Sex Secrets Men Never Hear

by Jill Crokett

This is a true story. Names and locations have been changed to protect the confidentiality of those involved.

A few years ago my very close friend and co-worker Sharon and I were talking a bit of "girls-ears-only" type of girl-talk while driving back home to Southern California after a weekend real estate seminar in the Bay Area. We had taken a couple extra days, making an adventure out of the long weekend, taking in a bit of the Coast Highway on the way north, and an obscure Central Valley vineyard on the way home.

With weekend meeting in San Francisco over, we were making our way home at a leisurely pace on a Sunday, heading south toward houses, jobs, relationships, and offspring. The stresses of our middle-aged lives had been temporarily lifted, and as we rolled along we laughed up a storm, poking fun at our men, neighbors, in-laws, and co-workers. It was a "girls' weekend out" and we were making the most of the last hours of it.

We stopped at a minor-label Central Valley winery for brief tour, not forgetting to visit the tasting room. The good-looking, early-thirties-something guy serving up the "tastes" patronizingly flirted with us, and we, a couple of slightly overweight, late-40-something, blond-highlighted businesswomen did our best to flirt back, giggling among ourselves like a couple of schoolgirls.

We probably had a little bit too much "taste", and as the car lazily resumed its southward trek down I-5, the wine further unlocked the gift of gab in both of us. Girl-gab for sure. It was the kind of talk that men, even husbands, never hear. Complaints? Lots. Regrets? Sure. As the two of us passed the time with chit-chat and secret whispers of old college-era boyfriends, the talk comfortably progressed to sex; the kind of girlish sex-talk that male ears never hear. Then, like deer in the headlights, the conversation suddenly ran head-on into a secret from the dark corners of my youth.

Sharon, still a bit giggly from both the wine and the sexual conversation, asked me "When was the first time you ever saw a guy's thing?"

She could tell from my silence that my response, if it came at all, would shift the air of the conversation to a more serious tone. She waited patiently and listened.

As her inquiry rolled through my brain, my thoughts drifted back to a far different time and place some 40 years ago; the Deep South of the mid 1960s.

As memories long buried flooded my consciousness, the wine prompted me to tell Sharon a story that I'd never told anyone before.

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

I had essentially grown up in a home with no males. My father and mother had divorced when I was barely seven, and after that I only saw my dad about one week out of the year. His work had taken him to Seattle, were he eventually began a new life with a new family.

I was an only child, growing up in a house occupied only by myself and my mother. Although mom did finally remarry when I was fifteen, and my step-dad did eventually become a strong masculine figure in our previously all-feminine enclave, that late exposure to male-ness came long after I had already discovered how and why boys and girls were different.

A year after my parents divorced, mom and I moved back to her hometown on the Texas Gulf Coast where her sister and mother lived. Aunt Beth and grandma lived right next door to one another in a clean but modest working class neighborhood. My mother must have desired a bit of privacy because she rented us a small house several miles from their neighborhood, even though we could have rented one there.

Soon after we were settled mom got a job as a lab technician at the local hospital on the afternoon shift, so I rode the bus to my aunt's house everyday after school.

Staying at my aunt's house after school was fun, and I instantly bonded with my new "big sister", my cousin Ann, who was a whole year-and-a-half older than me, and would, over the coming months and years, explain to me the entire realm of womanhood, boys, and sex. Ann was always mischievously entertaining, and I thoroughly enjoyed my frequent sleepovers where I always shared her room. It was a time of discovering my "girl power" and the blossoming of a sense of sisterhood within me.

Aunt Beth was a somewhat petite but rather strong, compact woman; about 5 feet, 2 inches tall and slim at the waist, with short black hair which she never made much fuss over. Unless she was heading to church, early-thirties-something Beth always wore a simple one-color, fitted-waist housedress of the "Donna Reed" fashion. Mom's younger sister had a willful personality and always spoke with an air of authority. She was definitely the dominant adult it that household, and at times she could be quite strict. She was religious too, firmly believing in the Bible phrase "spare the rod and spoil the child."

Aunt Beth's husband was a tall, broad shouldered, good-looking oil-field worker named Ray. Ray was a quiet man who always wore a flannel shirt. I don't ever recall him saying one word to me. Uncle Ray, as I called him, worked on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico and was usually gone for three weeks at a time. Looking back on the situation, I guess Beth's stern demeanor grew from both the frustration and necessity of wearing both parental hats in a household where two spirited pre-teens were growing up in a somewhat challenging working-class neighborhood.

My widowed grandmother was a rather serious woman in her late fifties who lived alone in a small, white, asbestos-shingled frame house next door. It was almost identical to Aunt Beth's house, and the back doors of the two frame bungalows were not more than ten steps apart. As a matter of fact grandma was over Aunt Beth's house so often that they might as well have all lived under one roof.

Grandma always came over and kept an eye on us kids whenever Aunt Beth had to run to the store or had to attend one of her ladies' church-group meetings. The only time when grandma watched over us kids in her own house was when Uncle Ray first got home after being out on the rig for a three week stint. If that were the case, Ann and Will and I had to pick up our dolls and comic books and hike next door to grandma's for the first 24 hours of his return. We were told that he and Aunt Beth needed some "quiet time" together, and we were strictly forbidden to bother them during that first day of his return. If we were good and didn't bother them, on the second day Ray would pack up the whole crew of us and take us out for a big fried shrimp dinner in his station wagon.

Grandma was strong, stout woman of about 57 who wore her hair in a tight bun. Her personality exuded a silent dominance over the household.

At eleven, Cousin Ann's older brother Will was three years older than me. He was sort of a tough-acting, showoff kind of boy. I thought of Cousin Will as a good-looking "older" boy who I looked up to. As an eight year old girl I was definitely fascinated with him, as I had never before observed a boy "close up" before.

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

Early one evening there was a distinct anxious tension in the air as Aunt Beth, Grandma, Ann, and I sat at the dinner table. The two adult women nervously picked at their food and shot brief, tense stares at one another. It was a half hour past supper time and Will was still not home after leaving to play in the neighborhood two hours earlier. Aunt Beth was steaming.

Suddenly the phone rang and Aunt Beth answered with a long reach to the kitchen wall. I could tell from her voice that the topic of conversation was serious.

There was a corner drugstore about six or seven blocks from the house, but we were strictly forbidden to walk up there without permission. From what we could tell from Beth's half of the conversation, it was the police on the phone. Will had been caught shoplifting a pack of cigarettes at the drugstore. The owner had agreed not to press shoplifting charges against Will if the police would drive him home and have his parent's pledge that they would keep him out of the store.

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

Ann and I stared out the living room window as a shiny, black and white police cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Aunt Beth stood in the open doorway and glared out as a uniformed police officer led Will, his head hanging down in shame, up the short concrete walk to the front door. We could almost feel Beth's humiliation as one of her fellow church members who lived directly across the street stared out her front window at the scene. Seeing her, Aunt Beth knew all too well that the story of the police bringing her delinquent son home would soon be distributed throughout the congregation.

After Aunt Beth spoke with the policeman briefly, she signed a paper for him and he turned and walked back to his squad car. By now several neighbor kids had gathered around it.

Aunt Beth shut the front door and turned and stared coldly at her son. She then looked to her mother. Grandma looked back at her and motioned with her eyes toward Ann and me. Aunt Beth turned to Ann and me and told us to go to Ann's room, shut the door, and stay there until we were told to come out. I had no idea what was going on, but Ann seemed to know something was up.

We immediately retreated to Ann's room, which was a short distance down a hallway from the living room, leaving Aunt Beth, Grandma, and eleven-year-old Will standing silently in the center of the living room. From the window in Ann's room we could see the back steps, and into the back yard. A few moments later we saw grandma leave through the back door and briskly walk over toward her house.

"She's going to get the strap" Ann whispered to me as she peeked out the window at our grandmother.

At that time I didn't know what Ann already knew from experience, which was that my grandmother kept a short, cut-off piece of an old leather belt hanging from a nail on the wall inside her small enclosed back porch. The strap was about half a belt length and apparently had been in the family for some time. A short handle was fashioned with black tape at one end of it.

Ann quickly told me about Grandma's strap, and she theorized that Will was going to get a taste of it.

As grandma disappeared from view I heard Will say in an almost crying voice "No mama, No mama please, please no."

I thought that was strange, because Grandma had not returned with the strap yet. From the sound, I thought Will must be getting punished already. I was wrong.

Ann held her finger up to her lips to tell me to be silent as she slowly crept up to her closed bedroom door. I followed right behind her, peering over her shoulder. As Ann ever so quietly cracked open her bedroom door, both of us got a clear view directly down the hallway into the center of the living room.

What I saw for the next few minutes I will never forget as long as I live. My Aunt Beth was standing in front of Will, pulling his T-shirt off over his head. His shoes had already been untied and slipped off his feet.

As Will continued to plead, Aunt Beth now knelt directly in front of him and slid her fingers underneath the front waistband of his blue jeans. As she moved to unsnap his jeans, Will grabbed her hands and tried to move them away. With a sudden jerk Aunt Beth pulled one of her hands free of his grip and slapped him across the face. As he began to cry in shame she ordered him to place his hands on the top his head and not move them.

As the 11-year-old boy stood bare-chested with his hands atop his head like a prisoner, Aunt Beth, still kneeling, once again moved her slender fingers under his waistband and unsnapped the button of her son's blue jeans.

I was an eight and a half year old girl who had never seen a boy undressed before. My heart pounded out of my chest with anticipation as I peered over Ann's shoulder through the cracked doorway and stared down the hall into the living room. I actually was afraid that my rapid breathing and pounding heartbeat would reveal our act of disobedience.

Aunt Beth quickly unzipped the blue jeans and firmly pulled them all the way down to Will's ankles, immediately grabbing his legs at the calves and lifting his feet out of the pant legs one at a time.

As I watched the boy stand there in nothing but his white briefs with his hands on top of his head, I heard my grandmother enter through the kitchen door. I could not yet see grandma from my viewpoint, but I could see that Beth, who was still kneeling, turned to look at her. My cousin's face, framed by his upturned arms, wrinkled up in an expression of horror followed by a sob when he saw what my grandmother had returned with. The strap.

"The short pants too" grandma ordered to her daughter, as my 32-year-old Aunt Beth, still kneeling, turned her gaze to her son's crotch. My heart pounded as Beth slipped her slender fingers under the elastic waistband of her 11-year-old son's underwear.

With one motion Beth obediently stripped down Will's underwear, pulling the white briefs down to his ankles and ordering him to step out of them. The boy was now completely naked as his sister, his mother, his grandmother, and a female cousin, all gazed upon him. Will was circumcised, and I was fascinated by the large, darker knob-like head that adorned the end of his small shaft. His smooth, bird-egg-like balls are so different than anything any of us girls had. Gazing on this naked boy was a moment I knew I would never forget.

For whatever element of humiliation Will suffered from being stripped naked in front of his mother and grandmother, it was nothing to compare with what he was to endure over the next 15 minutes.

This sounds we heard coming from Will over the next 15 minutes were unlike any I had ever heard in my life. As his sister and I watched, the two strong women laid the naked boy on his back across what was called a hassock, which was really just a large upholstered foot stool that went at the end of an easy chair. Once Will was on his back the two women grabbed his ankles and lifted them up over his head in the same position one would use for diapering a baby.

Grandma used her strong hands and forearms to grab his ankles, bending his knees and pushing them to his underarms. In this position his knees were forced to spread open at either side of his chest, causing his butt to protrude upward. From our view, Ann and I could now see his asshole, with his balls now seeming to sit atop his stomach. As Grandma used her heavy weight to firmly securing him in this position, Aunt Beth picked up the strap and with all her might proceeded to welt the boy's round, upturned bottom.

Will's screams soon turned into a sobbing cry. He cried like a baby, gasping for air as the strokes rapidly marked his boyish butt cheeks. He jerked and quivered as Aunt Beth strapped him as hard as she could, and as he jerked about I watched intently, totally fascinated in seeing his dick and balls dance about.

As the proceedings ended we closed the door very slowly and quietly, and no one except Ann and I knew anything of our spying. Grandma went home, but we heard Will continue to cry for nearly an hour after her strapping.

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

A year or so later, Ann and I were playing in the backyard. It was one of those days when Uncle Ray had just come home from a three-week tour of duty on the oil rig, and us kids were staying at Grandma's for the afternoon and evening. It was quite overcast and the clouds were threatening, and Ann went on into Grandma's house while I continued to play with my Etch-a-sketch at the picnic table in the backyard. There was no fence between Aunt Beth's backyard and Grandma's backyard, and us kids played back there as if it were one big backyard.

Suddenly there was a clap of thunder and in my sudden rush to get inside I totally forgot that it was an afternoon that we were to stay a Grandma's. Frightened by the thunder, I instinctively ran into Aunt Beth's back door, where we usually stayed. As I walked through the kitchen I looked about, wondering where everyone was, totally forgetting that we were supposed to be next-door at Grandma's.

As I moved a through the living room I suddenly heard the muffled sound of my Aunt Beth crying. The sound seemed to be coming from her bedroom. Thinking something was wrong I walked down the hall to her bedroom door, which was opened just a few inches. As I listened I heard Aunt Beth crying steadily, interspersed with interjections of "oh my God, oh my God."

As a 10-year-old, I really didn't have any idea what was going on. As I peered through the cracked bedroom door I could clearly see Uncle Ray's nude backside and broad shoulders turned facedown, his narrow butt moving forcefully up and down in rapid, determined strokes. To my shock I saw my petite, five-foot-two Aunt Beth's feet and ankles sticking up over each side of Ray's shoulders. I didn't know it at that time, but Aunt Beth was getting her brains fucked out.

Frightened, I wanted to leave, but I was afraid my movement might alert them to my presence. I stood frozen still for a while as Beth continue to scream and actually cry as her pussy was pounded.

I tiptoed back toward the kitchen. By this time Ray had apparently cum inside her, because before I knew it he was coming down the hall to the bathroom to take a pee. I hid behind a chair in the living room. I heard him urinate and he then walked back out of the bathroom and headed back toward the bedroom.

As he walked out of the bathroom, for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of what a grown man's semi-erect penis looked like. It was huge. For a long time after that I thought that Aunt Beth must have been really crying in pain, not ecstasy. I didn't understand how my petite Aunt Beth could take all that inside her. Ray was really hung.

Maybe it was just because he had just come, and his dick was still quite full, but as a little girl the sight of it made a real big impression on me. To this day I do believe that the crying noise Beth made was real crying, but now I know it was a crying of love and ecstasy. The sight of Uncle Ray's monster tool did make me fear sex for a while, but that all ended when I first fell in love when I was 16.

Just as I made my way into the kitchen and tried to slip out the back door, Aunt Beth suddenly walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water. She was completely naked.

"What are you doing here" she yelled in a shocked voice. I was honest and I told her I had simply walked in the wrong backdoor. She didn't know I had seen them fucking, and she didn't make a big deal of my intrusion.

"Go back to Grandma's" she said, and nothing further was ever made of it. Uncle Ray took us for the big fried shrimp dinner the next day, just like he always did.

It didn't dawn on me then, because I was a 10-year-old girl, but looking back on it I now realize that Aunt Beth's pussy was clean-shaven. Probably a little homecoming treat for her man Ray. He really did have a huge tool, and he really did fuck the shit out of her.

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

Several years after watching Ray and Beth fuck, I had my first orgasm while sitting in the bathtub at home. Mom was at work and I was old enough to stay home by myself now. I turned the water on and lay on my back, spreading my thighs open and putting my heels up on the sides of the tub. I bent my knees and scooted my pussy up under the water flow. As I was slowly stimulated to arousal by the flowing water I had two fantasies to choose from.

One of those fantasies was big, strong Ray giving Aunt Beth's tight shaved pussy a really hard, fast fucking with her legs high up over his shoulders while she screamed and begged for mercy.

The other was Aunt Beth strapping my completely naked Cousin Will's butt cheeks while my grandmother firmly held him in the diaper position. I came that first time thinking about Will getting stripped and having his butt welted by those two strong, dominant women.