff. He reminds me of Porky Pig."

Bev leaned back on the couch with a beatific expression on her face. "You certainly can't say that about Jack. He's a walking, talking Hercules."

Connie smiled and whispered, "I don't know how to ask this, but is it true what they say about black men?"

"Just what do you want me to tell you about?" Bev teased. "You know. Don't be coy."

"See, Connie! You're curious too!" They both giggled.

Bev caught her breath and explained, "I can tell you that we made love so often that first night that my vagina was sore for a week. Ever since, we've been going at it regularly. Sometimes as much as eight times per day. It's like they say in those sex magazines: When it's good, it really feels like the Fourth of July, Christmas, and one's birthday all wrapped up in one marvelous package. Jack is a real man, Connie. The first one that I've ever had. And he makes me feel like a real woman."

Bev looked at Connie and said yearningly, "I can't wait to see him again. I want to do it until dawn."

"Oh poo!" Connie said. "You've never been a repeater. I know you."

"That was before I met Jack. With all those other men, sex wasn't worth the effort. But with him ... well, it's hard to confess, but I can't wait to see him so that I can spread my legs as far apart as possible."

Connie blushed deeply and said, "Really!"

"Don't sound so surprised. You'd have the same reaction if you'd seen the size of Jack's dong. He has at least twelve inches hanging between his legs."

Connie gasped, "No way."

"I'm serious. And it's as big around as a baseball bat."

Connie looked at her friend to see if she were teasing. When she realized that she wasn't, she said, "I always heard that there were men like that, but

I thought that those stories were developed in somebody's imagination."

"Jack isn't a figment of anyone's imagination," Bev said. "He's a living, breathing, ever-satisfying love machine-always willing and ready to hump."

Connie, who had a habit a voicing her thoughts aloud, said, "Do you think that the two of you could make room in that bed for a woman like me? I need a good screw. I haven't had one in over a decade of marriage."

Bev, who had long been interested in sexual experimentation, saw a golden opportunity to experience the joys of an interracial menage-a-trois with an extremely attractive companion. "Sure. Why not?"

There was a long silence. Slowly the implications sank in. Connie's eyebrows rose and she asked with a start, "I hope that you're not serious? I was only joking for crying out loud!"

Bev looked at her with an inquiring expression and asked, "Haven't you ever wanted to abandon your Midwestern propriety and live for the moment? You know, the way the college kids did back in the 1960's."

"Oh ha!" Connie laughed. "I couldn't possibly do something like that."

"Why not?" Bev asked levelly. "Just a little while ago you said that life was passing you by."

"Because ... because ... I'm Herschel's wife."

"Connie, you're so old fashioned. Life is not a commitment to outworn and silly traditional values. It's spontaneity. According to the latest Hite Report, over seventy percent of American women cheat on their husbands. And most of them would rather give up their spouses instead of their lovers. This is the 1990's. Wake up girl and live!"

Connie sighed, "I guess I am old-fashioned. I have outworn values inbred in me. I know it's unusual for a modern woman to be married for ten years, and not to have fooled around. I guess I don't have what it takes to be a wanton woman."

"Are you kidding? You've got the shape that men go crazy for. Besides, I bet you'd be wanton if you met Jack. He has an incredible effect on women. Whenever we walk into a restaurant, I see women turn their heads to look at him."

"No thanks. Besides, I don't think that you'd share that dreamboat with anybody."

"I'd share him. I just don't think you have enough courage to take a slice of the pie. You are always raving to your husband for him to change his life, but look at yourself. You never do a thing to change yours."

Connie paused and thought for a moment. And the more that she thought, the truer those words rang. She was a hypocrite. Plain and simple. like so many women, she would nag the husband to change his ways, but never act on her own advice.

If she expected Herschel to abandon his field of geography, the least she could do would be to abandon her double standards.

Bev saw that her friend was carefully weighing matters. "It's up to you. I just know that if I were married to a dullard like Herschel, I'd be looking for some extramarital excitement. What did you ever see in him in the first place?"

"Security. That and nothing else. I thought he had a tremendous future, wanting to be a young professor and all, but he chose the wrong discipline. But belive me, my life is more insecure than if I were married to Charles Manson."

She paused for a moment. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need something to liven up my life. I just don't know what. I'm so confused."

Bev leaned over and embraced Connie. "Why don't you spend the night? We need to spend some time together-just the two of us. Besides, you need to have some time away from your house and your hubby. Furthermore, it'll give you time to appraise things-reassess your situation. What do you say? C'mon."

"What will I tell Herschel?"

"Tell him that you want to spend the night with me. Women supporting each other-you remember the feminist rhetoric from that Women's Studies class we took last fall."

"I don't know...."

"My god, Connie!" Bev said in disbelief. "There's no law which states that a woman can't spend one night with her best friend-especially after she's had a fight with the hubby."

Connie laughed. "All right. I'll do it." She reached out and shook Bev's hand as if completing a corporate business deal. "I'll pack my overnight bag and be back shortly." She then turned and hurried out the door with a smile on her face.

Bev watched her friend's ass sway seductively back and forth for a moment. Yes, Connie really did have a very lovely ass. Firm and shapely. Bev couldn't wait to see it in the nude later that night.

When Connie was out of sight, Bev picked up the telephone and called Jack. After all, the makings of a first-rate sexual experiment was underway.

Jack was busy sleeping when he heard the phone ring. He had been having an erotic dream in which he was the central attraction at an interracial orgy. He was surrounded by a group of lovely blonde pussies-every one of them yearning to be stuffed with cock and expecting to be filled with his.

He reached over and picked up the receiver. "Hello," he answered.

"Jack darling, how would you like to be the main entre in a threesome?"

He recognized Bev's voice, but didn't know if he had heard correctly. "Say what?" he inquired.

"How would you like the be part of a threesome?" she repeated.

"Only two girls and me," he warned. "Not two guys and a girl."

"That's what I have in mind."

"I must be dreaming. Did I die and go to heaven?" he asked.

"No. You're still a penis-god on earth."

"I bet you say that to all the black studs." Bev laughed. "You're the only one, and you know it."

"So, who did you have in mind?" he asked. "She isn't some baggy old widow looking for a few kicks, is she?"

"No, no, no. I don't want my main man screwing any old hags. I'm talking about that sweet young thing who lives right across the street. Her name's Connie and she's a good friend."

Jack tried to remember. Suddenly, he sat up. "You don't mean that gorgeous blonde who's married to that professor, do you?"

"That's the one."

"Oh wow! Are you sure?"

"That sweet little honey's coming over to spend the night. She doesn't yet know that you're going to be here, but I have a hunch that if she sees you she'll rip her panties off."

"But that babe looks like she could get laid anywhere, anytime, anyplace. Every guy in town must fantasize about her every night. What makes you think that she'll want to fuck me?"

"Because I challenged her."

"Uh oh," Jack sighed. "She has a race hang-up right? Well, if that's the case, count me out. I'm not fucking some racist to prove a point."

"No, no, no! It's nothing like that at all. She and her hubby haven't been hitting it off below the waistline-if you know what I mean. Before she accepted the invitation to spend the night, she floated the idea of sharing you...."

"You're kidding?" he laughed.

"No bullshit. When I told her about the size of your cock, she became curious and wanted to know more."

"What makes you think she'll participate in a threesome? Has she ever done anything like this before?"

"No. I don't think she's even had an extramarital affair. But I know she's ripe for picking. She shows all the signs. With a little help from a bottle of liquor I believe that she can be led anywhere."

Jack chuckled. "I'll leave it in your hands, Pied Piper, and I'll show up rain, shine, or hail. I wouldn't miss a chance to partake in this threesome."

"Good. See you tonight. Bye."

After Bev hung up, Jack remembered what a terrific fuck she was. That petite little white body of hers always spread out on top of his black torso, moaning and groaning while he plunged away at her tight little vagina. He laughed when he remembered their first time together. She said that she had never been that wanton before. Hell! Any woman could fuck up a storm if she would only let herself go. Of course, middle-class white women had so many hang-ups about sex that it was a wonder any of them ever spread their legs. They had invented so many taboos, that it was a miracle the white race procreated at all. Although it had to be said that once a white female gave up thinking she had a golden vagina, she could fully enjoy the glorious wonders of uninhibited and unrestrained fucking.

He rolled over in bed and chuckled. He couldn't believe how easy it was to get white women into bed. It was as if they were craving black cock all of their lives. All of them literally went wild over the sight of a big dark-skinned, blue-veined, dick. The bigger the better.

Maybe their was something genetic about white women that made them salivate over naked black males. Of course, he hadn't met all of them, but the truly attractive ones seemed to be very prone to put out for dark meat.

He smiled and said aloud, "Well, the racists can keep the fatties, the dogs, and the uglies for themselves. As long as I get to share the pretty ones, that's all that matters."

He thought again of the voluptuous blonde who lived across the street from Bev. Boy! She was a looker! Any hubbie who didn't regularly screw a woman like that needed serious psychological help. From all appearances it looked like she possessed a pussy that just wouldn't quit. Maybe all she needed was a little sexual stimulation from a well-hung man like himself.

He reached down between his thighs and felt his stiffening penis. Yes, the gods who handed out dicks had been good to him. They had endowed him with a king-size rolling pin and a scrotum the size of a coconut. Even as a youngster, he had been the star of his gym class. During the shower, the other boys would look at his equipment in amazement and envy. They all wanted an organ the size of his, for they would gawk at him in wide-eyed wonder whenever he was nude.

In college, matters only got worse, primarily because his penis wouldn't stop growing. He thought that it would cease at nine inches, but by his sophomore year he had an even foot-long schlong. Once the word spread around campus about his tremendous size, women came from all over just to sample it. Not only female students, but working women, housewives, and female faculty members. They brought rulers, tape measures, and protractors. One woman came by with a calculator and said, "Give me a mile of that beauty." So, he fucked into her 5280 times.

Soon, he realized that his monster dick was a tremendous asset. Thus, he proceeded to use it wisely. He saved it for only the choicest pussies available.

That's how he wound up with Bev. Although he preferred blondes, she was definitely top sirloin for a brunette. He first saw her sitting on a barstool, leaning forward. Her pert little ass was thrust outward slightly, just begging to be felt and petted. Over the years he'd been able to tell a good fuck by the outward swelling of a female's ass. Skinny and sagging asses generally indicated an uptight bitch. Slightly rounded ones generally indicated a hungry pussy. Bev's certainly met the latter criteria.

Of course, having a nice body wasn't enough. A woman also had to have a pretty face and a nice smile.

Bev also met those criteria.

Over the years he had learned that good-looking women generally hung around with other good-looking women. Hence, if a man got to know one, he got to know a lot-sort of like a pyramid of pussies. As a result of meeting Bev-and giving her a good fuck-he was about to meet Connie. No doubt she too would want to be serviced.

Well, he wouldn't disappoint her.