Amsterdam

The other day I mentioned on here a swinger club we used to visit in Amsterdam and someone asked me if I would please tell more, and when I started to write I just kept going further and further back until it became the story of my sex life, almost. Sorry it’s a bit long-winded, but the swinger club is there at the end, you just have to start here and work your way towards it, a bit like I did in real life.

I’m not sure when I became aware that I have a sexual appetite that is much higher than most other girls will own up to, and it may even be higher than they really do have, although I think almost all women still fib to their partner or husband about that, just because it’s still not acceptable for a woman to want sex in the same way and to the same extent as a man. A groom on his stag night is considered a stud if he has 50 women on his scorecard before he met the little lady. A woman on her hen night is a slut if she owns up to more than 10 or 15 men. Not fair, but true anyway.

So I think my needs aren’t that different to most women, except I do something about it, and I’m honest about it afterwards. Thatsaid, I’m sure there are some women who just sit in puddles of hot goo wishing they could get fucked and don’t act on those feelings and desires.

I did, even before I knew what they were. I used to sit on the arms of big comfy armchairs and rub myself because it felt nice. I had no idea why, or what I was really doing, because I was too young. But my Mum used to give me 50p to stop, especially when we had visitors. I was 11 when I took my own virginity like that, on the arm of a chair, by accident, like a lot of girls do with horses.

By the time I was 12 or13 I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it, and I could already make myself cum, either like that or better still with my fingers. I was playing with my pussy two, three or even four times a day at school, either under the desk or in the Girls’ toilets, and I’d do it again as soon as I got home, and again in the evening, and then sending myself to sleep the same way

When I was 14 I found out how much better it was if someone else did it, and I also found out how easy it was to get boys to do it for you, and I’ve done both ever since, really. As you may know, I’ve always liked young boys, and I was still choosing boyfriends of 16 and 17 when I was 22 or 23. By which time all my friends knew me as the girl who never said no. Mostly because I didn’t want to I suppose, but also because it was easier than arguing. Honestly, sometimes it’s quicker and easier to get it over with than to say no. And a lot more fun as well, as long as you don’t worry too much about what people think. So I’ve fucked quite a lot of guys I didn’t really fancy, or even like very much, and as well as that I gave loads of sympathy bjs to the ones I really didn’t want to fuck (mostly because it would have too many complications or consequences) and so I had a lot of cocks in my mouth (Rog says hundreds and he’s the accountant) that never made it to my pussy.

I learned early that I have to be careful about exactly what I let a guy do. A hand in my knickers used to make it impossible for me not to want a fuck, an even now makes it hard for me to stop a guy from going any further. I mean really very difficult indeed. And if I let you take my knickers off (or don’t notice you doing it) then that’s the end of that because that’s my psychological barrier, and once I take them off I definitely AM going to fuck you. Roger loves that. He also likes it when I take them off halfway though the evening, or even don’t wear any at all, because it just means I’m going to fuck anyone and everyone. They don’t all ask, of course, but the ones who do are always lucky.

I read on the internet that the inability to refuse an offer of sex is the modern definition of nymphomania, although the condition doesn’t exist in medical dictionaries any more in case it’s derogatory to women. Instead it’s called hypersexuality, but it still appears to mean a girl who can’t refuse, rather than a girl who’s driven to ask for it everywhere she goes by some unknown burning in her pants. I seem to be somewhere in the middle. I hardly ever say no, but I always thought that was because I’ve got a permanent warm dribble in my knickers.

So who knows? All I can tell you is that I’ve always wanted it and needed it, and always allowed people I didn’t particularly like to have me as well, always with enjoyable results. Why would you say no?

I suppose I did realise quite early that the constant trickling in my knickers wasn’t usual, but to begin with I just thought it was teenage hormones, and anyway I didn’t have much to compare it with. And to begin with I thought all my friends were shagging all the boys who wanted it as well, but I sort of got the idea from my early boyfriends that I was a lot more willing and enthusiastic than they were used to, and like I said before, I soon got a reputation as a girl who can’t say no. But I had no way of knowing it was that unusual, and in fact I didn’t worry about it a great deal. I was enjoying it. I was young, fit and healthy and getting fucked as often as I wanted. Who’s complaining?

But what do you say when you’re 22, you’ve had a morning shag, sent the boyfriend to work, and you’re still lying in bed, about to be very late for work because you’re vibing your brains out and gagging for more cock. Any cock, at times like that (still true, to be honest) and I had plenty of them, I can tell you. I mean, it’s so easy. Just call up anyone you know, ask him to pop round, say you’ve got something that needs fixing, he comes round – and fixes it. It’s a bad habit that I started when I was single and living alone and just couldn’t give up when I had a regular boyfriend.

How many times did I call in sick at 9.30am, pleading a headache or girl problems, when in reality I was lying in bed with two fingers in my pussy, waiting for someone to come and sort me out. And I learned early on that a random stranger, or even just an illicit cock from someone you know but shouldn’t have sex with, worked far better than the cock you are meant to have and sometimes had only just finished with.

Now look at me. 40 years old, still want a fuck almost all the time, though over the years I have got a lot better at making myself wait. But it’s not easy, especially since it’s often not just a fuck that I want, but a bad fuck, a naughty one, from someone I shouldn’t fuck. And it’s even better still when it’s in public, in front of an audience, which these days has to include hubby cos I like him seeing me fuck other men. It makes it ruder, and satisfies the itch better.

Even so it’s true that scratching the itch doesn’t make it go away, not for long anyway, and in fact just irritates so it needs scratching harder, longer and more often. Some days nothing works. You wake up horny and you can play, vibe, fuck, do anything or anyone you like, and it doesn’t go away. So in my twenties, when all my friends were pairing off and settling down, I was going through men like nobody’s business, though I occasionally managed to hang on to a steady partner for a few weeks and even months, usually until they caught me with my pants down.

And then along came Rog, and it was a breath of fresh air because all of a sudden instead of trying to keep it all hidden I had someone to share it with, someone to play with. And that’s what it was like. Playing with sex. We’d talk about it, think about it, and then do it. We tried everything we could think of, really everything, but it wasn’t like it is today.

The internet was only just starting to work then, so you couldn’t find all the stuff that’s available now. So instead of Yahoo, we just went to pubs and clubs and bars and fooled around, flashing, fondling and fucking. A lot.

Then we went to Amsterdam, and that was so good we used to go two or three times a year, and had several really good weekends there, all of which are blogs by themselves, I suppose. The first time we went, we ended up in a big pyramid-shaped nightclub with rows of seats like a stadium, so I could sit with my skirt up and my knees apart and my knickers at eye level with people dancing. That was a lot of fun, and I ended up with a boy called Adrian, of all things, leaning against the wall in an alley that was lined with couples from the club, also having a fuck. They didn’t all have their husband holding their coats, of course, but there you are.

Anyway, we heard about a swinger club called Fun For 2 or something like it, and it sounded amazing, because of course no such thing existed in England then. We went, found it a lovely, clean and very posh place, cross between a nightclub and a restaurant and a hotel with no locks, and filled not with sad old couples like you read in the Sunday papers, but young and rather beautiful ones. We watched, I showed off, we chatted, fondled, snogged, fingered and eventually both had a fuck, and thought it was the best thing you could do at the weekend. After that we went back to Amsterdam twice more, I think, and went to the club both times, before we heard about the young men.

It’s couples only, but on Fridays each couple is allowed to bring a single man as a guest, allegedly for their own pleasure. What happens is they just bring a young friend who can’t get in any other way, and then everyone kind of helps themselves to a spare one. They’re all young (under 30), usually gym-fit, and we were told they’re also well developed in the boxer shorts. When this old chap we met in the hotel bar (yes, I did) was explaining about Friday nights I went all weak at the knees, with hot flushes in my knickers, which may well have convinced me to let him in there, though I was probably going to anyway. I love foreign accents. Anyway, he saw the ligt in my eyes when he explained what a grote lul was, and so did Rog. Before I could think of a polite way of suggesting to my future husband that the prospect of a club full of fit young men with large cocks was making my pussy ooze, he was already planning a visit on a weekend when I was in supernympho mode, for three nights of serious sex with dozens of large cocks as the main event. I think that was when I realised he wasn’t just humouring me with the random fucking, he really likes it at least as much as me, if not more. Bless him.

On Thursday morning we flew out from Manchester, biggest tourist attraction the Curry Mile, and on Thursday evening we were in Amsterdam’s Red Light district, huddled together in the Banana bar watching strippers put bananas in their pussies and feed them to guys drinking at the bar. It was a different world. I love it there, Everyone wandering the streets is so happy, in and out of the sex shops, looking at the hookers in the shop windows, some of them amazingly pretty young girls. I bought a little blonde one for Rog, on condition I could have her first. We had to pay her double, but it was worth it to handle her, and feed Roger’s cock into her cute little pussy, though she didn’t really put any love into her work. Rog said she was a pretty little thing to fuck, but he wasn’t fussed about her really.

Later on there was a cloudburst, huge, fat heavy summer raindrops, so we dived into the nearest bar, me with a white summer dress stuck to me like clingfilm, making my boobs look ruder than naked, Rog said, and making my tiny little thong as visible as if it was on the outside of the dress. We got talking to a bunch of Brits, all guys, but what do you expect in Amsterdam, drank too much and showed off too much. I ended up snogging them all, pretty much ,and shagged the ugly one against the wall outside the toilets.

I may have blogged this before, I’m not sure. But I was horny as a teenage boy on Viagra, my knickers were wetter than my dress and snogging and fondling with the lads could only ever have one outcome. It came at the bottom of a flight of stairs, with Rog peeping out of the boys’ room door a few feet away, me with my dress hitched up and my feet wide apart, just a quick and dirty hump for a minute or two, but it made two of us cum, and the cocky handsome ones were properly pissed off when spotty git came back upstairs with a smile a foot wide and told them what he’d been doing. He said he wouldn’t tell, but I made him promise he would, and he did. Watching their faces across the bar was perfect.

Friday night was the big one, and I woke up wet thinking about all these well-endowed young men waiting for me. I should have known better. When we got there we found that there were about 25 fit lads, surrounded by a crowd of about 100 couples, not all the women young and pretty, but all and gagging for the lads. The club rule is lingerie at 10.30pm, which means whatever you like for girls, but lovely tight boxers for the boys, so you could really see what was on offer. I love looking at men in tight boxers. Makes my mouth water and my pussy boil. And as promised, some of these were indeed big packages.

There’s something about a big cock that makes me go all weak at the knees, as well as all gooey in the knickers, and I just can’t help myself wanting it and making it pathetically obvious as well. Roger knows what I’m like and I think he’s a treasure to put up with it. Can’t be easy for a man, watching his wife get wet and excited looking at men with bigger cocks than yours, and then virtually begging them to fuck her, can it? And you can imagine what I was like with so many of them on view. It wasn’t just the invited studs, either. Some of the couples were very young and pretty girls with men who were equally as good at filling their Calvins as the studs.

But it was the studs I wanted, and my knickers were on fire when I introduced myself to one of them, and realised he was quite willing to fuck me there and then. We went to one of the erotic rooms, as they called them, where some people fuck and some just watch, and when he put his hand between my legs he must have thought I’d not been fucked in ten years. It was like a river. I couldn’t wait for sucking and foreplay though and just dragged him in like a greedy bitch. Huge and hard, he filled me completely, but it was all so wet he could just start fucking as fast as he liked and he did that all right, and in no time at all I was yelling and wailing and cumming, and attracting a fair bit of attention, according to Rog. It was exciting enough being fucked by him, handsome, well-mannered and big, but what had got me into that state was the other 24 just like him in the bar downstairs.

There was no way of getting all of them inside me of course, especially because they all wanted to give good value and get recommended so they’d be invited back again. I tried to make them hurry, and though the rooms all had bowls of condoms on every shelf, it’s a free choice, and I reckoned that going without might speed things along, which it did, but probably not by much. Then after the fourth one, when I’d been fucked silly and didn’t care about anything except cock, which is a state I can get in sometimes, I just lay back on my couch and let the spectators keep me going with their fingers until Rog came back with the next one. I got the first four, he brought me six more, and for a long time that 10 was something of a record.

Although it’s been passed in numbers, I don’t think it’s ever been passed in quality. They were all fit young men with very big cocks and each one of them tried his best to fuck my brains out, and they all pretty much succeeded. Better still, I was on my back with my legs apart being filled with cock and watched by the other people in the room. There were over 100 couples there, and there were 20 people watching me at any one time, Rog said, and I love being watched. But it wasn’t just me. All the older married women had a good audience when they were matched with one of the young studs. It seems it’s a popular pairing, and it’s certainly one I like, and I did my best to make the most of the opportunity until 4 am when the club closed and we had to leave. I was still quivering and could hardly walk, but very, very happy. It was a fantastic evening, with every component of a girl’s best sexual fantasy, and I still replay it in my mind.

Incredibly, I was able to stand the next day, so we did the canal walk and so on, and then on Saturday night we went to watch some shows. Sex shows. If you’ve never been you can’t believe that people just fuck on stage right in front of you, but that’s what happens. It is strangely normal in that city, but still about the rudest thing you can see in public. Some shows are better than others, glitzier and better-presented, but in the end it’s the conytent, and we found a place with pretty girls and more importantly, pretty boys.

Even so, there was a girl in the audience who was hornier than anything on stage. She’d attached herself to a group of about a dozen young American guys, all in some athletics t-shirt, all big, muscle-bound black guys, and she was all over them. I mean, literally all over them, clambering from lap to lap, kissing and cuddling and rubbing her pussy on their thighs, their shoulders and almost in their faces. If she’d kept it up any longer they would have pinned her down and put an end to her desperation on the floor in front of the stage. As it was her knickers were so wet I thought one of the stiff cocks she was rubbing herself against would be able to get inside her, but sadly it never happened, and then we got thrown out.

Apparently, you can only watch fucking in these shows, you can’t actually do it as well. How weird. Anyway, Rog said I was the horniest sight in the show till I was asked to leave. And I was the horniest thing in the bar we went to next, or at least I can promise you no-one there was hornier than me or wanted a fuck more urgently. So I picked on a a really good-looking lad in a crowd of boys, snuggled up, stroked his cock and said do you fancy a fuck? And you know what? He did. Lucky me.

I’ll tell you what fascinated Rog, though. After Friday night’s sex marathon, not only was I at least that horny again the next day, but this lad’s decent but not enormous cock felt every bit as good going in as the previous ten. I loved being fucked by him and he made me cum just as much as I could do in the next couple of hours and I was glad we decided to bring him back to the hotel and not just have a quickie in the toilet or the street. But I was worn out quite quickly, and Rog persuaded him to leave by giving him his taxi fare, which made me feel deliciously as if I’d paid for his services. What a great city.

Sadly it’s all closing down now. A new mayor is putting a stop to the sex shows and the hookers and so on, so where can you go for nights like those? Rog and I had planned to go back and tick a few more boxes, I wanted to sit in one of those shop windows in my underwear, see what it feels like to be a hooker, and I wanted to get on stage properly in one of the sex shows, be a sex performer, and get fucked in front of an audience. But it’ll never happen now

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