A group of men and women sit around talking candidly about their s** lives.
Hi, I’m Paul, the host of this party. Welcome. Come in. Thanks for stopping by to read my story.
We were all sitting around the big screen, plasma TV watching the Super Bowl one year. I had invited all of my best buddies to watch the game with me. There were 21 of us guys, including me. Our wives and girlfriends were upstairs drinking wine, laughing, talking about kids and complaining about us, no doubt. We could hear the women getting louder, as they drank more.
During half time, instead of watching the recap of the game and the half time show, as a lark, I thought it would be a fun thing for each of us to confess what his personal, s***** peccadillo was. Only, I was shocked by what happened next.
Instead of going around the room with each guy sharing a few intimate details about his s** life and about his wife or girlfriend, it turned into a men’s meeting, an open forum with no holds barred and nothing held back on s***** peccadilloes, so much so that we actually turned off the Super Bowl to talk about what we did with our wives or girlfriends behind closed doors. Then, when we weren’t even halfway through the group, wondering what we were doing and why it was so quiet, the wives and girlfriends all filed downstairs to join us.
Before it gets too confusing, allow me to introduce you to my friends. Anthony is with Ramona, Bob with Sue, Charlie with Helen, Dave with June, Eddie with Elaine, Frank with Rose, Gary with Cindy, Henry with Barbara, Jim with Samantha, John with Amanda, Larry with Diane, Michael with Yvonne, Nick with Nancy, Peter with Wendy, Randy with Francesca, Roy with Irene, Steve with Linda, Tom with Mary, Vinnie with Kathy, and Wayne with Gloria, and I’m Paul and that’s my wife, Paula.
We filled our wives and girlfriends in on what we were talking about, s**, s**, and more s**. Instead of shock, we received titillation and interest from the women. It appeared, after having a few drinks, they were just as interested in talking about s** as we were. Only, we never figured they’d want to participate in our impromptu s***** confessions. Women don’t normally talk about s** with men, especially in this large a group.
Figuring they’d never confess their s***** secrets, but hoping with the alcohol they’ve already consumed that they would, coerced and encouraged by their husbands and boyfriends, I asked if any of them wanted to make a s***** confession. I couldn’t believe when they were eager to participate. I should have known, since she’s a s******, still, I couldn’t believe when Cindy started the s***** confessions rolling.
Cindy, Gary’s wife, both swingers and in the swinging lifestyle was first to confess with her confession that she loved big, black c****. Then, June, Dave’s wife, told the group that she was a lesbian, albeit, bi-s*****, and had a few lesbian affairs during her senior year at college. It was my wife, Paula, who raised her hand next telling the group that she had an affair with a black midget, a door-to-door salesman, who turned her on by peeking up her short skirt at her p******. Ramona said that her confession involved the s** toys and that she’s addicted to her d**** and v******* and cannot have an o***** without them and while she s**** her husband’s c***. Wendy was next to volunteer her s***** confession telling everyone that she enjoys having forced s**, having her clothes pulled from her gorgeous body and being taken. Finally, Yvonne confessed that her biggest turn on was a romantic evening and she recounted the romantic evening her husband gave her on her thirtieth birthday.
“Okay, then, is there anyone else who wants to make a s***** confession? Anyone at all. Don’t be shy. A bunch of your friends have already made their confessions. This is a time to get it all off your chest. C’mon, it doesn’t have to be a s***** confession.”
“Yeah, it could be a dumb confession like the one Yvonne just made about romance,” said Steve with a laugh that stopped abruptly when his wife, Linda, gave him another elbow shot in the ribs.
“I have one,” said Amanda, John’s wife.
Amanda was very tall, maybe 5’9″ or 5’10” and slender. She was attractive, especially if you liked the professional career oriented type of woman. She had straight shoulder length brown hair that always looked so perfect that you’d want to walk over to her and muss her hair with your hands. She worked as an executive assistant to the president of a large insurance company. She was the type of woman who I’ve never seen with the same outfit on twice. She had a lot of clothes and she wore a lot of business suits. She even carried a briefcase to work. Some would mistake her for a doctor or a lawyer, instead of an executive assistant.
“You’ve been quiet,” I said. “We haven’t heard from you at all, Amanda.”
I looked at her wondering what s***** secrets she hid behind that smooth, professional veneer. It’s always the quiet ones who are the tigers ready to pounce on the unsuspecting. In the way she looked, always so put together, and the way she talked, enunciating every syllable of every word, she could pounce on me any time.
“I’ve been taking it all in,” she said. I wanted to see how all of this played out before confessing my s***** secrets and discussing my private life so openly with all my friends.”
“Well, the floor is all yours, Amanda,” I said taking my seat to listen to what she had to say.
“I’m not sure if what I have to say is a s***** confession, but my husband John tells me that it is. He said that I have a fetish or two or three. I always thought that you had to be of the opposite s** to have a fetish when it came to women’s clothes, such as Henry with his p**** fetish. Then, when I thought about it, I guess I do have a fetish or two with shoes and underwear.”
“Now, we’re talking,” said Steve rubbing his hand together in the way that a fly rubs its legs together.
“One more peep, Stephen, and we’re going home,” said Linda. “You’ve embarrassed me enough for one day.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t say another word,” said Steve.
Everyone clapped and cheered their approval to Stephen’s promise of silence.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” said Stephen accepting everyone’s teasing.
“For those of you who don’t know, I work in an office. I’m the assistant to the president of a large insurance company. Because of my job, I must maintain a certain image. Consequently, I have a lot of clothes.”
“You always look nice,” said Kathy, Vinnie’s wife.
“Thank you,” said Amanda.
“I love what your wearing today,” said Sue. “Is that Angora?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Amanda. “Purple is my favorite color.”
“Gees, are we going to talk about s***** fetishes or fashion,” said Steve and ducking from the expectant blow of his wife’s elbow.
“Sorry,” said Amanda. “It was recently that I noticed just how many clothes I have. I was shocked. I never realized how much clothing I have until I was running out of room in my large walk-in closet that’s more like a dressing room than it is a closet. Every rack, shelf, and drawer is filled with clothes. It was when I started reorganizing things to see what I could give away to charity that I found clothes that I haven’t worn and clothes that still have the price tags on and have completely forgotten about. I don’t even remember when and where I bought them. It was shocking to me.”
“No one has more shoes than Cindy,” said Gary. “Last count she had nearly 100 pairs of shoes and sneakers.”
“I like shoes,” said Cindy. “What can I tell you? If a witch was to turn me into a centipede, I’d have enough footwear.”
“See, that’s my point,” said Amanda. “John was nice enough to help me to realize that I may have a problem, a fetish is what he called it. Tell them how many pair of shoes you counted in my closet.”
“You won’t believe this, it took me an hour to count them all, but I counted six hundred and sixty seven pair of shoes. It’s a good thing we live in a big house with dressing rooms for walk-in closets. Otherwise, we would have noticed how many pairs Amanda had long ago.”
“Gees, Amanda,” said my wife Paula with a laugh. “I wish you took a smaller size. Otherwise I’d be over your house to borrow shoes any time I needed a pair.”
“I know, isn’t it crazy,” said Amanda. “No one needs six hundred and sixty seven pair of shoes.”
“That number would have dwarfed any number, only Amanda has more bras and p****** combined than shoes.”
“No way,” said Henry with a gulp, the man with a p**** fetish. He doesn’t wear women’s p******. He only likes to see them and touch them. “How many pair of p****** do you own?”
“You’d be in p**** Heaven if Amanda was to invite you in her master bedroom dressing room closet,” said John. “Are you ready for this? She owns one thousand two hundred and nine pair of p******.”
“Oh, my Lord,” said Henry and making everyone laugh. “I’d feel as if I was left alone and locked in Victoria’s Secret, after they closed the store.”
“Bras, she only has four hundred and twenty-two,” said John with a laugh.
“It never occurred to me that I have a fetish, but I do. I have a shoe fetish and I have a lingerie fetish. I realized that, even though I have more shoes, p******, and bras than I can possibly wear in a lifetime, I never go into a store without buying a pair of shoes, p****** and/or bra. Part of it is that I’ve taken the same sizes since high school and some of the shoes and lingerie that I own is old. Still, that’s no excuse to have such an excessive amount of clothing.”
“Yeah, but a fetish is when you’re s******* excited over something, right,” asked Linda, Steve’s wife?
“Well, according to Freud a fetish doesn’t have to have a s***** connotation to be deemed a fetish. A fetish could be anything that you place a very high importance upon,” said Charlie. “Let me ask you a question, Amanda. How do you feel just before buying a pair of shoes or another pair of p**** or bra?”
“I’m excited,” she said with a laugh, “nearly as excited as I am when I’m about to have s**. And even if I made a decision to donate some of my shoes and throw out some p****** and bra, I can’t. I’m attached to them all, especially the new ones that I found buried in the bottom of my closet, still in department store bags, with the price tags still on them.”
“Wow,” said Henry. “Welcome to my world, not only do you have a shoe and bra fetish but also you have a p**** fetish. Maybe I can come over sometime and go through your closet and allow me to see all your p******.”
“Not is this lifetime,” laughed Amanda.
“Who’s next,” I said laughing at the fact that I was beginning to sound like a carnival barker asking for new victims to be part of the sideshow