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From: "joseph_lawrence Last Name" <joseph_lawrence@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} It Takes All Types {Joe} (MF cons)
Date: Thu, 21 Dec 2000 23:10:10 -0500
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<1st attachment, "type.txt" begin>

It Takes All Types.



Big girls, small girls. 
Short girls, tall girls. 
Thin girls, fat girls.
Old girls, brat girls. 
What's the difference? Who cares what they look like, just as 
long as they cook right!

What a load of rubbish! All women are not 'girls', and all 
women are not the same. There are only two things that really 
matter to me in a woman, and they aren't on her chest or 
between her legs. Heart and soul - they are what makes a 
woman. Don't get me wrong, I like women's more female 
attributes as much as the next guy, except perhaps that time 
when I was the next guy. As for cooking, well, I spend as much 
time at the stove as my partner. 

Yes, I have a partner. You didn't think I was single 
did you? Of course, she's eighteen, got a perfect body. She 
works out every day and I just love to slip her sweat sodden kit 
off and slip deep into her there in the changing room, pumping 
away as she climbs up me. We nearly got banned the other day 
when her screams of passion could be heard in the pool at the 
other side of the squash courts. Yeah, right, of course they 
were. 

So, she's not a California-fit super-babe... thankfully. 
Anyway, our local leisure centre wouldn't look kindly on men 
lurking and humping in the female changing rooms. No, she's 
got a great body all right - she modelled in Paris. She can turn 
me on with just her supermodel glare and a twist of her 
Cinderella foot on an Eiffel tower heel. She walks out there 
with nothing on but a paper-thin lace skirt the price of Cuba's 
GNP. How wonderful her breasts look as they pout firmly 
under the lights that caress her golden-tanned skin. They 
almost pulsate to the music as they swagger up and down. Ok, 
so she's not a model really.

She looks great in her leathers. The seat of her GSX 
950 gets a real good seeing too every time she straddles it. I'd 
love to be that seat, but I don't do 130 mph, and I don't kick 
her in the backside every time she twists my grip. She's a real 
wild child, her long shining tresses streaming behind her in the 
wind. As she gets off she unzips her leather jacket revealing... 
nothing, nothing but her breasts and nipples. She never bothers 
to wear much else, it's too much hassle to keep on taking on 
and off. Before she's had a chance to tell me how busy the 
roads were she's lying with her breasts astride the tank and her 
legs beside the warm engine being filled by me. If only that 
seat could talk - but of course it can't and the nearest she's 
ever been to a motorbike is watching Easy Rider on TV.
She used to be an air hostess, but she had to give it up and she 
spent much too much time servicing my needs in the air rather 
than those of her passengers. 

The Mile High club? Club, First class - even in 
economy. No matter where we were we were flying high, and 
flying united. Then she became a nurse. Oh, those uniforms! 
All crisp creases,  starch and black stockings. We'd thrust the 
night away in the linen cupboard, she come over and over in 
the nurses station yet her creases would always stay put, and 
her stockings would never ladder. She always cared for me as 
well as for her patients. Ok, they had to be patient as they 
listened to her fifth orgasm of the hour, but at least she always 
looked great as she gave them the benefit of her bedside 
manner - she always looked great when I got an eyeful of it.

No? Well, at least she did start early. I had her for the 
first time on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. I was just 
fourteen. It happened on a camping holiday in Italy. She was 
moaning about how she still had to go along with her parents 
on lame holidays. She said she hated Venice - took wet she 
said. It may have been but she wasn't, she was just right as I 
slipped into her. I had never had a girl before, though I'd seen 
pics in magazines. I'd been looking at better stuff on the net for 
ages so I knew what to do. I first met her outside the showers. 
We talked, she seemed to like me. She told me about how 
uncool all this camping stuff was, and about how much she 
missed her boyfriend back home. Actually she told me how 
much she missed his eight inch cock. She stood there, bold as 
can be, and told me straight how straight and thick it was and 
how no man could ever match up. She said they had been at it 
for over a year. She said she loved it best when he forget to buy 
condoms, she said she got an extra-special thrill when he came 
right up inside her. Then she told me it was her going to be her 
birthday, and that she'd die without him there to give her one, 
or two, or, as she wanted, four or five. I did the gallant thing. I 
offered my services. She laughed and walked off. So there I 
was, the next morning, standing naked in front of her as she lay 
half-asleep in her tent. She woke and saw my erection. She 
soon forgot her boyfriend as I repeatedly stuck her with my 
nine-inch love pole. We must have woken her parents; as I 
licked her out we heard them at it too. They didn't go for long 
and he can't have been much good as after I came inside her 
for the second time her mother came in and pulled me outside 
and sucked me off before getting me to do her doggie fashion 
on the still damp grass. 
Maybe it was Clacton, and maybe I just tossed off in the 
washrooms after saying hello just the once.  I never met her 
parents, and I've no idea if she had a boyfriend, or whether the 
only love of her life was a picture of the cute blond one from 
East Boyz.

No, to be honest she chatted me up in a bar. She 
walked in and came up to me and sat down on the stool next to 
me. She ordered a beer, and taking it by the neck swilled down 
a mouthful. Looking intently at me she licked the froth from 
her lips. She liked to ride horses so that she could use the whip. 
She loved the feel of leather wrapped round her, and reined me 
in good and proper. She loved the feel of my firmness wrapped 
up in hide as she stuffed me into her. She never let me come. If 
I did she chained me up in the basement for a couple of days to 
teach me a lesson. She brought home a couple of black dudes 
on night after I'd been naughty. She made me suck them hard 
for her, then she drained them dry three times each, covering 
herself in their come . She yelled at me that I didn't deserve 
her, and that I'd have to bring up these stud's kids if I wanted 
to have touch her again. She didn't get pregnant so she got the 
studs round to serve her again. I had to pay her stud fees for 
her. Eventually she got her baby - twins in fact - and I soon 
got used to the laughs as I pushed her half-casts through the 
park.

She was really shorter than me. I really mean shorter. 
On stage, as an unknown understudy on for the lead for the 
very first time, she ate the audience. They loved her, and she 
loved them, but I was the first to LOVE her. I met her 
backstage. She bumped into me as she was returning to the 
dressing room. She dropped all the flowers her adoring 
audience had thrown to her. Her dancing was exquisite, her 
body flowed flawlessly. She became the music, moving with 
delicate grace hiding all of the immense strength and fitness 
that the demanding role required. I offered to carry her flowers 
for her, handing her just a single red rose. She giggled as she 
opened the door of the changing room for me. She stepped in 
without hesitation, I baulked at the threshold. Inside her 
colleagues, the other female dancers of the corps, sat, chatted 
in various states of undress, seemingly oblivious that a male 
was watching. She beckoned me in. I tentatively put a foot 
through the door. She slid off thin the shoulder straps that held 
up her costume, she began to peel it away from her chest. I 
closed the door quietly behind me and then went over to her. 
She kissed me, pressing her partly exposed breasts to me. I 
reached down to her hands and pulled her up from the chair. 
She didn't resist as I pulled her buttocks to me. She had to 
stand en pointe to reach my lips, but that was no problem to 
her. The soft pink silk fabric of the crotch of her costume 
yielded to my firm hand, revealing her soft pink. She said 
nothing, heaving in my arms, one leg twined around me in a 
vice-like embrace. No one looked as I yanked my zipper down. 
No one saw as I exposed myself to her pink. No one saw, but 
everyone heard her cry out for me to stop as she felt the ripping 
of  her delicate flower of flesh as I roughly impaled her pas de 
deux.

Honest? Really honest? Ok, she took my virginity, or 
did I give it to her? We'd been dating for over four months. 
We'd spend all evening on the sofa, her head in my lap as I 
fondled her nipples. But she never let me touch her 'down 
there'. On night she said she's been to the doctor, so that it was 
'all right' now. She led me to my bedroom, turning down the 
light to the barest glow. Stripping in the near darkness I saw 
her nakedness for the first time. I didn't see much, her bush 
was just a darker patch in the night. She got into my bed, 
slipping under the duvet. She asked me if I was going to stand 
there all night. I asked what she wanted me to do. She told me 
to do whatever came naturally. She told me it was ok to take 
my clothes off too. I had touched her once, it was after an 
office dinner. She wore this soft dress and in our passionate 
kissing she didn't notice, or mind too much, my hand pulling it 
up, exposing her bare thigh, smooth above her stocking tops. I 
fumbled around, she didn't seem to mind much, not even when 
I pushed my fingers under her panties and felt her bush. She 
stopped kissing me and drawing her head back looked at me. 
She said nothing as I squirmed my fingers between her tightly 
clasped pussy lips. She kissed me again and pressed her breasts 
closer, our whole bodies coming together. She was not a slip of 
a lass, she was a big girl: a large woman. She had a lot of flesh 
on her and we were so close that I couldn't turn my hand to 
feel her properly. She held her thighs together tightly, not 
opening to let me go further. When we parted from the kiss she 
drew away from me, straightened her dress up and left.

That had been six weeks before and those weeks had 
grown increasing frustrating for me. As I slipped into bed 
beside her she got comfortable, her back flat on the bed. She 
reached for me. She had not often touched me there. She had 
occasionally stroked me. Just stroked me, delicately and never 
so that I came. She never looked at me there. She remarked 
how big I felt, and I told her how much I wanted to fill her with 
it. Once or twice she's let me feel her pussy, opening her legs 
just enough for me to slip a finger over her moistened folds. I 
think she came once, I wasn't really sure and she wouldn't say.

I felt a movement lower down the bed, I felt sure it 
was her legs parting. My heart pounded. I asked what she 
wanted me to do. She just said she was on the pill. I still 
wondered if what I wanted to happen really was about to 
happen. I asked her if she really wanted me to make love to 
her. She replied that she hadn't gone on the pill for nothing. I 
positioned myself as bed I could but all I could do was thrust 
my tip into her hairs. She grasped me again, pressing my head 
lower. It slipped over her flowering folds. They were open and 
moist, even I could tell the difference between them and her 
hairy mound. She held me at her opening. She told me to kiss 
her. As I dropped my head to hers she pressed firmly on my 
buttocks. Still with her other hand around my shaft she 
engulfed my head. We stopped kissing and I closed my eyes to 
feel every pulse of my heart. She pressed on my buttocks 
again. 

My mind rushed back to the night, many years before 
at the age of thirteen and a half, I'd first come. It was one cold 
November night. I'd been to the theatre with my parents. They 
wanted to educate me about the arts, so they'd taken me to a 
dance show. It was serious contemporary dance, great stuff or 
so I was told. I don't know about the dance itself, all I can 
remember was the skimpy costumes and thigh-hugging, pussy-
lining bodysuits. I'd played with myself often enough, but I'd 
never had the guts to carry on past the pleasant firmness-in-my-
cock stage. That night in bed, as silently as possible, I thought 
about those dancers, laying on my side, stroking my cock 
strongly. As the feelings built I nearly chickened out. They 
were so strange and powerful that I didn't know what was 
happening. I knew what was meant to happen, 'spunking up' as 
we boys called it, but I had no idea of what that would feel like. 
No one said much about what it felt like - 'great!', 'best 
feeling in the world!', 'frigging mindblowing!'.  What was 
happening was so intense I was almost afraid I would injure 
myself. Was this, this feeling of being pulled inside out over a 
hot poker, really what they said was  the best thing in the whole 
world? The immensity of the sensation so consumed me that I 
feared it would drive me mad. It had better be right; it had 
better happen, or else I'd die trying. Yet through it all I pumped 
on, knowing that I too might be able to 'spunk up', and join the 
real boys. When 'it' finally did happen it was, to use a well-
worn clich , truly earth-shattering. When I came down to earth 
I feared that I might have brought up blood and not spunk, the 
feelings had been so intense. Shaking, I reached for the bedside 
light and, flipping the covers back, turned it on and looked 
down to my groin. There on the sheet was not blood but 
something quite new and unexpected yet desperately hoped for. 
It was there. Not much, a few drops maybe, and it was 
surprisingly yellow, but it was undoubtedly come - I was a big 
boy.

In the days, weeks and months that followed I took 
every opportunity to repeat the experience; twice or three 
times a day. The fluid soon turned to the more expected white, 
or at least very light grey. I looked at it, smelt it, and tasted it 
even - marvelling that this was all that was needed to make a 
new life. Each drop could make many, many lives, yet each 
drop made none, it was all spilled and quickly wiped away. 
Each time I did 'it' I hoped it would feel as mind-blowingly 
powerful as that first time. Each time I was a little bit more 
disappointed.

A few times on camping holidays I did hang around 
the shower blocks waiting in case some desperate young girl 
needed what I innocently thought was a man. They never did of 
course. As the days turned to weeks and eventually into years I 
began to wonder if I would ever experience as wonderful an 
orgasm as on that lonely bed. In those years my thoughts 
turned more and more to how it would feel with a woman. I 
knew how it felt by myself, by my own hand. I knew that only 
too well, but with a woman...? Would it be different? How 
different? There was only one way to find out, but somehow 
the opportunity never seemed to present itself. The only time a 
stewardess took me by the hand to somewhere quiet was when 
I'd had a few too many before a long flight to Canada. I even 
took up weight training at one time, partly hoping that some 
toned beauty might take a fancy to me. None ever did of 
course. I look stupid in leathers, and motorbikes and I never 
seemed to see eye to eye.

I've never actually found what the media say is 
beautiful to be beautiful. Models remind me more of anorexia 
and than look sexy. Call me old fashioned, but I like a bit of 
flesh on a woman. I like something to snuggle up to. I love to 
think I can enter a woman and really get inside her; not tear her 
apart or blow her away. That's what I was about to do, enter a 
woman. Not just once either. We had been together for many 
months now, and slowly but surely we'd been leading up to 
this moment, the moment when we'd join together physically 
in love. It'd be a while before we'd be joined officially, but for 
now what was about to happen, indeed was actually happening, 
would be more than enough.

I felt her pulling me to her. I felt her tilt her hips to 
give me easier passage into her. I felt her special lips open 
around me. I felt her heat on my engorged head. With another 
pull she had me in her half-way. It was different, very, very 
different, but in ways I couldn't put into words. It was the best 
feeling in the world. It was great. It was mind-blowing. I didn't 
thrust, I didn't move; I just lay there, supporting myself on my 
knees and outstretched arms and filled her with my come. I 
didn't so much as come, as it came over me. I was so amazed 
at everything - that it was happening at all was enough, that it 
was in my own bed was too much to bear - that I didn't feel 
any of the familiar build up that normally foretold my coming. 
I just closed my eyes and came, or more correctly I just 
ejaculated into her, warm and gentle. It felt the most perfectly 
natural thing to do.

She lay quietly underneath me as my come suffused 
her, filling the tiny voids between us, making us one. My 
continuing hardness must have surprised her. She asked, in a 
quiet almost apologetic tone, if I still wanted her. I replied with 
the first, very tentative, thrust I had ever made inside a woman. 
She reached down, I caught her hand in mine and held her to 
the bed. My thrusts steadily grew in firmness, the bed 
beginning to rock slightly with my movements. We kissed, her 
lips on mine, our tongues together, thrusting, thrusting and 
thrusting. Her lips tight around me, moulded to me, holding 
me. Her hips moving with mine, our bodies together, firmly 
together, sweaty chest on sweaty breast, hair in hair, bone 
pushing against bone over and over, over and over. Head held 
back, stress flowing through tight bodies, ever straining, 
buttock clenching, pelvis thrusting, glans aching, clit pulsing, 
shaft pushing, cunt taking, sweat raining on to virgin white 
sheets. Harder and harder, vagina-stretching, cervix-
pummelling, labia-curling, clitoris-clubbing, glans-pulling, 
foreskin-rubbing, thigh-tearing, head-wrenching. With a cry 
mistakable for terror she grabbed at me and held me to her. 
With three shakes of her body she took her long earned release. 
I felt her pleasure throes on my shaft, a soft throbbing barely 
detectable over my pounding heartbeat. She arched her hips 
high, bringing her thighs together, cutting me out. I struck 
down to her thighs, pushing them apart. With a thud of the bed 
on the wall, she dropped back to the bed and protesting silently 
with her legs, I took her. No delicacy now, all her pleasure was 
spent. I thrust heavily, as fast as I could, taking her, having 
her... fucking her. She was almost limp when I, every muscle 
in my body drum-tight, felt those sensations again. As I 
dreamed of a boy and body contoured dancers a few drops 
streamed out of me and with them finally went our innocence.

Another time, in another place and another bed, she 
straddled me, towering above me naked in the moonlight. She 
was heavier now, laden with the joining of my sperm to her 
egg. It was soon, very, very soon yet she still offered her 
lubricant jewelled lips to mine, waiting for me to slip my 
tongue between them and taste her private nectar. She didn't 
have to wait long. Nor did I when she later slipped back down 
the bed, folding her now gaping flesh on to my eager pole. 
With carefully measured strokes she helped herself to my body, 
apparently unhindered by the nine-month weight within her. 
She didn't take herself there, still, after all this time, she felt it 
felt best with her on her back. After delicious thrusts she 
slipped off me and rolled on to her back beside me. Taking my 
hand she drew me on to her, opening her legs wide to 
accommodate mine. Almost on fully outstretched arms to avoid 
the massive full-term bump, I took her once again. It wasn't 
difficult, and the tight roundness of her belly rolled down all 
the way to her groin, the two seemingly as connected on the 
outside as we knew them to be inside. I entered her, holding 
my shaft in well practiced motion to her labia, drawing my tip 
over her frilled lips, tantalising her clit, and spreading her 
juices over her gaping vulva. With a push I penetrated , 
thrusting deep and strong, mercilessly taking my pleasure and 
hers. That's what she wanted, and my semen, when it flooded 
her cervix, gave her exactly what she needed. Pounding and 
probing, pulsing and pushing; I explored her well-charted  
depths and conquered her long-since mapped lands once more. 
Her powerful muscle dam, bathed in my prostaglandin rich 
come, surely must soon break. I did, I emptied myself into her, 
as I had to give her her now almost-newborn. Side by side, the 
three of us, all quiet, the kicks long since subsiding in those 
cramped confines, slept for a few all to short hours. At five the 
remnants of my semen were swept aside. By seven-twenty, and 
in that same bed, I held our daughter in my arms, I wondered 
what type she would grow up to be....


Copyright Joseph Lawrence, 2000

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