XPost: alt.romance, nz.general, soc.women   
   XPost: soc.culture.indian, alt.philosophy, alt.politics.prayer   
   From: ibshamlat@gmail.com   
      
   My name is Eve. Just like in the Bible. My parents,   
   children of the "Flower Power" generation, were true   
   hedonists. "You only live once," they told me. "Do what   
   feels good. Get the most pleasure you can. Use yourself   
   up. There are no consequences." Alas they are no longer   
   with me but I took their lesson to heart, especially   
   when it came to the pursuit of enjoyment.   
      
   My parents might have tempered their advice if they had   
   known how oversexed I was. I'm sure that my libido was   
   influenced by all the LSD, peyote, pot, and Irish coffee   
   that they consumed when I was conceived and in the womb.   
      
   As the movie line goes "I had a body for sin and a brain   
   for business." Well not actually for business but one   
   for science. I scored near the top of the range in the   
   science and math portion of the SATs. But the sin part   
   got the most exercise in college and graduate school.   
      
   I'm not a ravishing beauty but I'm attractive enough. I   
   have nice breasts, a trim waist, and beautiful legs.   
   It's not my own doing. Even though I exercise regularly,   
   work out in the gym and don't eat junk food, I owe my   
   appearance primarily to the good genes inherited from my   
   parents and the luck of the draw. I am almost a   
   caricature of one of the old Vargas cartoons in Esquire   
   magazine. You know the ones. Big tits, slim body, and   
   long sexy legs, the stuff of wet dreams. In old WW2   
   movies Vargas calendars are shown hanging from every   
   barracks wall.   
      
   In college the guys literally lined up hoping for my   
   sexual favors. My prospective lovers didn't have to try   
   too hard. Anyone who seriously wanted to fuck me   
   succeeded. I protested a bit, primarily to preserve my   
   reputation as a "good" girl and then I spread my legs.   
   Why not? It gave both of us pleasure. It sure beat   
   nights of study in the library. I wasn't quite the class   
   whore, but almost. I took on classmates, instructors,   
   even professors as long as they were reasonably healthy   
   and were nice to me.   
      
   Although I said "guys" some of my bedmates were women.   
   No point playing favorites. I liked the feel of a cock   
   in my cunt but warm feminine lips eating me out were   
   equally good. I wanted to be touched, fondled, sucked or   
   penetrated and ultimately experience the thrill of a   
   rousing climax. In fact I read a recent article in a   
   scientific journal that claimed that many women were   
   "fluid" in their sexual preference. They could switch   
   from male to female lovers and back again without   
   difficulty. So I guess I was just normal.   
      
   My promiscuous behavior actually helped my career. Most   
   instructors, male and female alike, were willing to   
   trade an A grade for a passionate roll in the hay. So I   
   graduated college with high honors. Along the way I had   
   a child, Adam. Unfortunately I never married. Just as   
   well. I didn't really know who the father was. Single   
   mothers were no novelty at a university.   
      
   Eventually I was offered a job as a graduate assistant   
   and progressed through the hierarchy to Associate   
   Professor in charge of my own laboratory.   
      
   I am now approaching 40. In my generation that was the   
   portal of middle age. My face is still young looking but   
   my figure has matured. I reminded myself of Leslie Caron   
   in that old movie "Gigi." An innocent looking face on   
   the body of a courtesan.   
      
   Whenever I catch a glimpse of my nude body in the   
   bathroom mirror after taking a shower I have a twinge of   
   desire for the woman that I see. I luxuriate in the   
   sensuous feel of my flesh. I appreciate the softness of   
   my breasts, the sensitivity of my nipples, the   
   resilience of my legs and thighs.   
      
   In the privacy of my bathroom I can touch myself   
   everywhere without shame or embarrassment. My breasts   
   have grown large enough so that I can raise them to my   
   mouth and suck and chew my own nipples. I enjoy the   
   taste of my cunt and I would sometimes finger fuck   
   myself, not because I wanted an orgasm, but because I   
   wanted to lick the fingers that had been in my vagina.   
      
   I'm not a lesbian but if my nude mirror image walked   
   into the room I would be down on her in a second. My   
   hands would clutch her breasts and my tongue would find   
   her cunt. It's too bad that I can't suck my own pussy. I   
   would really like to eat myself out. Don't get me wrong.   
   I love being a woman but once in a while I have a   
   distinct longing to have a cock so that I could fuck the   
   woman that I see in the mirror. It would be wonderful to   
   be the fucker as well as the fuckee.   
      
   My work at the university prospered nicely. We developed   
   a method of of scanning the brains of animals and making   
   changes in the neural structure. We even tried it with   
   success on monkeys. The next step was to try it on   
   humans but we had much more research to do. We had to   
   map that portion of the human brain that contained the   
   personality and the memory making due compensation for   
   gender.   
      
   But while I was supervising this research a strange   
   thing was happening to me. I developed an exceptionally   
   strong need for sexual climaxes. There were times when I   
   felt that my whole body had become an erogenous zone.   
   Soon I was masturbating four, five, sometimes six times   
   a day. I just had to do it to myself or I would explode.   
   There was no emotional gratification in these self   
   inflicted orgasms. They were a physical necessity. I ran   
   through the full muscle twitching, cunt filling,   
   delightful agony of a climax but there was an empty   
   feeling in my heart and my head.   
      
   I talked to several psychotherapists over the next two   
   years. All concured that I was not a nymphomaniac. I was   
   not compelled to copulate with a variety of men to get   
   assurance of my desirability nor was I compulsively   
   driven to masturbate to reduce personal anxiety. Rather   
   I appeared to have an exaggerated sexual need, a super   
   active libido. It was most likely a neurological   
   problem.   
      
   Some women with this condition have an almost constant   
   need for sexual stimulation suffering up to 300 orgasms   
   a day. It is not as erotic as you may think. It becomes   
   almost impossible to get anything done. Tight clothes,   
   car rides, casual touches may trigger off an immediate   
   need for sexual gratification. Women with this condition   
   are held prisoner by their own genitals. I've heard that   
   some have even contemplated committing suicide if they   
   could get no relief.   
      
   In my case my symptoms would start with an itchy feeling   
   in my pubic region. An itch that no amount of scratching   
   would relieve. The itch became increasingly intense and   
   spread throughout my body. My breasts engorged and my   
   nipples erected becoming extremely sensitive. I couldn't   
   function until I got relief. An orgasm was the only   
   thing that helped.   
      
   It is very difficult trying to lead a normal life when   
   you have to make yourself cum six or more times a day.   
   Several years ago I only had to do it four times a day   
   and I could handle that. I would rise, eat breakfast   
   while still in my robe, and just before I dressed to go   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)