Alcohol and Memory

Business men and women have the stories to tell--of "infidelities" mostly, or "cheating." As I look back on one MAJOR episode, I keep kicking myself for being so stupid and so drunk. But I remember her soft, smooth, dark pubic hair. That is not the only memory. The story is briefly told this way: swimming pool at a conference center, sauna, Jim Beam, kissing, deep kissing, then a "Come back to my cabin." She came into the cabin room, wearing her yellow bathing suit, and pushed me up against the foot of the bed. I was hard, inside my dripping suit. We kissed, of course. My penis was then probably five or six inches (much smaller now). I kissed her and unzipped the back of her suit. Topless against my chest, her small lady breasts felt good (of course). She pulled down my suit as I slipped hers down. I was ready, hot, horny, probably pre-cumming all over her thighs. Of course I never planned all of this. I had no protection. In fact, good Catholic men never would do such a thing like birth control. So why would I have a condom? I said to her that I had no worries. "I have two kids and don't want anymore." There I was telling her we could do one another. She climbed onto the bed, and I was between her legs as fast as I could make it. She was white, soft, smooth--and smelled like fresh chlorine. My tongue did the work, my hands under her butt. I kept licking and tonguing as well as the Jim Beam would let me. She began to buck up and down. My wife never did this. I was in a new place with this colleague, who was moaning and bucking. I was really eating her, trying to get in. My hard dick was under me. Ready to come. The bucking and rising off the bed under my hands stopped. She said something like "Your turn." This was my time. And she was latched onto my standing dick. I wanted to watch. The light was on in the room. I could not keep my head up. As she went down the shaft, and up, her teeth pulled on me, then gently, then pulled up and down. Up and down. But the teeth. I thought of what she must be like with her husband. I could think that while getting a blow job? I was ready to come. And that is the end of my memory. She swallowed my cum? I don't remember. Did I come on her breasts, her flat tummy? Don't know. But I do next remember her standing naked in front of the sink, rinsing her mouth, using my toothpaste. I came, but what a waste. And I was wasted. She gathered her clothes and left. I slept. What a missed opportunity to be aware of clit, hair, cumming, playing, rubbing, leaking, smelling. All wasted because of alcohol. This is a sad story, but my memory of it happening over forty years ago makes me horny, want to have her "the right way"--and not feel guilty at all.