Monday, 23 April 2018

Blue Monday: Dorothy Freed guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's is something special - a NON-fiction excerpt from Dorothy Freed's brand-new memoir, Perfect Strangers:

PERFECT STRANGERS: A Memoir Of The Swinging Seventies is an upbeat, tongue-in-cheek account of becoming sexually liberated and personally empowered—via three-plus years of rampant promiscuity.

In 1974, I was twenty-nine and deeply frustrated by my inability to achieve orgasm during intercourse with my husband, Paul. When I found him, naked and on top of my best friend, Cassandra, it wasn’t the infidelity that hurt me the most—it was the sizzling sex they were engaged in that cut to my core. Damn, I thought, watching Cassandra come for what seemed like hours. Twelve years of marriage. We were never that hot! And with that, my life changed forever and my erotic journey began.

PERFECT STRANGERS documents my sexual coming-of-age as a divorced single mom, during a decade of unprecedented personal freedom. My adventures begin in an upstate New York suburb and transports me to the Land of Oz, otherwise known as mid-70s San Francisco—an era when casual sex seems a simple as a handshake—but for a woman to achieve orgasm, vaginal or otherwise, well good luck on that!


A fine rain began falling as we left Broadway around midnight, after stopping in at a jazz club. We barely made it to Jake’s truck without getting wet. I said little during the ride back to Haight Street. I was so aroused I could hardly sit still. The air in the cab of the truck crackled with excitement and the rain pelted down.

“You were right,” I said later, back in my apartment. “Broadway is sleazy.”

“And you loved it, right?” he asked, like he knew it was so and laughed.

I blushed. “Not loved, exactly… Found interesting maybe… And well, yes… I loved it.”

Jake sat on the padded armchair in my bedroom, watching me. I stood near the window looking out at the rain and saw him reflected in the glass. Attempting to mask my sudden shyness, I fiddled with the stereo, while the man waited with his eyes hot on me, watching my every move.

He’s not real, I thought, I made him up in a fantasy, and now he’s arrived to act it out.

Ten feet away, Jake didn’t move a muscle, but I felt like he’d come closer—and the part of me that didn’t stiffen like a wary cat, welcomed him with open arms.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me make you feel good.”

Jake stared intently into my eyes, willing me into his fantasy. Rising from his chair, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he pulled my T-shirt up over my head, undressing me to the waist.

“A perfect handful, I knew they’d be,” he said, cupping my bared breasts in work-hardened hands. I drew my breath in sharply when he pinched my stiffened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

“Lie back,” he said, smiling. “Let’s see what the rest of you looks like.”

Unzipping my jeans, he eased them down over my hips and legs. When I was naked, he pressed me back against the pillows, gazing at me for a long moment before proceeding to explore my body like it was uncharted territory.

“You’re such a beautiful woman,” he murmured, and firmly, with some underlying hint of roughness, parted my legs. Half smiling, he spat a glob of saliva onto his fingers and rubbed it deliberately over my swollen sex. Without any sense of haste, he stroked, teased, and delighted, sending hot jolts of arousal coursing through me. Jake slipped thick fingers inside me, moving them around, twisting, massaging, thrusting, and all the while attuning his attention to where my excitement lay.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m your seductor, but I’m also your slave. I’ll do anything to please you.

“There,” I whispered, gasping for breath, “Like that. Right there. Don’t stop!”

Jake found his mark. His knowing fingers and hot wet mouth pinched, licked, and sucked my clit. I moaned steadily, hands in his hair, back arching as he parted my asscheeks and inserted a finger and pushed me straight over the edge. Screaming, I exploded into a thousand tiny fragments of pleasured flesh.

When I opened my eyes, I saw he was watching me. There was no particular expression on his face, just a broad gleam of triumph in his eyes.

That wasn’t hard now was it? Just give in. Go with the pleasure.

He directed me to my knees for the next act of the fantasy.

“Suck my cock, woman,” he ordered, and I did so, my mouth filled with his hardness and salty taste, and I breathed in his heady aroma. I accepted him obediently, as I did in my fantasy, licking at his cock-head, lapping at it, teasing it with the warm wetness of my lips. I made him moan with pleasure by swiping his shaft with my tongue as I deep-throated him. My hands cupped his balls, which tightened with excitement, and my body responded with a non-stop, electric tingling between my thighs.

Jaws aching, I sucked for all I was worth—until he’d had enough.

Finally, heavily, he mounted me, plunging in with a moan of ecstasy, abandoning himself to pleasure with the ease of an animal. Thrusting, grinding, probing, he claimed me as his woman, seeking my excitement with his own.

“Yes!” I cried out, “Yes!” And moaning, I raised my hips to meet his thrusts, while his hands held mine above my head and pinned them to the mattress. Writhing beneath him, my breath came in gasps, and my excitement rose like mercury in a thermometer, as I groped for the unfamiliar wavelength of out-of-control.

Finally, his eyes glazed over with passion. “Oh my cock, my nuts!” he moaned, humping like a crazed animal. “I’m going to come now. Take my come woman. Take it!”

Buy Perfect Strangers at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

At 73, Dorothy Freed claims to be the oldest, practicing erotica writer in the SF Bay Area. This may
or may not be true, but it’s her story and she’s sticking to it. Dorothy Freed is the pseudonym of a Bay Area writer, who lives with her husband, two senior rescue dogs, and a formerly, feral grand-cat in a coast-side community near San Francisco. She combines the roles of being a humane human, who stands up for animals and the natural world—with being a writer of sizzling hot, erotica. Her stories are memoir-based, inspired by her participation in the casual sex lifestyle, and later, the BDSM Scene.


Dorothy’s website, DorothyFreedWrites contains her blog, SIXTY-NINE AND STILL SEXUAL.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

I get to have lunch with Desiree Holt on Sunday. This article is 6 years old so I guess she's 82 this year.