TRADING PLACES – A Twisted Tale of Fat Fried Love
I’ve posted several accounts of my youthful sexual encounters to this blog. Those stories are admittedly somewhat fictionalized (partly because of the amnesia of age and partly out of my shameless efforts to make a better narrative). I believe these tales still matter to who I am today. While some facts may be smudged – or prettyfied – the essence of each tale, as best I can make it, remains true and a crucial part of me.
I admit being shockingly proud of my written accounts of these episodes of sex and loves: Gail, and my instant soaring lust for her followed by the worst breakup in all of recorded history of the entire known world. Barbara, and my shocking answer to a simple question and the sordid hilarity that ensued. Janet, the brilliant, tall redhead I stubbornly insisted on keeping as an ethereal fantasy, even in the face of her implied offer of sweet carnality. Janet Pilgrim (real name Charlaine Edith Karalus), the 1952 platinum blonde Playboy Playmate whose airbrushed nudity dazzled the eleven year old boy I once was and made his underwear bulge for the very first time. The construction worker who, the first Christmas I was divorced, made a present to me of her body wrapped in a concentrated cloud of marijuana smoke, then passed out under me. The petite brunette who claimed to be a student at Hunter College then leased me her very handsome tits for a not unsizable contribution to her tuition fund one afternoon in a New York gentleman’s club (I left with a lightened step – much of my cash had fled my wallet). Lorrie, who paid me three hundred dollars so I’d let her blow me. Elizabeth, the nine year old who triggered my first sexual awakening when I was the same age while we played innocently in her front yard. Terry, the tormented torch singer – and Star Trek fanatic – with dark brownhair and anguished eyes from Chicago who once told me, “tonight, I almost love you”.
All of those stories, and more, I’ve carefully preserved, like faded photos pasted onto heavy black pages in a gilt edged, oversized album entitled My Most Very Important Memories – Volume One: Sex & Love.
Not every sexual encounter I had in my younger days has been inshrined in that sacred scrapbook; Most of those not canonized have so faded from memory or exist only as a small handful of scattered shards I cannot reassemble nor encumbered them with any meaning.
But there is a category of memories which, while possibly meaningful, I choose not dwell on. Frankly, I fear these stories’ meanings might be too dark. I resist writing about them, not wanting to face a revelation too likely to puncture my pumped up sense of self. No. Better to leave those memories safely unjudged in the comforting recesses of mind than spread them out in unalterable script spread neatly across the digital pages of this blog. I tremble, too, in cold, black fear of how you, dear reader, might judge me should these memories I now keep under lock ever escape to the light of day.
You’ll find more photos of sexy BBW Naughty Jessica, too!
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