You will experience a part of me I myself have seen only once, in Brussels where I attended an international law enforcement conference. Go ahead, laugh. In the hotel bar I fell into a conversation with a young German couple. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, very pretty and vivacious. He did most of the talking, one of those extremely polished, urbane Europeans, while she supplied the heat—higher and higher, as the conversation became more and more provocative. We went into the hotel dining room for dinner. She sat on one side of me, he on the other. She started by rubbing her leg against mine. After more drinks, she started to feel me up under the table. When I saw that that was all right with him, I began to enjoy the party. I have never been so excited in my life! He was talking about some people having special needs. Their timing was perfect. She wanted eye contact with me, vivacious and warm except when she would “hint” under the table as to her own special need, and then her eyes showed an intense seriousness, a promise; she was squeezing the head of my cock, squeezing it hard. She wanted me looking at her, so for all I knew, he could see what she was doing. At that exact moment, when I was feeling the most intense pleasure, pleasure that was painful, I heard him ask, “Do you want to fuck my wife, you naughty boy?” Her eyes stated the exact terms of the deal, and I had to have it, and her. At that point he got up and left the table and went back into the bar.

Upstairs, she beat me with a belt. All I can tell you is that I became aroused as I had never been before, and that when I could no longer stand the excitement or the pain, I overpowered her and took her, had her as violently as I have ever had anybody. The result—her response—was overwhelming, quite beyond your understanding (that is, of course, if you’ve told the truth about being more responsive with me than with the others). The woman lost all control of herself. Later, when she tried to cross the room, her knees buckled so that she fell hard against the wall. That was when she was coming to me for one last kiss good-bye.

Her husband wasn’t in the bar downstairs, and over the years I’ve wondered if he wasn’t in the adjoining room, listening. He got his pleasure out of it somehow; he wasn’t the kind of man who would have catered to his wife’s special needs.