Oh Lord, Help Me Keep My Panties on - By Lynda Burton Page 0,2

that promised youth and penis vitality. He became so obsessed that he would measure it on a daily basis. Then he would put this harness thing on his penis under his clothes for a couple of hours each day. That shit freaked me out! One day while hanging out with him in his room, I knocked over a stack of magazines and discovered that he had a couple of brochures advertising male enhancement products. As I started to pick them up, he snatched the magazines out of my hand and said that he’d pick up the mess. When I confronted him about the literature, he stated that he was looking to please me more, then denied that it was because he couldn’t keep a hard-on. He assured me that the reason for his nonperformance was partly because of the medications he was taking and nothing more. John was in an auto accident shortly after we started dating and was taking all kinds of medications for pain. He stated that the medications were hindering his mojo and not to worry and that he would be rock steady soon.

He slowly weaned himself off the drugs and said he was feeling like himself. He went back to work and cautiously returned back to his recreational activities of swimming, golfing, skiing, and running, but no fucking to avail! So you can believe for almost nine months, sex was not a part of our relationship. We would do the foreplay thing for hours, and on a few occasions when it got to the “okay, I’m hard now; hurry up!” the dick would never stay hard enough for the condom to go on! Damn. One night, John surprised me. We had just come from a party and were a little intoxicated. John decided to stay the night and followed me to my bedroom. I slipped off my clothes and walked into the bathroom. When I came out, John was standing in front of the mirror. “Come and get it, baby!” he demanded. I walked over to John and started stroking his balls.

John looked at me in the eyes and smiled as he rose to occasion and then reached for a condom. He slipped it on and then pushed me up against my dresser. He pushed his penis between my legs and pressed his body against mine and started pumping. He started to sweat and grunt as he grinded against me. “Oooooh baby, is it good? Is it good to you?” Then he started making strange all kinds of animalistic sounds, then came to an abrupt stop. “Ahhhhh, that was good,” he said. Then he staggered to the bed and fell asleep. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he never made full penetration. His penis was rubbing the inside of my thighs and never entered my vagina. And to think I did this for almost a year. I started getting migraines after our foreplay session, and I knew why; I needed “Dick,” and the Dick was in la-la land. Rubbing the corn was becoming a thing of the past and substitution for dick was no longer an option.

Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t out there fucking around. I was self-sufficient and took things into my own hands when necessary. But that too was getting old. Even when I tried to show him what excited me John refused to change his routine. He just refused to admit or acknowledge that what he was doing was simply not enough to satisfy my hunger. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings nor did I want to challenge his manhood, so I kept quiet, praying that this dilemma would come to a head, so to speak. I remember one day John and I were walking along Seventh Avenue in the West Village when out of the blue, he suggested that we stop in a sex store and purchase some goodies. He went straight for the cock rings and penal enlargers and suggested that I pick out a small inconspicuous panty vibrator. You know, one that would work with a nine-volt battery and could be worn and used when I had the urge. “What!” I exclaimed. John stated that he and his parents were going to Arizona for two weeks for a family reunion function, and he wanted to make sure that I was sexually satisfied while he was away. He hinted that with him gone for such a long time, he didn’t want me to stray. I damn