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This request is submitted to the CONGRESS of the UNITED STATES to designate the BRASS BED located on the second floor of the residence at 133 MEYER LANE as a NATIONAL HISTORIC LANDMARK. The documentation supporting this application is as follows:
It was at that place, on one December 12th, that the innocent, virtuous maiden known as Ashley Johnson, daughter of a noble Episcopal priest, discovered a hymen does pop when broken. Having come to the man she loved at the moment totally prepared to meet this unknown, Miss Ashley allowed her consort, the man known as Ethan, to escort her up the stairs, slowly unbuttoning her dress as he did, punctuating this advance with gentle kisses and caresses until the temperature of the body exceeded known limits of human health and welfare.
Having reached that room where the bed is located, the innocent maiden felt her lover to be slowly pull the dress off her shoulders, brushing away her waist length auburn hair, unhooking her black bra, letting it fall to the floor before he sunk to his knees and began to mouth her breasts. Becoming excited, the maiden moaned once and then was remembered as having murmured, “Come on, baby, claim your prize. Make me a woman.”
Stripped naked and gently laid onto the bed to be nominated, innocent Ashley watched her man tear his clothes off, returning to suckle her breasts as he fumbled to put on a condom. With the room filled with her scent, her womanhood dripping, the inexperienced one spread her thighs, feeling her man mount her, his manhood lingering for just a moment before savagely thrusting forward through her dark thatch, ripping open her hymen, causing a shriek and then joyous screams of pleasure. Screams that continued even after, as her legs wrapped around her man, Ashley felt his cock pound away into her, going full length before flowering and exploding in pure joy.
Having achieved her objective of Woman, Ashley soon would embark on a journey of exploration, not only losing every virginity, oral, anal and vertical, in the next twenty-four hours, she would also begin her path to become an award winning actress as well. Within two years she would play the virgin again, this time laying for the son of the professor who held the key to her admission to graduate school. Successful in her first performance, Ashley would subsequently achieve her greatest triumph, totally convincing the man she did marry, a future Episcopal priest himself, that she was a virgin, squealing on cue on her wedding night and rewarded finally with a baby and a continued life of privilege necessary to maintain her self-centered life.
Having found herself in a loveless marriage devoid of physical intimacy, Winnie O’Brien developed first a friendship, then a crush, on one Ethan before realizing she had fallen madly, deeply in love. Accepting that the natural extension of love is love-making itself, Winnie created a lame excuse to be away from her moronic husband on the night of July 14th and traveled two hours to be with her new man. Although filled with a certain degree of trepidation, she accepted her heart as a guiding force with the total, complete knowledge no man beds a woman unless it is a permanent solution to all problems..
Meeting Ethan at a truck stop, Winnie followed him to the secluded 133 Meyer Lane, each turn of the wheel committing more and more of her heart to this man. Having arrived at the residence, Winnie was welcomed in, slow kisses and tender caresses leading her to the kitchen and dinner he had prepared for her. Totally captivated, totally seduced, Winnie ate without tasting, her body so ripe and so ready to begin anew. Watching as he cleared the dishes and then turned, walking to her, tenderly drawing her to casino oyna her feet.
Slowly he began to unbutton her blouse, her excitement growing long before they climbed the stairs. She was a big woman, he a tender man. He parted the fabric and unhooked her bra, the massive breasts sagging as a groan escaped his lips. Winnie’s nipples snapped to rigid attention as he sunk to his knees. She wanted it in bed but she would have taken it across the table, so desperate her need. So needed to be loved in every way. It was her turn to moan as he hungrily mouthed her breasts, the pulsating desire of lust throbbing deep in her pussy. She had to, she had to have him.
“Take me,” Winnie panted. “Damn you, give me your cock, Ethan.”
She watched him rise to his feet, his sparkling eyes fixed on her as he pulled away her shirt and then tossed the bra aside. She’d take it on the table, on the floor, hell she’d ever stand up but she had to have this man. Winnie’s heart skipped a beat as the passionate stallion smiled before he gently took her hand and led her to the stairs. Together they climbed the thirteen steps, turning and pausing. The brass bed beckoned.
The fires of passion made Winnie’s head spin. She knew he had stripped her naked, she knew she was in the bed. It was all like watching a movie or a most sweet dream, Ethan’s shirt gone, his muscled body so hers. Winnie knew he was putting on a condom even as he kissed his way down her body. She spread her thighs, feeling his tongue darted around her womanhood. Feeling her wetness respond. He must, he must give her his cock, and he was inside her.
Winnie heard his lust grunts grow louder as his manhood had its way with her. He was good, he was very good, but she was a woman who knew how to please too. How to triumph in the world and in a bedroom. She fought the girlish desire to come, her victory to hold that for a future mating, even as Ethan’s cock went full length. Winnie bit her lip and held on, feeling his endowment finally quake and then release his love before he collapsed, panting in a man’s satisfaction.
In the afterglow they lay for more than an hour, whispering words neither would remember, content in the love that had been made. Winnie closed her eyes, planning a future with this man, knowing the world of a married woman could be beautiful, one loving at a time. She had just begun to plan their house when she felt Ethan slowly kissing his way to her breasts. His mouth found her left nipple, her eyes opening quickly. Jesus Christ, he would have her again.
Twice she had been married and another engaged and not one, not ever, had his way in her twice in one night. Not on a wedding night, not even when she was solid cherry and now Ethan was beginning again. Her eyes widened as he slid another shield over his gorgeous cock and then began to pound away into her. Winnie would not hold back now, the lust of being wanted knocking aside her need to triumph. Her need. A need so great she would do nothing this night but submit.
It was the next morning as Ethan fixed brunch that Winnie could finally survey the entire bedroom scene. The brass bed, the covers crumpled, the sheets stained. Half a dozen spent condoms on the floor. Half a dozen and she shivered. Winnie fingered his shirt she would now wear, hers in shreds nearby. She’d meant to be on the road an hour ago; no man had ever banged her in such lust before. Her heart pounded at the memory of the sound, the fabric torn open, a hungry man not to be denied her again. Winnie’s knees weakened as the image flooded over her, him ripping open her shirt, a kitchen knife cutting open her bra and him, so powerful now, having his way. She’d go home with her breasts flopping bare inside another man’s shirt canlı casino to let her husband know what a real man could do.
Could do and did do her, more than a dozen times over the next year. Did her as a married woman and did her as a divorced one too, doing her each time with all the passion a man could muster. Ethan even did Winnie after she knew he wasn’t the marrying kind and she was. Was a girl who just couldn’t say no, at least to him. Not then, not the night before she married the third time, not ever if he wanted. If he pleased, and she would be happy to please him, even in all her delusions.
She’d heard all the jokes, all the crackpot remarks, but just because Marsha had married a mortician, that didn’t mean she was into the odd or the kinky. It had always been like everybody else, ever since her boyfriend at the time gave her a special present for her 18th birthday. Once in a while she wondered whatever happened to that idiot, sweet talking her into his bedroom while his parents were out, finally figuring out where a penis was supposed to go and leaving her all knocked up as he did. It was quite a gift, learning what it was and what it could do. Thank God her dad had helped her out and thank God there was more to learn.
It wasn’t that she had been a sleep around or a tramp but those were different times. You go out with somebody three or four times and you slept with him. She was always careful, at least until she met Jeff. It was love at first sight, she did know he’d marry her and when he did knock her up, that sealed the deal. They had a lot of great years together, him not asking too many questions. Not that Marsha slept around with everything in pants, she did have morals. Then she met him, that silver tongued devil named Ethan.
He was supposed to be just another boring speaker at just another meeting of the Garden Club, not some handsome joker who stole every lady’s heart. That he was, the shameless flirt who made the bats laugh and wish their man could be have the charmer. Half the looker. It was just so natural, the way he talked and entertained. It was even more natural Marsha asked the good looking thing for his card. After all, a girl never knew when she might want a speaker. Like the next day of October 22nd for a date for lunch.
Not that she was the kind of woman on the hunt, not at all. Marsha had never actually asked a man for a date before. She might have hinted, she might have even said she wouldn’t object, but to come out and invite some cute thing for lunch was something new. New enough a woman had to look just right, the red sleeveless blouse, black slacks, red and black shoes, hair just right, that sort of thing. It was just lunch though, fast food at that. Just a noon get-together that quickly got right in hand.
Damn her nipples, they gave her away, Marsha knew it. There couldn’t have been any other reason for him to know exactly what she wanted. Twenty minutes of lunch, some harmless flirtation and then she followed him back to his place. She knew what he wanted and she wanted it more. Damn him, the mind-reader, taking her inside, kissing her like no man ever had before and making her want so much. Such a charmer that her breasts damn nearly exploded out of her bra when he stripped her down. Stripped her stark naked at the back door, lifting her into his arms and carrying her through the house. Up the stairs. To the brass bed. Letting her watch him tear his clothes off and then, like no other man, just fuck the living shit out of her. Damn that man, making her an FDF, a first date fucker, after all these years. Damn how good the loving was, if just for one afternoon.
One of these days she’d just have to have some more. From somebody. Somewhere.
The kaçak casino “good” girl. The saint. The modern Joan of Arc. Me. Me, the sheltered one, the loyal wife, mother, grandmother, church-going, social organization belonging middle class gray haired non-descript ordinary me. The woman who wouldn’t say “shit” for a mouthful of it, who never got felt up or fingered when I dated. The one who didn’t give up her virginity until two days before I got married. The right down the middle of the road straight arrow, me and then it happened. I fell in love.
Totally in love with a charmer. The shameless flirt who taught my first adult education class at the college, that most handsome Ethan. I couldn’t believe it, me actually looking. Me actually flirting back. It was some unknown force leading me on, maybe looking for what I always suspected was really out there. Maybe just afraid to admit what I knew.
For more than a year I played the flirt, moving closer and closer to another man. Ethan was always the gentleman, never an aggressor, never putting me in a situation I didn’t want to be in. Closer and closer, even as my heart was telling me to go to him. To be with him. So close that we both agreed, should we ever become available, our next life must be together. Me wondering if it would ever be and then it was, that I could fall in love. All it took was my husband to humiliate me.
I was the good wife, obedient and loyal, make no mistake. A product of the Sixties model of do the floor with heels on mentality. All he wanted for his 50th birthday was what he’d wanted for ten years. What he’d hinted at, mentioned, suggested and even begged for. 50th birthday, obedient wife, all that crap and he wore me down to the point of giving in. He made me a piece of ass.
God, I was so disgusted, so dirty that next morning when I went to class and there he was. Ethan, so gentle, so understanding without a word being said. My friend, my man friend. Me, good all those years. I knew, I knew for once my heart and mind were in sync. The next Thursday and in sync became a most perfect world.
Odd, but he recalls the details so much better than I do of that April 29th afternoon. He could tell you of the little black dress I wore and the black underthings to turn him on. He can tell you how I drove in the Silver Taurus, arriving right at 2. How we kissed, we talked and how I was taken to the brass bed. The way I was stripped and how he mouthed my breasts as he took off his shirt. The taste of my lips as he unzipped and how I stared, a man shorter than my husband but huge in a man’s way. How I spread my legs, arched my back and how he discovered how much I needed.
He came too fast, the massive gush of his love pouring out when his pecker entered me, my womanhood already soaking wet for him. Ethan said it was a first, to shoot too quick, but it didn’t matter. This time I had consummated a love, this man, this bed, this was my wedding day. My real wedding, I knew. I blush now, twenty-four hours later on the 30th, in a bed at my house, his redemption as a man convincing me even more. Making me know the six spent condoms of another woman wasn’t brag, it was fact. The bare facts, six times he spent himself inside me in the raw. That this man, this man of mine, was all mine. All man.
The Congress may well consider, in light of the evidence, that although the brass bed is deserving of National Historic Landmark status, it would be more logical that in fact the penis attached to one Ethan is even more deserving of listing as a National Treasure. His conquests of the past have proven to be memorable, to say the least and there is a certain merit to the concept. However, to this consideration, let me just say this.
Go fuck yourselves, bitches. It’s been ten years since I went to that bed and that man is MINE………….ALL MINE………and this bitch doesn’t share.
One Very Happy Jane
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