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Archive-name: 3plus/eileen02.txt

Archive-author: Pace

Archive-title: Eileen - 2





                      Standard Preface:

  This is correspondence with a man who used the pseudonym Pace.  He

wrote me from about 1979 till 1987, because I answered an ad in a

swinger's magazine.  I never met him.  I have no idea what has

happened to him since 1987.  He was born in the late 1920's and felt

he might have a heart condition.  He may have died suddenly, because

the correspondence unaccountably went blank in mid-stream.  Or he

could be alive.  It bothers me.  He was obsessed with performing sex

with his wife before groups of men.  She was very pretty, gullible,

and very much his junior.  The period of intense sex performance he

wrote about extended from 1967 to 1972.  But he covered everything

leading up to it and beyond.

  The material was scanned from typewritten pages and dot matrix

print-out.  Then edited and edited.  If Pace's writing "voice" seems

to change suddenly, blame my editing.  Everything was originally

written "in one long string".  Time and sequence are "bugs" of his,

and loom large.  But all else is chaos.  This man neglects typos and

grammar, can switch from the vulgar to the pedantic in the flick of

an eye.  His personality was very Schiz, his lifestyle was, too, and

so was his writing.  I give you Pace, as he was, heavily edited and

revised.  He is honest, and self-admittedly an opinionated, bigoted

man.  That's him, not me, please don't shoot the messenger.

____________________________________________________________________

--------------------------------------------------------------------



           How I'm Going to Show Off my Wife's Sexy Body



  Now it's clear I'm not a writer.  But, I'll tell you this, this

story is not one of those dumb juvenile porno whack-off stories, or

those stupid, really asshole scripts you come across in all the dumb,

really dumb porno movies.  That stuff is so jaded, so boring.  You

know what gets me?  The poor younger generation, the kids in their

twenties and thirties.  Those fucking ripped-off kids think that the

stupid manufactured mass-production plastic standard General Motors

Issue asshole stuff they see in porno crappola has anything to do

with sex.  Garter belts and stockings and mechanical dildoes.  Oh,

Real, Real Shittola!!  That's nineteenth century whore crap, from

England, yet!!  Commercial crap to steal away your own exciting sex

imagination, like TV, and Coke, and drive an Accura Legend.  That's

Accura Legend SEX.  Garbage!!  It's grubby money horse-shit sex. 

That fucking business of coming off on girl's backs and cunts, all

that dumb shit. God, I'm glad I didn't grow up in a time of X-Rated

horseshit.  Marone a Mia!!!  (That's instead of taking the Mother of

God's name in vain).

  Anyway, I'm not a porno writer.  I'm not a fantasy fuck dreamer. 

But, before I get on with the main story I want to talk about this

product I dreamed up, all by my lonesome.  I've prepared a video that

illustrates what I talk about in these books.  These videos are

close-up views I took with the macro lens of a camcorder, focussing

on snapshots, still photos.  I've over-dubbed a voice script, to go

with the pictures.  I figured that these illustrative videos would

make the books very, very real.  They show still photographs of my

very young wife, Eileen in her ordinary activities, in daily life. 

You can see her the way she worked around the house.  See my wife,

for real, as a wife and mother to our kids.  Eileen was always a

good, loving mother.  But then the "fun" of the video are those

"other" pictures.  After you look at those precious family album

pics, you can see, mixed in, my sweetie pie, stuffing her mother-hole

with cock and huge veggies, chomping on dick.  How about that?

  In these books I've also written about my sex adventures with other

women and girls.  You can see sex pictures of them, too, in the video

collection.  What's interesting about both of them was that I took

the photos when I was teetering on the edge of 50, and both girls

were under twenty.  I took dirty photos of them, and was getting them

to suck off my dick.  Gorgeous little girls, like my wife was when I

first married her, and me a fat ugly Italian.



                   Eileen and Our Stag Party Routines



  Now for some realistic background on Eileen.  My wife performed her

first, and what I expected to be her only stag party at a packed

veteran's club in 1966 when she was only 24.  And the mother of two

little kids.  I looked old enough to be her fucking father, at 39. 

Fat and hairy and balding.  Pretty little Eileen didn't even look old

enough to have two kids.  She looked like a fucking bobby-soxer, a

high school girl, or a college freshman cheerleader.  We were totally

off the wall, as far as any stag audience was concerned.

  At the time Eileen was spreading her pussy so guys could get a look

up her hole, that same pussy had given birth to two small kids, our 6

year old boy and our pretty 4 1/2 year old daughter (not mine,

actually, as I later found out). I wanted to have that scene happen

once in my life, to see it for real, and I couldn't stop pinching

myself, I'd actually pulled it off.  Crazzy me!!

  Whore's did stag shows.  Doped up, crazy "nymphos", hopped up,

anything goes soon-to-die, who-gives-a-shit nymphos did stag shows. 

A married straight suburban housewife, with kids?   Nobody, but no

married woman ever, ever, ever did that, as far as these Clubs were

concerned.  Well, they didn't know everything, there were a few

others.  But nothing, virtually nothing compared to the regular stag

show activity.

  This is a knowledgeable guess, based on my own personal

solicitations of Clubs, practically all of which I turned down as

being too raunchy or wrong for what Eileen and I wanted.  Just some 

statistical estimates.  Averaged out over all the year, there are

maybe 150 marriages a week in Massachusetts.  Stag bachelor parties

back then, in the sixties, were held most often by industrial

workers, a lot of second-generation Italians or even more working

class Irish.  The only others who would have bachelor parties were

the scum of the colleges, the drunken fraternities, and they usually

had a party using a more feeble-minded or compliant girl-friend of

one of the members.  So the occasional lowlifes in the general

pupulation would have a stag party.  That would be the smallest

percent of all the couples, not the average middle class

church-goesrs, because the general run of the populations are too

straight, or it doesn't go with their lifestyle in this religious

uptight conservative New England.  But concentrating on Massachusetts

alone I'd guess, even back then, for bachelor parties, or parties

held for salesmen, or visiting firemen, or fraternities, of which

there was a shitload at the Boston colleges, in any week it would

have only been a few, like two or maybe even three or four parties

like that going on in any week. I admit, looked at cumulatively, it

may look like a lot, as much as a hundred to two hundred bachelor and

stag parties in any year.  These would be anything from a hired stud

and some hooker or hookers fucking for an audience, to sometimes,

maybe once a year somewhere in the State, the real adventurers would

have a real sex circus, animals and all, or combination stag shows

and drunken gang fucks.  But if you think about this happening among

about five million people, that's not a lot.

  In the entire New England States, all of the States, I'd heard from

the Clubs I worked with, there were maybe two or three other real

amateurs like us, at any one time, taking a chance.  Because when I

would arrange something, that would always be a chance for the guy

who was making the arrangements to bring up the question of whether

my wife and I would be willing to do this or that sex act that they'd

heard about some other amateur couple doing.  Each amateur had a very

different style, that was for sure. We didn't work by formula.  Often

these other couples were just like us, usually doing it for kicks. 

But they only tried it maybe once or twice, for the thrill of making

money fucking and having a good time in a sex exhibition.  Sort of at

random.

  The amateur that made a practice of it, in Massachusetts, was

asking for it; if they did it more than one or two times, sooner or

later there were always little local yokel cops at these shindigs,

and they'd rat to their Statie counterparts, just cop-to-cop

courtesy.  A careless couple would be set up for entrapment.  I went

to elaborate measures to avoid that, just in the way I worked it. 

Any amateur who came to the attention of the cops was sucked into

their sick game.  So that amateur would be off the scene pretty

quickly.  Eileen and I fucked for audiences all over New England, New

York City and New York State.  We spread ourselves thin, if you don't

mind the joke.

  But, in general, nobody in staid, uptight, sexually repressed New

England had ever heard of what we were doing, that is, in the

sixties.  In California, today, fuck it, it's like buying a hot-dog

at the beach.  No big deal.  It's an amateur hobby or second income.

But these are weird times.

  But what we were doing?  Where did you ever hear of an audience

being treated to a family-style (for real) slide show and home

movies, beforehand?  Just to give the affair that "homey" and "cozy"

flavor.  You get the impact??  That was a real kinky husband, for

sure!  My audiences dropped their socks with astonishment that it was

actually taking place.  They thought, always, that it was some kind

of joke, or hype, or "kicky" con that I was putting over on them.

Well, some six years, and 45 other stag shows, by 1972, my Eileen was

then a jaded a 30-year old mother of three kids.  At that point my

disgusted wife pulled out of doing stags forever.  Four years later

she would totally split from me.  We'd had a third kid, less than a

year after the first three stag shows, in 1967.  A short break.  In

case you've got a dirty mind; no, no, our third baby was not

conceived out of the pool of scum pumped off into my wife's bare

pussy hole at a stag party.  As a matter of fact, Eileen was three

months pregnant, and showing a little preggie belly at her third stag

party.

  That fun "party" the little pregnant mother had was her third stag

or it could have been her fourth party.  I've got a list, but it's

too much bother to look it up, right now.  Anyway, this bunch of stag

parties, about one a month, was like a crazy opportunity, they all

sort of all fell into my lap at once.  I'd been maneuvering for a

year, and everything came together at once.  I wasn't even assured by

Eileen that she'd be willing to do any more than just the first one,

if even that, but went ahead with the arrangements, anyhow.  Why not?

Arranging for it was pretty exciting, in itself.  I could always pull

out.  The young mother had "entertained" at that many parties in just

three or four months.  Three or four of them.

   And this third or fourth party was a real scum bag of a dirty gang

fuck.  Not like the first two or three parties.  Those first two

stags were a model of fun, they were really wild, better than we

could have ever imagined.  There were high jinks, the young mother

playing tease, everybody coddling her, enjoying her sweetness.  Not

like this sordid affair in a bowling alley in Connecticut.  In

Willmantic we had a crowd of real low life.  I'd gotten the lead from

other activity I'd indulged in, trying to line up parties.  Anyway,

at this affair there was Eileen spreading her pussy right on the

bowling alley, bowling naked, frigging her pussy with "duck pins",

blowing off line-ups in the men's room.   All the things guys had

ever wanted to do to all the gals they ever saw in a bowling alley

were acted out.  On my wife.  No family photos here.  Just a gal

walking into a bowling alley with a bunch of guys waiting, in nothing

but a coat and and her skin, and whammo! flash open the coat, showing

nothing on but black high heels and pussy and tits out for action.

  I've got a great series of nude photos I took of Eileen earlier

that same night.  I did these "rehearsals" in our living room, before

we did our stags.  It happened the first time we did a stag, and it

became a really important part of the ritual.  In these photos, which

are featured in the video, there is Eileen showing those tits and

pussy, just as she was ready to go for it that night.  The only

photos I got a chance to take that night were nudes.  These were

taken when we almost leaped for our "sex room" within moments after

our kids were picked up by Eileen's Mumsy for an overnight.  We

didn't waste time time fucking around with cameras, I'll tell you

that, for sure.  I had to get my rocks off into her, and Eileen had

to fuck her bloody head off, before we left.  It just had to happen. 

Period.  Otherwise the tension on the long ride from New Hampshire

down to Willimantic would have burst over on the road.  These

"rehearsals" were some of the most excited sex we ever had,

anticipating the main event, talking about what would happen at the

stag party, while we were fucking, there in our "sex room", and going

out of our heads over it, coming like crazy.

  Ah, but then there's the "aftermath".  You know what I mean?  You

know that "let-down" guys get after fucking?  The lethargy.  The

feeling of "what the fuck did we ever so that for?"  Eileen and I

would moan and groan, and look at each other, all worn out from

fucking, and laugh.   Oh, why the hell were we doing this?  Eileen

would go limp, looking at me.  Laughing at the both of us, calling us

both nuts.  We shouldn't go through with this.  We'd already gotten

our rocks off over the idea.  Nothing could be more exciting than

that.  How the hell was Eileen going to go through with this now? 

What the hell were we doing, going to a stag?  All the little woman

felt like doing, was going into her beddy-bye and snuggling up to the

pillow.

  And frankly, I didn't feel too peachy-keen on the whole idea,

either, post-coitus.  After fucking my girl, here I was in a normal,

rational state of mind.  In the clear light.  Ugh!  This was

screwball!  I looked at it the same way as the audience looked at me.

What kind of crazy was I to want a crowd of horny assholes sticking

their dicks into my wife, the good and kind mother of my kids?  

Ooo-oo-oh, what a weirdo!  I must be some sick puppy to have started

this.

  We sort of made ourselves do it.  We had no more desire to go

through with this than we had to wade through a tub of shit.  But we

had to.  We would laugh and groan, saying we'd fucked away our

evening, or our party.  And we were getting paid.  The idea of all

those guys waiting.  All the build up.  None of these Clubs ever

believed we'd ever really go through with it.  Couldn't blame them

for thinking I was just some kind of fruitcake, getting my rocks off

over an idea, a fantasy that I could never pull off.  Frankly, it was

just as well we fucked beforehand.  Who the hell could have taken the

tension, on the drive down?  You know, that was like a five hour

drive.  But the same thing used to happen those times, later on, when

we stayed nearby, in a motel.  The frantic fucking, beforehand.

  Ah, but then, there was the stag show itself.  Then all the

pre-fucking paid off.  Because we needed patience, and a clear head.

Once you've fucked, you're not that keen to fuck again, so the

fucking set me up to get into it unexcited, mostly, cold-blooded, and

protected.  Both Eileen and I both walked out of shows I'd arranged

that were suspicious, even after all of my screening.  Never started

them.  Sometimes there was just this feeling that we could be raided,

or the guys were acting too fidgety, as if they were not letting us

be in charge, but were leading us on, so they could do something I

expressly said we wouldn't do.  You know.  Like a shiftiness in the

eyes, an unwillingness to make eye contact, I just had the sense of

betrayal in the air.  It was like a sixth sense, a radar.  I'd heard

the horror stories and took them all seriously, every one of them. 

I'd say that one out of every four or five planned stags were like

that.  If we'd been all juiced up, too much, we probably would have

walked into some really nasty situations.  I don't want you to get

this wrong.  We were excited.  But not THAT excited, if you get what

I mean.

  Sort of something that grew out of this pre-stag "blowing off the

steam", or the cum, if you'll pardon the joke, happened more or less

the way it was destined to.  We ended up giving these little

"warm-ups", after the first year, or maybe less, with my "contact",

the guy who'd arranged it with me, or the MC.  Believe it or not, at

some of the stag shows we actually had an MC introducing us.  We'd

rehearse the thing with the guy, try to "lay it out".  Those were

really the best of the shows, when a guy was making funny remarks

into a mike while your wife was fucking on stage.  Hilarious, sexy,

funny, erotic, exciting, all of that.  Some of these guys were great

clowns, keeping the atmosphere light, while my wife fucked, either

me, or groups of guys, or male stud stag performers at "the party". 

I mean Eileen would be in the middle of blowing off some guy's dick,

and she'd catch the funny line and start laughing, with the dick in

her hand, I mean she'd stop sucking cock, and crack up.  The guys who

were waiting to be sucked off, the line-up, laughing their heads off.

HONEST!!!

  These guys, the MCs, usually wanted to get their rocks off first, a

sort of privilege.  WE knew it, but the MC and Eileen and I played a

little tease and seduction game, exciting, really.  It always ended

up with the guy and me fucking my wife Eileen's cunt and mouth

together in a threesome.  I'll tell you, sometimes, just because it

was ahead of the main event, in the empty hall, or on an empty stage,

without anyone there yet, it could bring on some of the most intense

orgasms, for all of us.  Our most solicitous and best MCs, on stage,

were guys who fucked Eileen's face or pussy ahead of the crowds.

  On the later stags it would sometimes be the officers of the

particular Club, union or managers and coaches and captains of the

team, a small group, who would take us to dinner, amazed at how

"normal" we were, as a couple.  Three to four to five or six guys

fucking Eileen, before "The Main Bang".  It was the time pressure, to

fuck Eileen before the herd came in, that pumped it all up.  It was

frantic, hectic, crazy, everybody laughing, because they all felt

they had to fuck my wife and get their rocks off into her pussy hole

or her mouth before the "gang came", a real pun.  A real competitive,

exciting atmosphere.  It was like they were "cuckolding" their

buddies or team-mates, getting one up on them, like fucking a lady in

her own house, in the marital bed, within minutes of the time the

husband was due home for supper.  Same kind and brand of excitement. 

The erections in these "warm-ups" were hard as rocks, not a limp dick

in a car-load.



                    A Description of Eileen



  At this point I realize that Eileen is sort of faceless.  I'll

remedy that.  If you're not part of that very intimate, special, and

favored crowd I've been screwy enough to send a copy of the video to,

I'll describe my pretty wife Eileen.  At least the way she looked

back then.  Eileen had a very pretty oval-shaped Irish-British face. 

Her looks were common in this country.  My little wife was a "type",

one of the prototypes of the All-American girl.  Eileen resembled

"Ivy League" women you usually associate with class, with

upper-class.  A lot of pretty clothing models look like Eileen in the

tonier catalogue order books that the smarter and richer and frugal

Yankee crowd shops from, catalogues for classic clothing, like "The

Talbots".

  There are a lot of model "types".  At the extremes are those with

these refined oval faces.  You've seen them, they look like royalty. 

At the other end are these large-jawed, wide-apart cat-eyed small

snub-nosed creatures, the Shirley Temple types.  Eileen's refined

oval face was crowned with a wavy halo of short, honey-colored hair. 

Her features are evenly spaced, none too large for the others, except

that her eyes are really big lamps.  Eileen's full brow was graced

with arching thick eyebrows, like Elizabeth Taylor's, and below these

were large, sparkling china-blue eyes.  Imagine a honey-colored hair

version of Elizabeth Taylor.  Eileen's jaw, unlike Elizabeth's, which

is slightly weak, is normally shaped, compared to another

English-Irish type, the lantern-jawed Irish or English.  Her skin was

the clearest of clear, almost pearl-like and translucent, and

occasionally her nose and upper cheeks got freckled in the sun.  She

had a straight strong nose, and shapely, soft, very definite pink,

beautiful lips framing a rather medium sized mouth, and regular,

evenly spaced, beautiful white teeth.  She also had a load of dental

work done on that mouth to make it perfect.

  I mention the teeth because the less wealthy Irish and English

girls of Eileen's age usually had poor teeth due to poor diets. 

Eileen had a brogue, charming, and that in spite of the fact she'd

been raised in this country from the time she was 3 1/2 years old. 

I'd expect that my most interested readers would have been born

during the pre-War, 1925 to 1940 period.  They may remember the

English actress Deborah Kerr.  Eileen looked like a mix between

Taylor and Kerr, somewhat similar to Kerr, with a stronger jaw, a

very classy dame.

  The companion video has been filmed in accordance with a script

which has also been included in the book collection, in case

particular readers don't have access to the video.  The script gives

the voice narration which is dubbed in on the video to accompany the

visual image.  The tabular entry preceding the audio dubbed material

gives the duration of the narration, and the point in time at which

the narration starts.  The script was used as the guiding document

for making the video.

  I know I sound very technical, and my writing also sounds sort of

technical, too, or "intellectual".  Frankly, I've never been to

college, but I grew up in New York, and my Mamma made me into a

bookworm.  I've read everything, so I'm self-taught.  I mostly sell. 

I sell real estate, I sell anything.  But I always haunted writer's

groups.  I took courses on writing, on film writing, too.  So I've

written tons of material over my life.  The "intellect' is only skin

deep.  Underneath it I'm still pretty much of an animal.  As you'll

see.

  This is the first place in the books where I'll slice a cut, or an

extract from the video script into the book.  Appropriately the

opening part of the script is titled Book 1, Chapter 1, with

identical titles to book and chapter.  The video more or less travels

along in parallel with Books.  In the opening section of the video I

show Eileen's face for the first time, just the way I've described

her.  These are the script extracts from B01C01 video clips 01 and

02.



#  TITLE                          WORDS DURATION START   

                                        MIN SEC  MIN SEC 

01 Desk portrait of Eileen           95   0   37   0   0 

Script:

This pearl-necklaced, bare-shouldered portrait of Eileen, my very

young and classy looking Irish-born wife, was taken in '63 when she

was only 21 years old and the mother of our two small children, aged

1 and 3.  I was a 36 year old hustler, a self-educated, ugly, bald

and fat Italian, and very vain about my wife's heritage, the classy

English side which gave her the snooty look you see.  I proudly kept

a silver-framed version of this photo at work, which co-workers

dubbed "the Princess Portrait".  I adored Eileen and kept a wallet

version for showing off, too.



#  TITLE                          WORDS DURATION START   

                                        MIN SEC  MIN SEC 

02 Color head portrait              104   0   41   0  37 

Script:

Not only was a miniature of the desk portrait in my wallet, there was

a full figure photo shot taken in the same photo shoot as the

bare-shouldered portrait, on a Sunday dawn, in July, at 5:30 A.M., in

our deserted Town high-school football field.  Eileen was wearing

pearls, dress patent leather high heels, and was stark naked,

grinning from ear to ear, her nipples rosy, red, erect, with a

shocking thick bush of pubic hair, posing.  I often flashed these

photos as a teaser for prospective stag party contacts, or for kicks,

on travel, in darkened bars, when other guys showed wallet photos.



                 Our Public Exhibitionism



  I'll make a comment on that script piece.  That football field was

the reason Eileen and I moved into the small New Hampshire town where

we settled and raised our kids.  It was way down in this hollow,

below the line of sight from the Town high school and elementary

school complex.

  Eileen indulged me, early in our marriage, by accompanying me as I

cruised around searching for deserted places where I could play at

the risky sport of having public sex.  Outdoors I usually pulled

quick photo sessions of my nude babe, and then had her get down on

her knees to suck me off, naked, or fucked her standing, while she

bent over to get pumped.  Rarely on her back on the ground.  But

mostly with her nude, and me dressed.  Usually at dawn, in picnic

grounds, or other kinky locations.

  It was during on one of my excited hunts over the landscape of

Massachusetts and New Hampshire, heatedly looking for places to

publicly fuck my amused, young, gullible and accommodating bride,

that we went through this sleepy small New Hampshire town.  I  took a

dog-leg off the main road because I'd spotted a school sign.  That's

how I'd stumbled onto this great, half-hidden, half public outdoor

location.

  For a long time, while we lived in the Town, I played this risky

game, teetering on the edge of being discovered.  Fucking Eileen by

the football field meant taking the tantalizing chance of being

discovered, in our own Town, at the same time minimizing the risks of

discovery, because of the time of day, and depression of the field

below the line of sight.  We had enough close calls to keep it

incredibly exciting.

  There's no thrill like a set of headlights coming down the road, at

1 or 2 A.M., on a weekday school day morning, on a totally moonlit,

bright warm Spring night to give your balls an extra thrill, when

some teen-age parker or make-out artist is seeking to drill his date

for excitement.  This happened.

  The moon is full, the sky clear, and it is brilliantly lit.  Eileen

and I are both naked.  Instead of being close to the slope which led

up from the hollow to the road which led into the area from Main

Street, we are in the open, the furthest part of the field away from

the slope, the most likely spot to be looked down on and seen.  But

it was also the easiest position from which to run to cover, you

could dash it, with your dick dangling, naked, dragging your

clothing, within five seconds, the dashing distance to the area

behind the rickety iron stands, and then the covering darkness of the

Norway pines.

  My sweet naked wife is bent over, hands on her thighs, I am fucking

her little pussy.  She must have been all of 20 or 21.  I had my dick

in my own wife's pussy, while she's bent over naked.at the edge of

the field.  The car is approaching the field, slowly.  There I am, in

the middle of an ejaculation, as my sweetie is grunting, Uh-Uh-Uh,

right in time with my pumps, bare-ass, biting her lip, trying not to

shout as she has orgasm after orgasm.  She is grunting, muttering

that they were going to see us, they were going to see us.  Because

the headlights are shining way above us, into the trees line.

  Oh, shit, I was coming.  That's an ejaculation caused by headlamps.

My prick squirted off a gusher into Eileen's vagina.  We both grabbed

clothing, crazy, and scrambled for the woods, suppressing giggles at

the surprise and the situation.  Eileen left a baby blue sock lying

in the field.

  And while we dressed, in a hurry, about to crawl back home, the

fucking intruder became just that.  Two sets of minds with two great

thoughts.  A huge, tall humongous guy with a teeny little girl, it

looked like a high schooler with an elementary school girl, headed

for the same field.  Right square in the middle of the fucking field,

yeah, that's what I said, the fucking field, this kid, this guy, gets

down on the moist grass, on his back, both kids fully clothed.  No

nakedness for these two youngsters.  The little girl drops her

panties and climbs on to the prick of what I would bet was one of the

school's football players (I would bet it).

  We were the ones who were supposed to be the fucking performers on

this field!  But there they were.  Fully dressed.  I kidded Eileen

that we should join them, in a foursome, my mouth literally in her

ear.  She winced because it tickled her, the idea, and had to

suppress a giggle.  What could they do?  I told her.  Caught

red-handed, no red-pricked.  No, she wasn't in to that, shaking her

head vigorously.

  It was too dark under the trees, I could barely see Eileen's face. 

The teen agers were maybe 200 feet away.  You couldn't see any

details.  This was not the standard porno suck and fuck.  We watched,

but were pressed to get the hell out of there.  You know, we got this

"after-fuck" letdown, and wanted to be home in bed, just then. 

Eileen was giddy because she'd lost her sock, as we walked behind the

Church on the Common to our house, grinning.  The Town totally

asleep.  A farm Town.  I didn't know why Eileen found it so funny.

  I didn't get back to the field for several days, was too busy, and

Eileen's sock was gone.  What the hell did anyone want with one lost

sock?  Probably a dog got it and used it as a rag toy.  Out of

curiosity I walked around where the two kids had been fucking.  Deep

in the newly growing Spring grass, there it was, the condom,

somewhere about the same area.  That started me searching, from then

on.

  That was a busy place, "our" field.  I wonder how many others had

skittered off and watched Eileen and me fuck.  The grass was pretty

worn down on the field, during the summer.  The upper field was used

for baseball, but the football field always had kids playing on it. 

There were condoms under the stands.  Interesting.  Fucking on the

slats and pulling it off?  There were, on average, two or three used

condoms a month.  A lot of them close to the steep slope, up the

hill, at the base, and others close to the tree line.  Pretty few "in

the open" fuckers.  How about that?

  The apartment we rented in an old New England farm house converted

into three rental apartments, was, literally, within walking distance

from the field, just by dumb luck.  The house was 600 feet from the

Town Common, and the entire school complex, and the field itself, was

only 1300 feet from our front door.  This meant that, any time of the

night we could skulk over to the field, totally clear of street

lights, just crossing the street at like 3 or 4 in the morning, and

taking one short block's walk to the "way" that led to the field.  It

was our own private public exhibitionistic stage, weather and time

permitting.

  It was one of the features of the Town, this location for fucking

Eileen at dawn, which attracted me to the Town when we had to move

and look for a place, just before Eileen delivered her second kid. 

Anyway, after we moved to Town we used this location many times,

unobserved, as one of various places in the Town where I pursued this

screwy business of fucking my wife in public.  As we became settled

residents I also used our Church sanctuary, and various meeting

rooms, because I had keys to the building, and even eventually got a

key to our Town Hall, because I'd gotten involved in Town politics.  

Anyway, on the occasion when I shot these wallet photos the Town was

fast asleep, and our only audience was an occasional stray dog who

watched this strange performance.  The situation was always exciting

for me, and on this occasion, too, Eileen ended up giving me a blow

job, pearls and all, till I squirted my sperm into her throat, which

she swallowed.  I was too excited fucking Eileen's mouth to fuck

around with cameras, just then.  After Eileen swallowed my cum for me

in one of my public exhibitionistic adventures I would always be so

happy, really manic, actually, that my elated state would amuse

Eileen.  I'd be giggling and joking.  Like I would be after she gave

stags for my pleasure, later on.  I would fawn over Eileen.  After we

returned to the house I'd feed her breakfast.  I'd spend an hour in

our bed frigging her, fucking her, bringing her off to one orgasm

after another.  Those days she'd be treated like a princess.



                   Eileen's Body



   To flesh out my description of Eileen; the girl was short, barely

five-feet tall, had slight down-sloping shoulders, they were very

slim.  On top Eileen was a petite girl.  Her mouth-sized little

titties were far apart on the outer edges of her upper chest, close

to her arm-pits.  She could've worn deep V-neck blouses with no titty

cleavage showing.  Eileen's breasts were crowned with nipples that

erected into very prominent suckable teats when she was sexually

stimulated.  At least half-inch long pointy teats.

  My Irish Eileen had a rather longish torso, with broad hips, a big

ass, and shapely dancer's legs, accentuated by strong thighs.  My

tiny wife's broad hips had prominent love handles which begged to be

grabbed so her pussy could be pressed against an erection, hips that

were very sexy on such a little girl, and gave her a slight

pear-shaped body.  The pretty young mother was blessed with an ass

that jutted out, a big round Irish ass, while up front she flashed a

bushy Irish pussy that stimulated desires in some guys to bury their

faces in her hairy crack and eat her cunt.  It wasn't my dish,

because as far as I was concerned my wife had a nasty-tasting snatch.

Eileen was never taught, and never consistently practiced any sort of

basic feminine hygiene.



  Here's the script from the next video clip which illustrates that

description I just gave of Eileen:



#  TITLE                          WORDS DURATION START   

                                        MIN SEC  MIN SEC 

03 Eileen in stag rehearsal          87   0   34   1  19 

Script:

As my first book opens I describe Eileen's face.  You've seen her

beauty now.  In the book I lovingly describe Eileen's naked body, and

here she is, laughing and teasing, flashing open her coat on her

pussy and titties the way she did in one of her first gang fucks in

1966 at a bowling alley in Willimantic Conn.  This Polaroid was shot

during a fuck and suck photo session I held in our living room as a

sort of cunt and cock "warm up" before the gang fuck activities of

that night, when Eileen diddled her hot red pussy in front of a

drooling audience.



              Today's Boring Sex Reality and Sex Fantasy



  I want to make a comment on the difference between a true story and

the loosy-goosy fantasy stuff that seems to dominate all porno media,

whether it's video or text.  I find that stuff, a lot of it, anyway,

so dreamy, vague, or repetitious, with all the same dirty words, that

it's boring.  I think what I'm laying out for you may be a lot

different, unlike the swinger stories of today.  Today nothing is

shocking.  Or really gut-wrenching, stimulating, either.  Nothing is

exciting.  Everybody has seen everything, and porno is the most

boring thing in the world.  Boring, boring, bo-o-o-o-ring.  But what

we did, won't happen again, with the freedom, and all the

possibilities we were able to explore.  I can't see, in post-AIDS,

nudity-shocked America that a straight couple could exploit the

innocence of their crowds, and their own adventurous spirit to do the

unimaginable, the surprising, the utterly unthinkable.  Everything is

thinkable, there are no surprises, no stimulations that don't have to

be utterly sick to cause some kind of reaction, even if it's

revulsion.

  Because of AIDS-fear, how can a truly happy, ordinary couple fuck

groups of ordinary guys.  Without formula.  Formula garters, formula

high heels, formula shaved pussy, formula whore outfit.  Formula cum

shoot off.  We played original sex games with guys who would never

have fooled around, in their whole lives, unless we had tripped our

funny sexy way into their lives.  Guys who'd never even looked into

their wives' pussies spread, seen any snatch wide open, in the light

of day.  I'll tell you something, jaws dropped, literally, jaws

dropped open when I exposed my wife's spread cunt to some of these

guys.  You know what a kick that was for me?  There I was, in front

of an audience, wheedling and seducing my apparently resistive and

embarrassed wife into giving the guys a look, getting her to bend

over and spread it wide.  Just to see the looks on their faces? 

These days I've sat at a nude bar and watched some cocaine-doped up

angel spreading her 19 year old pink pussy right over me, and gone on

drinking with a bar buddy, ignoring a display which would have

brought down the house when Eileen and I were doing those things. 

Times really have changed, for the much, much worse.

  Today ordinary guys, regular guys are scared of their shadows,

would never, in their right minds, hold a free-for-all gang fuck,

like we did, without fear.  They're scared their dicks will fall off.

Today what ordinary guy would even dream of dipping a bare cock into

a gal's holes, without the perhaps realistic fear of dying a terrible

death?  AIDS-fear chills a dick, for real.  What kind of gang sex is

that, with condoms?  Beat your meat!!!  You meet a better class of

people.  AIDS has turned us all into a nation of meat-beaters, 

masturbation is definitely "in".





--------------------------------------------------------------------

                       Epilogue



  If these reworks of Pace's "Books", as he calls them, interest you,

I will continue to post them here.  From start to finish each page

costs me about an hour and a half out of a busy life.  Reactions are

motivating.   Especially appreciative reactions.  I am not a

masochist and do not thrive on negative or nasty carping.

  I believe that what he told me actually did happen.  Would also

appreciate feedback in the form of remarks or information from other

people about other couples who indulged in similar activities.  Or

first person descriptions by males who may have attended either

Pace's performances, or other such performances by amateurs,

especially from the New York, Chicago, Dallas, New Orleans, LA or Bay

Area.

  Such couples as Pace and his wife Eileen intrigue me.  If anyone

has has indulged in similar activity, correspondence or email of any

quality would be appreciated.



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