Erotica from Penthouse by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online Page B

erection with a condom in the morning. It's better than the messy withdrawal method. But my experience has shown where there's a will, there's a way. No matter what the obstacles.
    On one camping trip, for instance, the lovesongs of sparrows awoke me. I stared over at my lover huddled against my body in the sleeping bag in our tiny two-person tent. I began to rub my groin against hers, and she stirred appropriately, moaning with more than a little desire. “Let's make love,” I said, putting my cards on the table.
    “Okay, but I've got to get some spermicide. Hand me the tube over by my socks near the inside flap, will you, baby?” she purred gently.
    As one who believes contraception is a shared responsibility, I gladly reached to the backside of the tent, grabbed a half-empty tube and laid it lovingly in her hands. She removed the cap with one hand, massaging my manhood with the other. While squeezing both tubes simultaneously, she began to laugh loudly: I had handed her the Crest. The sperm-killer was in our parked car on the other side of the extinguished campfire. Should she get out of the tent and retrieve it (the morning air in our Canadian campsite was so cold, a sheet of ice had formed on the tent)? Thank God, she said “No,” preferring to impale her throat cavity upon my penis. As other campers fetched wood and water for coffee, they heard me yelling from the tent, “It feels so good, soo goood, sooo goodd. Sooo damn good.” We received a lot of leers a half hour later when, passion spent, we arose, pumped up the Coleman propane stove and cooked flapjacks.
    Sex in the morning shower is next to Godliness. My wife and I regularly enjoy standing intercourse while lathering each other. We don't plan such trysts. But I always hope they take place. It will begin innocently enough. “I'm gonna shower, honey. Wanna join me?” I'll ask, climbing out of bed. “Okay, be there in a minute,” she'll answer.
    I get the water running lukewarm to warm and the bathroom steams up good and cloudy. My love climbs in after me, pulls the curtains closed and asks for her half of the bar of soap. We begin by rubbing the Dial on each other's backs. We then turn and massage the lather with slow deliberate strokes onto our bodies. I circle her breasts with my fingers and cup her nipples with my palms. She strokes my penis. I put a finger between her lips and squeeze her clit. And she strokes my penis. I begin to kiss her neck. She strokes my penis. I begin to suck her breasts, kiss her stomach and push her back against the wall. She strokes my penis.
    As the shower spray shoots into my face and shoulders, I enter her while pushing her buttocks against the wet tile walls. Her legs circle my waist, her hands grab my neck and then the shower curtains. I pump and pump and she places her tongue in my mouth and bites my ear. The soap halves are now on the floor, shrinking in the drain.
    Sometimes the action will cause the shower curtains to be torn away from the hooks that keep them in place. As we furiously fuck, the room fills with water. Finally, after a few moments, I come, and she pulls herself closer to me. Sometimes she will even come. Then we unhook ourselves and stand under the spray.
    “I wonder who's talking with Jane Pauley today,” my lover will say as she turns off the water.
    “I don't know. Let's check it out,” I answer as my penis shrivels up.
    The days that I start with a sex act or two are my favorites. For no matter how bad things get, I know that I've already gotten laid. That always cheers me up.
    DIAL S FOR SEX
    By Marianne Scott
    We called it our dinner-and-”Dynasty” date. Every Wednesday Patrick and I prepared a meal together at his Brooklyn apartment. Then we would curl up on the couch to eat, drink and watch the latest episode of our favorite TV program. On this particular evening, I deposited the lasagna fixings next to the chianti, greeted Patrick with a kiss and headed for the stove. The phone rang