True Confessions in the Key of Eros

By Guy de sevaunt

This book wrote itself, so to speak.
For many years this author had maintained the attitude that the multifarious erotic experiences that are the subject of this book ought to remain in the minds of the participants, to be reawakened, revisited and enjoyed only by them. This instinctive assessment gradually morphed into a realization that there lies no shame in sharing one's sexual adventures with whoever cares to visit them and / or vicariously participate. The abiding caveat being, of course, to scrupulously maintain the privacy of the individuals who unwittingly share this largesse allowing for the enjoyment of countless third party participants.
This book then is dedicated to those who venture to enjoy the erotic journeys of the senses.
Are there those that do not ?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490746074

Guy de sevaunt

Very little need be said about this author that has not already been expressed in the first chapter of this book as a prelude to the understanding of his sexual proclivities. He seeks only to reiterate his sincere respect and admiration for the wonders of the female form.

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Copyright 2014 Guy De Sevaunt.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-4608-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-4607-4 (e)

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Contents

Chapter 1 Blossom

Chapter 2 Mrs. Robinson

Chapter 3 Ruby

Chapter 4 Piano Lessons

Chapter 5 Déjà vu

Chapter 6 Monday morning and Monday evening

Chapter 7 Margaret

Chapter 8 An Explanation

Chapter 9 Princess

Chapter 10 Total Eclipse

Chapter 11 How We Spent an Uneventful Afternoon

Chapter 12 And How I Got Shot at … From Almost Point Blank Range

Chapter 13 Menage a trois, or What the Cat Dragged In

Chapter 14 Ménage A Trios

Chapter 15 A New Era

Chapter 16 Tomorrow Is Promised To No Man

Chapter 17 To Catch A Thief

Chapter 18 I Meet My First Love

Chapter 19 A Different Approach

Chapter 20 The Opportunity

Chapter 21 On Becoming An Item

Chapter 22 Dealing With Loss

Chapter 23 Isabel

Chapter 24 Sun And Sea, And Sun And Sea, And Terri

Chapter 25 Norma

Chapter 26 Proof Of The Pudding

Chapter 27 Knowing When To Fold Them

Chapter 28 A Confluence Of Circumstances

Chapter 29 The Lights Of New York

Chapter 30 ET SEQ. How I Visited A Western Continent Where My Life Had Even Less Meaning And I Almost Lost My Soul.

Chapter 31 Catering To An Obsession

Chapter 32 Gullivers Travels Revisited

Chapter 33

Chapter 34 Another Round

Chapter 35 In The Cougar’s Lair

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

CHAPTER 1

Blossom

I T WAS RELATIVELY EARLY IN my life that I experienced my first orgasm. Or, more properly, I should say, one that was induced by the proximity of, or the utilization of the female body. It was such a cataclysmic event, so enormously powerful, at least in my young and impressionable mind, that it sent me off on an unconsidered and uncharted course. I could never have realized then, nor would I ever have admitted even to myself that the single event would have such a powerful effect on my life, for the reaction was a gradual, even if graphic one. The realization came in hindsight and only much later, as I slowly and eventually became aware of the ramifications of being a full blown sex addict. For that was what I became. By the time of my eighteenth birthday ‘It’ had exerted its powerful influence, and the hunt became the central focus of an inadvertently acquired hedonistic lifestyle. I have often wondered whether I should be ashamed of myself for that reason. Yet as I grew older I became convinced that the hedonistic lifestyle is as legitimate and as viable as any other. In any case it certainly is not one that exists at the bottom of potential lifestyles as regards morality. That remains my considered viewpoint. Nevertheless I do not propose to here examine the ramifications and consequences of the lifestyle or even those of the addiction itself. Certainly there are many more competent than myself in that regard. I seek only to take my readers hand and lead him or her through the vagaries and vicissitudes; the joys, for there were many, and the dilemmas that attended my profligate lifestyle. The irony of the whole thing is that I realize that I have been sometimes used. But I had no regrets then and even now, years later I can think of none. I cannot, even now, think of any other way I would rather be used. I remain grateful in the extreme to my ‘conquests’ and like the celebrated hedonist Omar Khayyam, can only exhort my reader as he himself so eloquently exhorted his own readers …

‘And when in your joyous errand

You pass the guests star scattered on the grass

And reach the place where I made one,

Turn down an empty glass.’

My parents though professionals; they were both teachers; were impecunious, having elected to bring eight children into the world. I was the eldest of the eight. In addition they took it upon themselves to constantly play host to a slew of less fortunate youngsters from the not so immediate family, mainly for educational reasons. It was easier for them to administer the help needed by these kids if they were living with the family as they would be in close proximity after normal school hours. My father was a secondary school teacher and later became a principal. My mother, who seemed constantly harassed by the additional workload created as a result of this expanded family, was a primary school teacher who, in the hours not strictly assigned to her school duties, endeavored to work herself to death, despite having at least one helper at all times. It was this factor, that of my mother always needing a helper that catapulted me into the area of wild and woolly sex exploration.

The discussion of sexual matters was never forbidden to me, or to my brothers and sisters for that matter. Not by verbal instructions anyway. We simply never spoke of, or even in passing mentioned sex, for at least two reasons. For one thing it would have been inconvenient. One simply did not waltz into a room and say ‘hey dad’, ‘or hey mom, we were supposed to have a discussion about sex’. And neither of them offered any such discussion. Another reason was that it had been somehow determined that we were of an intelligent family who either knew everything or could determine everything by consulting books which abounded in almost every room of the house in huge bookcases that usually started up from the floor and went close to the ceiling. Then too we were all, as a family, bound by some unspoken arrangement to the strictest of regimens, which usually included school, homework, and attending many weekly church functions in addition to the usual Sunday school and morning and night services on that same day. We were not allowed to attend parties of any kind except at least one of our parents was present, or said party was held by an ‘accepted’ family, which rarely happened. One could well argue that if attending parties was problematical then the inference was clear and loud that the matter of sex need not be approached and that discussions were out of bounds. And without a doubt it was certainly implied that there would be no engaging in sex unless there was legal consent, i.e. marriage. Needless to say as I increased my extracurricular activities I was forced to depart from this tacit agreement with increasing regularity. This was sometimes accompanied by some tension between me and my parents. My father in particular. I sometimes sensed that he had his suspicions about my nocturnal activities in particular. My parents were mostly stern and maintained an upright deportment at all times. I had never once seen my mother and father kiss in any fashion but the perfunctory and obligatory peck on the cheek on entering or leaving the house. It was not something I considered strange at the time. Later in life, however, I wondered whether that fact and the attendant inferences may have been at least partly the reason I craved affection and attention ceaselessly for most of my young life. I am sure there will be someone to tell me immediately that neither was their own father and mother ever seen kissing, and that strangely enough, that fact did not result in any member of their family going ‘off the beam’. Whoever you are, it may be instructive to take another, and more careful look at your family tree.

All kidding aside, I nevertheless learned enough about the phenomenon of sexual encounters from my schoolyard contemporaries to know that my parents had to have had sex at least eight times. There were, after all eight of us as direct offspring to lend some credence to the validity of that fact.

During my early life I had become, for whatever reason, terribly sensitive and introspective. I developed a mortal fear of interpersonal communication, especially with girls, whom I preferred to admire and adore from afar, while secretly hating them all for not immediately and on sight offering themselves and their bodily wares to me without strings attached. I continued in this strange dilemma for what seemed to be ages. Of course, with no ability to make small talk in order to communicate with the opposite sex it was not likely that, under normal circumstances, my urge for affection would be quickly or easily met, never mind my constantly intensifying urge for sex. Sometimes however, life and its circumstances move events in such a way as to take matters out of our own powerless hands. All of these intensely felt emotions would quickly abate when I turned eighteen, I thought, since my newly acquired manhood would allow me to comfortably exercise all the freedoms so acquired. I found, however that despite having coming of age, the process of acquiring and exploiting those rights was a gradually learned one. I had been lucky enough to obtain part time employment with the accounting department of the General Post Office which boasted a fair number of female employees. Probably on account of my shyness, I was generally ignored by these, although there was ample evidence of winking and pointing behind my back. Still I found it difficult to acquire the requisite connections

On my return from work one day I experienced a severe headache, unusual for me, and took to sneezing and coughing terribly. I decided to get into bed and on drawing the covers over me found that I also had a terrible fever. I became so hot so quickly that I threw the sheet off, only to find that I immediately became freezing cold. I spent some time on the horns of this dilemma, alternatively throwing the covers off and hauling them back on. I was usually, if not always, the first one home and had been used to coming home to an especially arranged bowl of fruit, and a steaming dinner of yams rice and meat that always seemed to surpass the attractiveness of what was later put on the table for the whole family. I had always wondered about this but never openly questioned it. I guess somewhere in the back of my head I knew I was being afforded special treatment, but I was too timorous a person to confront the answer and in any event had no idea how I would even approach the subject and with whom. I therefore left the matter alone. One thing I did know was that the person responsible for this highly appreciated largesse was Blossom, the family helper. The only other person with the power to constantly deliver such goodies and with such a generous hand would have been the cook, whom we all referred to as ‘Auntie’, but she was a cantankerous older woman who encouraged no favoritism since she had no favorites.

Blossom was a plump brown skinned, rather attractive twenty two year old country girl. I use the term ‘country’ with the utmost of reverence, the reason for which the reader will appreciate shortly. She was blessed with a round face, but with curvaceous hips and smooth brown legs which were always on display since blue jeans were not yet all the rage. She had a penchant for short wide solid color skirts, or accordion pleated plaid skirts, either of which swished around her smooth and sensuous legs as she walked, in cadence with the lift and fall of each buttock. In addition to this very positive circumstance, the said skirts offered a more than ample view of the uppermost portions of her legs, especially if she chanced to bend over. For some reason she seemed to perform this rite a surprising number of times when in my proximity, leading me to believe that God had set this situation up for my eternal torment. There could have been no more excruciating hell than to be constantly tempted with a luscious apple while at the same time knowing it in your heart to be forbidden fruit. This was so for many reasons, not the least of which was an inordinately powerful fear of my father’s potential disappointment in me. Although I had certainly been aware of her attractiveness and downright sensuality, I had generally managed to maintain my composure though at a cost of intense inner tension. Also it went without saying that had my parents ever gotten the slightest inkling that I had cast a lustful eye in her direction, the poor girl would have been banished at a pace swifter than the flight of a balloon in a strong wind. Then too, Blossom rarely smiled, except on those rare occasions when she would place my dinner on the table and I would unaccountably be blessed by one of those inexplicably quixotic smiles, that made me feel so foolish, since I could not for the life of me think of what to say, and which always made me temporarily but acutely uncomfortable. My response was always to dive full tilt and with gusto into the steaming meal, ignoring all else.

Nevertheless I was never allowed to forget how physically attractive Blossom was. For one thing, almost every evening, three boys who lived two doors down the block passed by my house heading toward the park, bat and ball in hand. These miscreants who, it seemed, lacked any kind of comprehensive adult supervision would crane their incredibly flexible necks over the fence, initiating catcalls and whistles at her as they went. They blew her kisses and were forever making fresh overtures. For some reason the eldest, of these boys referred to by the rest as Cochran would always find a way to approach me with a million questions like was she was my sister or cousin? When did she go out? Did she ever go to the movies? What part of the country was she from? Did she have sisters? What was she like in the sack? It was horrible. I would invariably be terribly embarrassed by his seemingly gross questions and implications, and tried my best to avoid him at all costs. Now that I think of it, it was quite possible that I experienced more than merely disgust and embarrassment at these actions; that in addition it was entirely possible there was more than a little jealousy to go along with my disgust and embarrassment. It occurred to me that I must be somewhat of a loser to be unable to corral someone I so desperately desired when she was daily within arm’s reach. I worried on a daily basis that Cochran’s desperate and persistent efforts would bear fruit eventually. I had no idea how I could possibly live with that, for it would surely be a graphic demonstration of my own inadequacy at the very least.

Today however I was beyond all that, with a steaming fever, and a throbbing headache that threatened to split my forehead open vertically from the top of my nose to the hairline. I had by now taken to feeling extremely sorry for myself. At the moment I was feeling much less machismo than the usual eighteen year old normally possesses and did not feel particularly comforted when Blossom walked into the room, placed her hands on ample hips and with a somewhat authoritative air, inquired as to why I was in bed so early.. To a young man it seems that the worst thing in the world is to let a woman see you in your moment of weakness! Yet she touched my forehead so gently and seemed to quickly understand and empathize with my condition. She immediately suggested getting me some tea made from fresh ginger. I weakly nodded assent. Wallowing in self-pity as I was, I scarcely knew she had left my bedside and would have been oblivious to her return, had I not heard the clink made by the cup and saucer as she rather carelessly brought them together. I was lying on my back with my eyes closed, focusing on the incredibly intense warmth of my eyeballs. Without opening my eyes I stretched my hand out to take the saucer. I found no saucer, but my hand met with something wondrously smooth and moist, while at the same time warm and hairy. As I simply had no idea what I had gotten my hand into I quickly opened my eyes. Lo and behold, my hand was between her legs and resting directly against her love nest. The silk white panties had not been doing its job well and had pulled over to the side by one leg, exposing her love nest in no uncertain fashion. Somehow the angle at which I reached up allowed my hand to enter her crotch, barely lifting her short skirt. From my vantage point on the bed however I saw every single, minute detail. One would have thought that a young boy should have immediately withdrawn his hand in shock and vented profuse apologies. After all, this should have been extremely embarrassing to me. If it was however, I felt none of it. I guess my face must have registered shock for a very short time. My heart was pounding horrendously in my chest. But what could not be denied was that I had inadvertently achieved only that which I had wished to do in my more deliberate moments. I was not about to retreat when I had already gone so far and especially since I would possibly reap whatever punishments would accrue from my parents, if they were made aware, in the same way as if my venture had been deliberate.

Then too, after the momentary shock I realized that Blossom had not moved away a single inch. Rather, she had shifted her stance so that her legs were now even wider apart. My heart was beating as madly as the fabled pocomania drums. I thought the damned thing would burst out of my chest. Becoming emboldened nevertheless, I moved my fingers down from the mons veneris to caress the lips of her vagina. By now I was trembling with something other than a fever. My first time, my first time ever! This was a moment of monumental excitement and historical importance. My trembling fingers became embedded to the joints in wet succulent pussy and were suddenly dripping with the most divine of nectars. The tea which was supposed to ameliorate my condition instantly became a matter of no importance. The cold and fever seemed to have been a bad dream that had quickly faded. She bent over and placed the saucer on the floor. Holding the hand that had been previously occupied with the cup and saucer I guided her down unto the bed beside me. I distinctly remember thinking I must have died and gone to heaven. She landed on the bed in a manner that resulted in our left legs being somehow entwined. My impatience to get my fingers into her love nest once again demanded that I push her over unto her side. I started to do so, and realizing my intention, she willingly obliged and turned over unto her right side, facing me. She lifted her now freed left leg, and placing the sole of that foot squarely on the bed opened her velvet skinned crotch up to my eager fingers. She personally and deliberately held my index finger and its eager companion, between her own thumb and forefinger and carefully guided them to the door of what I had long been convinced was the only possible heaven. I was surprised at how wet her crotch had become in such a short space of time. Her lips had parted and remained in the shape of a kind of horizontal obelisk, out of which came the most sensually stimulating moans. I had only previously experienced those moans in my most erotic fantasies or from the audio of some erotic, or porno movie. I was incredibly aroused and savored every inch of her wonderfully pulsating cylinder with my fingers. She could have had no idea how those moans stroked my macho. If it were possible my penis was now even more engorged than when I first became aroused. It was so stiff it bent and literally pushed itself out of the opening of the flimsy cotton pajamas. Being not generally given to undue ceremony, and hardly willing to risk anything or anyone interfering with my first invitation to the delights of heaven, I pushed Blossom over unto her back. Her legs immediately displayed a wondrous quality. They seemed to wish to be as far away from each other as physically possible. There would be no barriers between Blossom’s now intensely creamy pussy and my now painfully engorged cock.

This then was the start to a saga that can only be diminished by the telling. It is worthwhile to note that from the moment of that occurrence my fever disappeared entirely and my cold was so inconsequential in nature that all of the symptoms vanished. It was truly a remarkable phenomenon. From that day onward my dalliance with Blossom, if it could be described as such, never lost its glow. Proximity and availability, of course were major factors in the longevity of our relationship. No matter what my situation, when I returned she was always there and always ready. We had very early reached the point where words were unnecessary. All I had to do was show up, she would unquestioningly begin taking her drawers down before I even said a word. She was, doubtless, every man’s idea of a great relationship. She seemed to know my every mood and catered to me with unfailing accuracy and devotion. Most of the time we hardly even spoke. For some reason it had never occurred to me that she might simply have been in love with me. As I remember it now, I seemed to have been locked into a blinding cocoon of narcissistic selfishness that I scarcely gave that consideration a thought. But then I scarcely had time to consider the emotional aspects of our relationship. We simply made ourselves physically available to each other at every possible opportunity, and since she asked nothing and complained of nothing, I, in the throes of youthful exuberance and the ever intense fire in my loins, elected to let sleeping dogs lie, or not rock the boat, or whichever of those phrases applied. Needless to say my usually overflowing dinner plate began to be heaped higher and higher from that day hence.

Blossom occupied the servants quarters to the rear of the house. The fact that the room, for that was all it was, had its own private entrance away from the front yard was its saving grace. Whenever I chose to return home late she would be there waiting and there was little chance of my being discovered entering her room. If I struck out in my other exploits of the evening, there was always the comforting thought that Blossom would be counting the minutes for my return. She asked no questions and sought no explanations. It was an enormously convenient and titillating situation, our affair. For one thing none of the other members of the household seemed to have the slightest idea of what was occurring, so we gloried in communicating with each other by sly winks and surreptitious nods, the occasional elbow in the side, and any other form of communication which may have seemed innocuous to the unsuspecting.

CHAPTER 2

Mrs. Robinson

E ARLIER ON IT HAD ENTERED my mind that no matter how successful the explorer or how important his conquests, the virtues of his journey would be lost without a historical account, or at the very least a list of the places he’d been and the conquests had. I eventually ignored this whole argument in its totality. First of all I was notorious for leaving things about the house. There was the entire world to lose, including my fairly serene life, by having a diary with all my exploits show up in my mother’s hands. I had little fear of my father in this regard for he was much too busy with the concerns of his education-oriented life to be occupied with the details of my life, other than to check up on my grades from time to time. Ultimately I simply tore a page out of the standard exercise book, drew two lines down the page, which now contained three columns of thirty lines each on which was listed the name of every woman with whom I had ever had sex. My dalliance with Blossom had emboldened me and allowed me to approach other women with an enormous amount of confidence. I was shocked to find that I already had two and one half columns filled with names, a total of seventy five conquests. I later judiciously neglected to maintain this log. I could see no practical value for doing so other than to take a secret glory in rereading the names and recalling the episodes to the extent allowed by memory, which I determined was not worth the risk. I made sure to tear it into little pieces and discard in the bottom of the kitchen garbage bin.

I had always managed to maintain good grades, due in no small part to my father’s insistence that we not ‘fool around’ with our education. He made us aware in no uncertain terms that his finances were limited and that although he was inescapably obligated to pay for our grammar school education, that our future ability to enter college depended largely, if not wholly, on whether or not our grades would allow us to take the university scholarship examinations. By inference, if we were unable to succeed in getting a scholarship, chances were that we would have to forego that institution, or work to pay for that level of education. As there were not a lot of part time jobs available that would allow attending the university at the same time, it would alternatively be necessary to work full time for three or four years to save enough money for college. He warned that getting away from the discipline of study and being involved in full time work and potentially binding relationships could make it difficult, if not virtually impossible later to ever get a college degree. The likelihood of ever going to college could easily be lost. That argument had a lot of weight as far as I was concerned, so that usually as soon as I got home I would make sure to pick up my books once more for two or three extra hours of study. This was especially important when it came close to time for the end of term exams. My mother had given me a beautiful sports bicycle, the first new bike I had ever owned. Instead of waiting eons on the bus, I would quickly get on my bike at the end of school and rush home. This caused me to save a lot of time and allowed me to put in hours of study that would otherwise have been difficult to maintain given my, by now, rather extensive extracurricular activity.

Four blocks further up the avenue was the Robinson house. My mother knew Mrs. Robinson, a staunch church goer like herself. Mrs. Robinson was considered very talented and was the church organist and choir leader. She played a mean piano or organ as would be required when called upon to take part in the various church concerts. Rumor had it that her husband worked on a cruise ship and was rarely at home. She occupied herself by holding a part time job as a medical secretary at the hospital in the mornings. I would often pass her by at various stages on the avenue since in the afternoons she got off the bus at the corner of the avenue and walked the rest of the way. She almost never failed to wave to me or acknowledge me by name as I rode by. I guessed she was about thirty five years of age or so with really beautiful long black hair. She was a fairly attractive woman with a spring in her step, and who apparently had a liking for high heels. This penchant tended to show her smooth and curvaceous calves to full advantage. She wore her dresses with the hems an inch or three above the knee and I often found myself gazing at her derriere and legs while approaching her from behind on my bike. Though it was unlikely anyone would consider her a beautiful, or even a pretty woman, she could certainly lay claim to being attractive. I had always had an appreciation for her physical qualities and thought it seemed unusual for a woman of her age, to maintain her youthful looks the way she did. I confess that at the time I had no idea of how old a woman had to be generally before starting to deteriorate. Her bust gave adequate balance to a frame that could almost, but not quite, be considered full figure and she wore her blouses with enough cleavage showing to induce a more than casual glance from any red blooded male. I was now employed and could look forward to purchasing a car, but for the time being at least I still found it convenient to use my bike. The intense anticipation at turning into the avenue in time to see her walk down the street would never fade.

Today she was pulling the latch bolt on her gate, and was about to enter her driveway. I slowed to greet her as I passed. She sounded a few decibels higher than usual when she said my name so I instinctively knew she wished to speak with me.

‘Evan’, she said as I wheeled the bike around and came to face her, one foot on the pedal and the other on the ground, ‘would you mind if I imposed on you somewhat? Are you in a hurry?’

‘No Mrs. Robinson, not at all’. She was my mother’s church sister and I had always treated her with the utmost respect.

‘And its Etta, remember that Evan’, she said.

‘Yes Mrs. Robinson’, I said without thinking.

She laughed briefly, displaying pearly white teeth framed by a pair of wide cherry colored, full lips.

‘I’ve been trying to hang some drapes for the longest while and haven’t managed to get up the nerve to climb up that wobbly step ladder for fear of falling. Would you help me? I won’t take but a moment of your time’

‘Certainly Mrs. …Ah.. Etta.’

She laughed again. We were walking up the driveway. I stopped to rest the bicycle against the front steps. It slid and fell to the ground as soon as I took my hand off.

‘And I would prefer if you left the bike in back of the garage, it’ll be safer ther anyway, and will prevent neighborhood speculation’. I simply had no idea what she intended to convey by that statement. She pointed to the half open garage door then pushed the button to close the door as I emerged. I followed her up the steps to the side entrance and she closed the storm door behind us. I was all the while wondering what she meant by her last phrase. What was I to understand that the neighbors might begin to speculate about?

‘Do you want something to eat, you must be hungry?’

‘No, I…..’

‘Well I’ll get you a soda’, she said without waiting for a response.

She was gone for a few minutes and returned with a bottle of orange soda and a glass with a napkin wrapped around it. The soda was cold and I sipped it slowly, all the while looking around in admiration of her