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Life in the country was safe, sweet and predictable. Maybe too predictable. As Paul, my husband, and I would make love, I often found my mind wandering to past encounters and fantasies. Paul’s superb body offered endurance but no expertise, and it had been so long since he had properly gone down on me, I had almost forgotten the pleasures of oral sex.

So one day, when my work as an artist brought me to the city, I found myself gazing at men in the street. When I ran into Jamie, a former lover, I kissed him with a tad too much enthusiasm. Jamie looked great, in a dapper suit, a real change from the last time we met.

Jamie insisted I join him for a drink. As the drink began to loosen our tongues, we started to reminisce about the old days, and the things we had done to each other. 

I will always remember the first night we were together. He opened his door wearing a pair of patterned boxer shorts and nothing more. His muscled, hairless chest invited my touch, but I restrained my desires. I assumed he was just running late and didn’t mind me seeing him in his boxers. Then he came over to me, lifted my chin, and gave me a long lingering kiss that left me breathless.

“Teri, you know I’ve always wanted you . . .” he whispered as his hands ran up and down my body, his fingers probing. Grasping my nipples, he rubbed my tips to tantalizing hardness, and proceeded to lick and suck my breasts until my legs grew limp.

After his persistent fingering brought me to my first orgasm, he dove between my legs and licked me to a frenzy of desire. When his tongue connected with my engorged clit, I absolutely exploded. After I indulged in a limp moment, I decided to return the favor. I bent over and licked his penis like a lollipop. He wasted no time; and rammed himself directly down my throat, holding my head in a firm grasp. Plunging in and out of my mouth, he hardly gave me a moment to breathe. Just as I was sure I was bringing him to an orgasm, he slid from my lips and rolled me over.

With one fluid movement, he eased himself inside me. I could feel his balls bouncing against my thighs as his hands grasped my hips. Moving with expert precision, he slid inside and out, until we both came with a crash. 

In the shower, as we soaped off, Jamie got another erection. So as the hot water beat down on us, we made slippery love with me perched on the edge of the tub.

As we reminisced and caught up over our drinks, I tried to remember if there had been any further connection between us, a connection that went deeper than the sex. But in fact, all I could remember was the sex.

And that’s probably how it was because I dropped my Jamie habit fast enough when I met Paul. I married Paul about a year later. Jamie told me that he too met a girl and married her in a similar time period.

Jamie has since divorced and is back on the circuit, probably making some other girls very happy. In fact, just thinking about it, I have to wonder: How would my husband feel about a threesome?

Here’s one of the great aspects of being a girl: Since I’m able to orgasm from purely clitoral stimulation, often with just the slightest pressure to my pubic area, I can (and frequently do) have screaming orgasms while fully clothed. This occurs in everyday positions—even while standing up. I’ve orgasmed in public parks, crowded beaches, teeming subways, busy shopping malls, and half-empty theaters, always exercising the utmost discretion, but with the secret thrilling fear that someone, somewhere, may be observing me.

I recently got a job installing cable TV in a Cincinnati suburb. The pay is good, and I’m not stuck behind a desk all day. But the real fringe benefit of the job is all the sex I’m getting. In three months I’ve scored at least once a week and sometimes as much as four times in a single week.

After six years of marriage, I felt I understood my sexuality completely. My husband Jack and I made love four or five times a week staying pretty much within conventional bounds. Straight sex was our meat and potatoes, but we were also wild about nipple play, deep kissing, and oral sex, especially in 69. Our lovemaking usually lasted about an hour.

I suppose it was the kind of sex life that a lot of women would envy, and I had no complaints except that it has stopped being special. Sex had become like supper, a regular and necessary event. I wasn’t frustrated, but part of me had begun to wish for something more, something different.