Love lipstick. I watched a woman putting hers on in her car today, outside a mall,
and when she saw me watching her, she looked guilty, and hid her mouth from me.
She knew.

As soon as they become aware of it, girls call it "lick stick". They know.

I love to see it heavily-applied to a female's mouth, knowing it will be smeared and rubbed off by what she will be doing, and she knows that, and yet she applies it anyway, and so carefully.

Actually, I love to see it smeared on carelessly. Just a bright color to draw attention to that mouth. mouth is where the action is, so much of it.

wonder what "Revlon" means?

"Max Factor" says it all.

In our pictures on this site, I look at the girl mouths to see the state of the lickstick.

My favorite is when it is heavy along the sides of the mouth hole and all gone from the middle of the lips.

or when people have been writing on female flesh with it... there is ground for a whole literature there, waiting to be written on female bodies, if they will hold still.

I used to work in a little foundry which was very hot. Each day at the end of work, I'd go home, shower and go in and lie on the bed still wet, with a fan blowing on me, I think. I'd close the door to the room my wife and I shared, and my boys were very good about letting Daddy rest.

I lay there naked, asleep, til she woke me for dinner.

One day, I came to very drowsily, on my back, eyes closed, swimming up from sleep, and gradually realized someone was working on my dick!

I raised my head (did not resist) and it was my best friend's wife, sucking me.
When she realized I was awake, she raised her head, couldn't look me in the eye, being bashful, and smiled. She said "Dinner's ready," and simply left the room.

I don't know if my wife put her up to it or not. They were very sexually liberated times.

At a party one night, things got quiet as the hours passed until there were about 8 of us sharing drinks and chatting.

One fellow had brought a new girlfriend, and she was stacked, as they used to say, and wore a short dress.

The householder's pit bull had been going to each person and trying to smell our privates, and when it got to her, she just let it. She was the only one not to resist.

The dog pressed his muzzle up her dress and between her legs. We made some loud noises and she rolled her eyes as if embarrassed but did nothing to make the dog stop.

At length, the dog hopped up and mounted her leg and began hunching. She leaned back, looking shocked, but again doing almost nothing to make it stop. The dog worked on her leg until he hopped and tried to insert himself between her legs.

At that point, her date made the dog stop, but it took some doing. She was very flushed in her face, the dog had a complete hard-on and was dripping precum or cum. We were rather silent then, and I was convinced that, if no one else had been there, she'd have let the dog have her. It seemed obvious, and later others said they thought the same.

I never saw her again. She was like a wet dream that way. In fact, I don't think I went back to that house, though I had no problem with what happened. The owner was a nut and I avoided him. It was an amazingly sexy incident that I have only seen three or four times.

Here I am.
There she was.

She copped a feel.
I copped a buzz.

I don't know what happened.
I was drunk in the bed.

Her boyfriend grabbed me
and gave me head.

One night, late, I stood where the Greyhound bus came in and for some reason, exposed my ultra-hard dick to whatever passengers felt like looking. The windows were tinted and I couldn't see who was looking out.

Living dangerous.

When the bus stopped, a woman got off and walked briskly right up to me -- I covered my privacy in my cut-offs but it was bulging big -- she was wearing glasses, looked conservative, but leaned toward me eagerly and said "Can I help you?"

I was taken aback by her boldness, but I said "Well, yes." and we went behind a nearby bush, right beside the town's main road and within 50 feet of the bus, and she helped me good. She smiled and rubbed her tummy and walked back and got on the bus.

I went home and still had enough inspiration from her to jack off thinking about her.

She used to taunt me with it.

She knew better.

Knew not to run around the house dressed the way she did/did not.

I silently, deperately prayed for my girlfriend, her mother, to take her in hand, but that one seemed oblivious, no matter how obvious the skin shows became.

Always lying on her belly exactly in a line between me and the TV screen, on the carpet, panties sometimes nearly sheer. Legs always changing positions, including spread-eagle.

I tried to keep my eyes on the tube, but someone could have stolen it most nights and I wouldn't have noticed.

And then always appearing suddenly, very late, when her mother was elsewhere, dolling up for bed, and straddling my lap, burying her face against my neck, making little sounds for me. Looking into my eyes shyly, and sometimes boldly, smoldering a few times like no female I have ever seen.

Conversations leading places I wasn't sure about. Questions freighted with unspoken meaning. Often, I simply could not reply. A few times I felt paralyzed, as if she had almost taken control of my mind.

One day her mother said "Did you know that when we went boating today, your dick and balls were plainly visible to her?" I said No, how could that have been, with me facing the front of the boat and her behind me. Mama said "She told me she could see everything you have in the pilot's mirror."

I pointed out that I had no way of knowing what could be seen in a mirror from any angle other than my own, but I wondered why I had been kind of accosted on this point, given the permanent skin show she allowed at home.

I had made a mistake, and told the mother I did not intend to marry her; in fact, would be more likely to kill her if confined to daily contact. I try to be honest.

Soon after, the mother left off blowing me to go to the bathroom about 3 a.m. and left the bedroom door wide open with the hall light on. In rushed the girl, who threw herself over my naked midsection and surrounded my privates instantly. She was just beginning to lunge for my hard-on with her little mouth when I pushed her off me and yanked a sheet over my crotch. This happened in less than one second, so that I think it's possible she did not even get a clear look at my manhood, much less a taste, as she was obviously dying to have.

She ran out and when her mother returned to finish me off, slurping, begging, leaving the door wide open with the light on in the hall, I never let on that anything had (almost) happened.

I was almost lost in a wilderness of makeup mirrors when I saw a way out one day and took it.

I knew a man who married a stupendously well-built honey blonde, and it was what you would expect -- a whirlwind thing -- and then invited his family down to meet her.

Thing was, she quickly revealed a penchant for going naked around the house, and would not be talked back into her clothes. She said she'd done it all her life, as had her parents, and theirs, and she only hoped her new family would honor her wishes and let her go naked in the home.

What tits she had! Antigravity tit! Jutting far out to sea.

His family would never visit again, nor let her visit, and she was soon gone from that marriage, wedded to another, luckier man and his lucky family. Her name was Nancy. She is one of my heroes.

She could not admit it, but I found out in time that she could not cum until I twisted my fingers in her hair and talked terrible to her as I used her head to jack myself off with. She slobbered and drooled, then. Whined and whimpered. mashed her mouth on me until we were really neck-fucking, more than mouth-fucking. I could see the bulge of my hard-on protruding in her neck. Even when she could barely breathe, she never wanted it to stop. She sounded desperate, slurping, gasping for a little bit of breath, the dick making popping sounds as it went in and out of her neck-hole like a cork, and she would whine loudly until twice we were actually interrupted by her mother (always just demanded "What are you DOING???!!!" and when we paused, she'd instantly retreat and close the door behind her, gently.

She whined because she needed it so, and because she was wanting sperm, wanting to force my dickhead into her neck to feel it pulsate and know the load was bypassing her taste buds totally and just going straight into her upper stomach.

She often nursed on it gently for me for a long time after I fed her cum, making small, sweet sounds, as if to show her complete approval, and to express her affection for me, and to let me know how much she loved it, what we were doing.

She would cum sometimes while helping me fuck her neck, and always again, just after she took care of my load. She finger-fucked herself when her hands were barely free from holding her cum-hole in perfect position for me.

Do any of you other girls do this?

I knew a prosecutor in a major American city who used to go down to a road alongside the city jail wearing nothing but a trench coat and expose her good body to the men she had put in there.

Lived with a wealthy insurance executive's daughter who got mad at me one night because I was too inexperienced and shy to go along with her fucking the german shepherd of a man who picked us up hitch hiking in France. I still regret it!

Beautiful, delicate daughter of Washington D.C.'s mayor asked me in a soft, romantic voice if I would make a "blue" movie with her, but she asked at the dinner table and her parents overheard. I was asked to leave. I don't know what she was asked to do.

A secret thing keeps appearing in many of these true murder documentaries so pervasive on American TV this last decade.

It is a factor which, if plugged into existing data, will often furnish answers and shine bright lights on dark places:

people are often killed while doing something kinky -- unmentionable, so it is excluded from investigation!!! Amazing absurdity. Once in awhile, a slight reference is tentatively, shyly proferred, before we are hurried back to look at footprints and cigarette butts.

Keep the focus on the 'what if?' and voila!

Recall the recent disappearance of a cuckold husband off a cruise ship in Greek waters? Read the details and know.

Maybe the same factor in the Ramsey case. No sign of entry because the perp was an overnight guest. Incriminating, phony ransom letter (demanded $118,000 a week after father John received a $118,000 bonus from his company -- a drunken catastrophe manager flailing to cover up, personally innocent of the crime, but needing to hide complicity in the act that led to the murder. Had to let the perp go, or he'd tell all.)