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<td align="LEFT" width="1" rowspan="3" valign="BOTTOM"><font face="Georgia" size="2" color="#CCCCCC">..</font></td>
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<td align="LEFT"><b><font face="Georgia">99 Bottles of Beer</font></b></td>
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<td align="RIGHT"><b><font face="Georgia"><a href="bios_a2l.shtml#Bravo" title="click for author info">Ralph Bravo </a></font></b></td>
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<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I have never used alcohol as an accelerant to ignite lust into
a brilliant, short-lived, incendiary explosion of flickering tongues,
bodies pinned against doors, skirts ripped, and cocks spearing
open spaces before finally hitting the soft, wet folds of hot
cunt. I have on occasion accepted the more conventional side effects
of alcohol when attempting to seduce a woman to admit me into
her body. Wine perfectly bookends a first dinner-date, during
which time I listen attentively while contemplating the ridge
of her collar bone as a natural barrier to the flow of my cum
down her neck to her breast. I sip the white liquid and swish
it under my tongue, imagining her holding the same volume of semen
against her cheek. Then, with dessert, we imbibe tiny thimbles
of sweet liqueur, their viscosity only a few measures removed
either way from the thick wetness of a cunt that has been fucked
for hours, and I am afforded a chance to determine if she sips
or swallows. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I have never liked beer and although I have bought pints at pubs
to fill out the role I was playing in yet another seduction --
Guiness or Heineken with fair-skinned Anglo Saxon women, Corona
for those with Acapulco tans in February, and Bud with women whom
actually liked ball sports that did not involve my testicles and
who could commentate during a football game with the same seriousness
that Walter Cronkite brought to the Kennedy assassination. I nurse
the frothy head until I have no choice but to drink the skunky
liquid. I liken the experience to kneeling in the cracked enamel
of a motel bathtub, where too-warm water spurts in short staccato
bursts across the line of my ass and a woman pisses onto my tongue.
</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“ I love the dark, earthy quality of this beer. Don’t you?” asked
Krista, the woman who had come into my life after I absolved myself
of guilt for years of wanton lust, did penance by marking three
seasons of celibacy, and developed a knack for reciprocating emotions.
</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Ah, yes. It smells like a woman at the edge of orgasm. I have
an exquisite olfactory sense and the moment between the last rhythmic,
insistent flicks of my tongue and a woman’s slide into rapture
produces a change in her smell. It’s just like this beer. “ Krista
looked across the rim of her glass, not sure if she should look
incredulous or pleased. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offer that
insight. Must be the booze.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I’m not sure why Krista was the apogee of my lust, why she was
the last woman I fucked before love and commitment transformed
my desire into tender lovemaking. Our sex was mostly conventional
in that we did not do anything that would violate the penal code
of most counties, but there were a few acts that might resonate
with those who believe that sex is best done quickly and clinically.
Krista was inexhaustible and centred: she could suck cock for
an hour with the reliability of -- oh yes, gutter swipes -- a
Hoover vacuum. “Doesn’t your jaw get sore? “I asked after one
such prolonged union of cock and lingua. I felt bad about Krista’s
sustained oral contractions and I let myself come in one quick
spurt against her throat rather in a series of ejaculations on
her cheeks, nose and the dimple in her chin. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“I just concentrate on my empty cunt and imagine another cock
thrusting inside me,” she finally said. I assuaged that desire
during our next fuck (your best fuck is always the next one, not
your last one) by holding a dildo inside her. There was no difference
in Krista’s attentions and I doubt she succeeded in supplanting
her fantasy with another: it just got closer to reality, that’s
all. I, however, did not last more than ten minutes before I was
grabbing her hair and hoping I could pull out in time to douse
her beauty with opaque semen. Krista was on her back, parallel
to the edge of my bed, and I stood beside her with one hand on
the headboard for leverage and the other hand on the base of the
dildo. I love this position for the visual acuity it affords me
while being blown. In random order Krista’s breasts -- whose nipples
so perfectly budded with sexual hope -- cunt, thighs, hipbones,
belly button -- every erogenous item in the buffet of images that
I stored for masturbation -- passed through my vision and sent
a surge of blood to my cock. Krista moaned when she felt my erection
ebb and flow and I encouraged her hand to move to her cunt, an
astounding cunt that revealed itself through weekly ministrations
with subtle scissors. I never settled too long on one part of
her body because I would edge close to orgasm and selfishly, I
wanted to keep looking at her. This time, I could not stray from
the sight of the dildo gently dividing her body into two wholes,
the lips of her pussy tugging on the shiny metal shaft as I nudged
it in and out of her. I pushed it deep inside and moved the base
-- the only part that wasn’t completely inside -- in small circles
that yielded a wide arc at the tip of the dildo, skimming the
walls of her cunt and flicking against her cervix. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Do you like that? Does it feel like another cock, another man
inside you while I do this?” I would ask and then I would thrust
myself into her mouth in unison with the dildo’s thrusts. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista’s hips moved to catch each thrust in mathematical syncopation
and as the dildo emerged, its metallic skin glistening with wet
cunt and the soft flicker of candlelight, I imagined dripping
semen along it in small pearls like candle wax. I grabbed the
base of my cock, pulled out of her mouth, and shot across her
lips and the shallow beneath her eye. Krista moved the tip of
the dildo against her clit and finished herself as I drew a line
of semen along her mouth with my tongue. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista was bookish, and I caged her in my fantasy about sex-starved
or sex-crazed librarians who made innuendoes that invariably contained
the word “deposit”. I practically stalked her in Indigo, following
her path through Health and Beauty where she flipped through something
about “Keeping the Lust Alive and Meaningful,” then onto the stacks
of remaindered books where I asked her if she was going to buy
the last copy of an Elmore Leonard novel. We bumped into each
other again in the magazines and I asked her if she thought we
were destined to read to one another. Krista laughed and said
it was the first time a man had hit on her in a bookstore. I convinced
her to join me on the wicker chairs at the back of the store where
readers were encouraged to drink and eat . We had wine and biscotti
and I managed to sublimate my carnal urge to drape her over the
Erotica shelves, flip her skirt up and tease my cock along the
line of her ass. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">A day later I was at her apartment. Krista cooked dinner for us.
That night we abandoned our quick cerebral connection for a physical
charge in which, I swear, every electrical impulse in my body
exceeded the allowable limits for human consciousness. I was like
a child who could not wait to rip wrapping from what was sure
to be an exquisite gift. When she bent forward to set her wine
glass on the table, Krista’s tight, tapered blouse separated along
the line of buttons and revealed white cups bounding her nipples.
Her scent and heat rose like steam. Krista’s taut black pants
stretched against her curving thighs, but noticeably loosened
where her cunt’s softness began. The letter Y traced the line
of her panties, which were red and shoved completely into her
ass, exactly where I wanted my cock and tongue to be, and soon.
<br>
<br>
When I was a teenager I read anything that offered insight or
instruction on sexual technique. I was interested in the mechanics
of sex?the core of sexual union? but I also desired knowledge
about the periphery; foreplay and taboos and seduction. An article
in a men’s magazine instructed the proper way to undress. Men
should always remove shirts first, and women should remove skirts
or pants first. Yes, it seemed right that a man reveal his striated
muscles, that the broadness of his chest and back and shoulders
should not be diminished by spindly legs and black knee-high dress
socks. A woman’s hips and the flaring flesh along the curve of
her ass are perfectly framed by white fabric around the circumference
of her waist (Krista’s tapered white blouse was starkly congruent
like the white colonial trim against the Laramie Blue walls in
my Heritage-inspired bedroom). So, when Krista unzipped my pants
I felt the pain of both the buckle against my foreskin and thwarted
desire to play the aggressor. All my contrived and controlled
actions, gleaned from a decade of first, Hustler and Penthouse,
then Playboy and Esquire, to the exquisitely detailed and textual
sex manuals from Britain, vanished in Krista’s dextrous unravelling
and although I felt powerless in her lust, my cock revealed it’s
strengthening resolve as she slid her mouth up and down it’s entire
length. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I love fucking Krista. Past, present and future tense included.
The blowjob was amazing, but what I really wanted was to penetrate
her, so that I could temper the tremors in my hips or unleash
the thrusts that were driving my cock deeper into her mouth. “Stop.
Lie on your back.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista moaned, like I was taking something necessary from her.
Saliva rimmed the opening of my cock in tiny bubbles and even
the base of my cock was wet. I pushed my hands into her white
thighs (they were white, a whiteness of a Japanese courtesan who’d
spent a lifetime in milk baths and satin sheets, who’d lathered
her thighs in semen, night after night, and lived in the glow
of candles, not the brittle shine of sunlight) and separated her
legs until the space between them equalled the width of my body.
I placed her hand around my cock. “Put me inside and keep your
hand on me. I want you to feel how wet we are.” Krista’s hand
encircled my cock and I pushed the head into her. At that moment
our bodies clicked together, like two pieces of Lego blocks, and
the fit was so tight, engineered to exact specs by some divine
intervention, that I was sure the union of pussy and prick was
audible. I fucked the opening of her cunt, never going more than
the depth of my cock’s tip and her lips wrapped and then unfurled
around me as I moved in and out. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Stick your finger inside.” Krista pushed her index finger into
the thin space between shaft and wall. An edge on her nails clipped
my cock and the pain exhilarated me, pushing me deeper into her
body. As finger and cock slid past each other in alternating
strokes, I imagined the grand possibilities of what might fit
inside Krista’s body: a cucumber of course, which Krista later
revealed was one of her favourite masturbatory aids in adolescence;
an under-ripe banana--its foreskin peeled away; various tools
(screwdrivers, hammer handles) , all inserted with care to avoid
dangerous parts; and a Creamscicle oozing sweet stickiness as
it’s girth was reduced by Krista’s vice-tight pussy. At the
moment I began spurting semen on the rim of ass, I was inspired
to imagine myself lapping beer from her stomach and cunt and I
could, with the memory of swishes and swills of pints from failed
and successful ventures to seduce yet another woman, smell the
scent of hops and barley on her sex. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista’s sexual bravado awed me and I did not doubt that she would
agree to entertain me in the most audacious use of an alcoholic
beverage that I have ever concocted. This, I later realised, was
the defining act in our relationship, the one moment that made
me a believer in commitment, soul mates, and kismet. This brilliant
union of booze and body that she brought forth was just what I
needed to push me over the edge into a lifetime of fidelity. I
could not imagine life or love without Krista, our fate sealed
not only by our consummate lust, but by our connection. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">We had been invited to a birthday party for my second cousin.
The degrees of separation between myself and the family ensured
that my escort and I would be seated away from the head table
and near to strangers. I asked Krista to wear a black dress, black
stockings, black bra, and no panties. When I asked if in fact
her pretty pussy was unencumbered, she answered, “You are a smooth
fucker,” hence spiking my sexual tension. At our table of eight
guests we smiled and laughed with the others, talked about inanities,
and then when I thought the social niceties were exhausting my
patience, I leaned to her ear and said what I wanted. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Reach under the table, slide your skirt above your thighs, and
rip the crotch of your stockings. I want your cunt exposed.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista’s groped her thighs and tugged the nylon fabric apart.
The tear was audible, but in the context of the party, no one
would guess that a woman had just laid bare her swollen cunt lips.
</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Take this bottle of beer, go into the washroom, and fuck it.
I want you to fuck it as deep as you can, then bring it back to
the table.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Boldness is sometimes the only way to submerge a sexual partner’s
impending reticence and I figured that an accumulation of wanton
requests would push Krista over the edge. She looked at me with
predator’s eyes. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“If I fuck this bottle,” she said, “then you have to drink from
it when I come back to the table.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2"> I agreed and promised to not only drink from it but to fellate
it if she could guarantee the smell and taste of her cunt smothered
the neck of the bottle. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“I’ll do better. Taste my pussy when I return.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista moved away from the table with a brief intimation of a
Sharon Stone film, then smoothed her dress across her stomach
and walked to the washroom. As the flight of my imagination gained
altitude (I envisioned her holding the bottle with her left hand
and spreading her lips with her right, then grasping the bottom
of the bottle as she pushed its head deeper inside, the tiny tendrils
of pussy hair lapping against the foam that rose out of the bottle’s
mouth) my cock stiffened to a size that mimicked the bottle of
beer being drunk by the woman across from me. I could not resist
and rubbed my hand against the crotch of my suit. I vaguely smiled
at the woman; she was telling me something about her brother and
his wife who had developed -- or acquired -- some rare disease
and I tried to keep my shoulders steady while I squeezed and stroked
my cock. Thirty seconds more and I would ejaculate into the pocket
of wool and nylon that cupped my balls. Pre-emptively, Krista
returned with beer bottle in hand and a faint but long line of
wetness down her thigh and knee. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“I sucked it, then I fucked it as deep as your cock fucks me.
Don’t touch the neck. It’s slippery and salty. “</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“What happened to your leg?” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Taste it.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I touched her leg along the inside thigh and tasted the residue
on my finger. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Beer? Is there more? “</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“Inside. Stick your finger in.” </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I pulled her leg toward mine and pushed my index finger past the
tight outer rim of her cunt. Inside her body I felt a pool of
liquid, less viscous than my semen. It was light as beaten egg
whites. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">Krista later told me that she had sat on a toilet with her legs
raised and braced against the walls of the stall. While the bottle
was inside, she tilted it upright, pouring beer into her cunt
and then left it buried inside, balanced on the fulcrum of her
cunt, while she masturbated. The bottle shook and a spurt of foam
shot inside her. “It was like having you fucking come in me.”
</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I needed a premise to suck the bottle, so I told a raunchy, but
truly funny joke to the others at our table. The moment was designed
only to acquire their attention and while they were laughing I
took the beer bottle and wrapped my mouth around it, almost gagging
when I pushed its head against my throat. Then I pulled the bottle’s
edge to my tongue and rimmed its perimeter in quick swirls, just
flicking it’s hard darkness. Beer and cunt mixed as I tilted the
bottle and swallowed the warm, fuzzy liquid. Krista was moving
her legs open and closed, tightening her thighs and I could visualize
the lips of her cunt pushing forward, then retracting. I put the
beer bottle between my legs and stroked the shaft, spilling some
of the beer on my pants. The musk smell and dampness penetrated
the cloth through to my cock, and I felt as if I had woken from
a wet dream. Krista clasped my right hand with her left and closed
her eyes. She was coming and every contraction in her cunt translated
into my hand. Her grasp on me undulated between tight and tighter,
and as the fourth and fifth orgasm rippled through her tight pussy,
I pushed the bottle into my mouth and finished the beer in one
swallow. </font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">“ I love us, “she said. I stroked her thigh, calming the twitches
that rippled outward from her inner body. “There are another
99 bottles of beer behind the bar. We could do this all night.
“</font></p>
<p><font face="Georgia" size="2">I had never used beer to ignite lust, but I dismantled my prejudices
that night and we have become aficionados of hops and barley.
Thank god for slender necks and translucent bottles, because Krista
caught my arm as I left to order us a pair of German beers and
said, “Now it’s your turn.” </font></td>
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