Dear Diary

How I got knocked up a second time is quite a story. It was all the doing of April and May. They wanted to dress up as hookers and see if anyone tried to buy their services. Maybe someone would offer a lot for twins? We each got rooms at a nice hotel downtown, dressed provocatively, and we all three went down to the hotel bar.

It took around an hour before each of the three of us had a man hitting on us. It was clear to me that my man was a potential john. I did not realize April and May were just playing and pretending. They were not serious. Once they had their johns, they did not do anything with them. But I thought we were all serious about our game. I'm always serious, it seems. I took my john to my hotel room.

My john paid me $500 for a wild time that night. I was nervous. We went to my room and I kissed him. I asked for the money up front; that much I knew I was expected to do. I played with his luscious hair, running my hands through it as we kissed. Then I took off his sports coat (he was a business man just passing through), and I removed his tie. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

When I had my john naked to the waist, he began to undress me. It was so sexy to have him slowly undress me. My pussy got tingly when he removed my bra. He tweaked my nipples. Then he completely changed: His tenderness ended suddenly.

He threw me on the bed. He quickly stripped me of my skirt, almost ripping it in the process. He did in fact rip my panties when he forcibly took them off of me. I got scared. He could see my fear when he gazed into my eyes. My fear turned him on, I could tell. He got himself naked, pushed my arms on the bed, pinning me. He looked down at me with menace. I shivered, but said nothing.

The john realized he was in control. He could see my submission to him in my eyes. He grinned an evil grin, and I shivered again, but looked up at him in submission. He saw the regard in my eyes and he relaxed. I was his, and that is all he wanted.

Strangely, I wanted it too. For too long I had been in control of the sexual agenda in my marriage. I got aroused at the idea that I could simply submit to him and do everything, anything, the john asked of me. I surrendered my will just then. I was his to play with.

I could tell of course that he also wanted sex. Lots of sex. He did not want to hurt me. Right then he could have hurt me if he had wanted. But I was lucky that was not his style.

I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. It was a nice smile this time. He raised my legs straight into the air. It was a good thing I was flexible! My pussy and asshole were now completely exposed to his lustful gaze, and more significantly to his throbbing appendage.

I was mentally prepared for him to choose my asshole, especially given how menacing he had been. It felt like the consistent choice, and I fully expected him not to use lube. I was glad therefore when I realized he chose my pussy. More accurately, I was very glad. He entered me brutally, but I was already so wet that it was okay. He fucked me urgently, as if he were worried I would change my mind and try to kick him out at any minute. That was not going to happen.

To my surprise, he pulled out before he came and he shot his load on my face. I had closed my eyes and opened my mouth wide, but either his aim was poor or he wanted to decorate my face with his cum. It was gross, but I was okay with it. His fuck was okay, but eminently forgettable.

Had he not been a john, and fucked me as a whore -- well, I guess I was a whore for just that one night -- I might have forgotten him. But him being a john and fucking me with such menace made the whole thing unforgettable. I can't tell you how many fantasies I've had since that dramatic night. I re-enact it in my mind and I vary the scenarios. That fantasy leads to a certain orgasm. Every time.

I fucked him every which way he could imagine until I had drained him completely dry. Then he paid me another $200 to take obscene pictures and videos of me. It was pretty gross. He had quite a fancy camera in his briefcase, and he used it a lot, as he manipulated my body into all sorts of crazy poses.

I was totally into it. I made an easy $700 that night.

I asked him for copies of the pictures. He smiled and asked how he could get them to me. I realized my mistake, and said never mind.

Nine months later my little boy appeared. I guess his name was preordained: I named him John, after his father, my john.

If Steve ever suspected he was not the father of little June and John, and he might have been actually as it's theoretically possible -- it's just that I don't think so -- he never said anything. Best of all, he raised our little children lovingly, as if they were his very own.

Just before my little gangbang affair, and shortly after my one night of prostitution, I seduced Steve and we made love. That's why it is entirely possible he is the father of one or both of our children. But given the other number of other times I had seduced my husband into making love (quite a few!), I should have around five children with him, and of course I do not.

One of my theories is that he has a low sperm count. There's no way I'll ever know that, and ultimately it does not matter much. My two beautiful children are facts on the ground, and just who their biological father is ultimately does not matter much. As far as Steve, my children, and myself are concerned, it is Steve who is their father.

Okay, Dear Diary, now you are caught up. Let me record this trip to my parents' home, back in Indiana. I have a feeling this trip will be special. I get these premonitions, and this is one. But as I write this, I have no idea why it will be special! We'll see if I am right.

*************

Friday:

Dear Diary. Tomorrow I travel back to my hometown in southern Indiana, and I'll see my parents and my grandmother who lives with them. It's a special day for our family, and my older brother Bill will come home then, too. The idea of seeing Bill, and the memory of my wonderful and wanton times the eve of my marriage, with him, and our first cousins Amber and Zeke, ran wild in my mind.

But that was long ago, and doubtless long forgotten by Bill, or simply attributed to traditional pre-wedding-night out of control behavior. Probably Bill was racked with guilt over having ravished his own sister, as well as his own first cousin Amber.

Who was I kidding? Who forgets an episode of sibling incest? I myself remembered it clear as day as if it were yesterday. How could Bill have forgotten it? My only hope was that he was so ashamed of it he would never try anything like it again.

*************

Saturday:

Dear Diary. I'll begin by describing myself. It may help you to picture me as this story unfolds. Since I'm a little embarrassed to do that myself, I will give you the description my ex-husband Steve once told me, and I committed it to memory. I'm like that: I have a memory for almost everything. Often I remember verbatim things that I've heard.

My ex-husband, Steve, by the way is a wonderful man and I love him with all my heart. He's my ex because after 5 years of marriage and 2 children together, he decided he is gay. Looking back, I guess I suspected that. It certainly explains most everything about our sex life together. In every way except sex, he is a completely wonderful man, and he is still the love of my life. I am his too, at least in the female category.

Once he left me, he moved to the house next door, and he takes care of the kids a lot, and I like his partner Jason, too. What can I say? Steve has great taste. So, we're all cool. But now I'm single, and I'm enjoying it. I enjoy the alone time when he has the kids, and I enjoy the possibility of sexual promiscuity without the guilt.

But I digress. Here is the description, recast because I am giving it to you, and it would be awkward to recount it word for word as Steve gave it to me: "I am fine boned, and I give a fragile appearance, even if I do not consider myself fragile at all. I am a brunette, or perhaps more precisely, I am more of a dirty blonde. I am a little too thin, but not too much, except for my bosom (yes, Steve used the word 'bosom'), which is a little too big for my frame. I have all the curves, in all the usual places that men like. And I'm short (I am 5', 2" tall)."

"My eyes might be my best feature, as they are a blend of many colors, but the overall effect is one of blue. I've been told they give the effect one might expect from looking through a kaleidoscope, and when I look up at a taller man (and almost all men are taller than I am, it seems), and he looks down into my eyes, well, let's just say it gives me a lot of power over the man."

Pretty cool, right? You can see why I still love him. Sex with him was never that good, and I guess now I have a theory as to why that was. He was almost the first man to know me carnally (Bill and Zeke having beat him to me by 24 hours), and in theory at least he may even be the father of my two children. Probably, though, he is not.

I dress well, too. I always wear shoes with heels, which of course make me taller, but also show off my shapely legs. I wear them short, so you can see what little legs I have. I wear my skirts tight as well, since I have a sexy ass, or at least that's what I think. And my big boobs are a constant attraction.

I don't have to do much to call attention to my boobs: men's eyes always go to them. But I try always to show the maximal cleavage that good taste allows. Men are always looking down at me, and this way they have something to focus on. Occasionally I go beyond the bounds of good taste, and I show so much boob I tend to look cheap and slutty.

One of my favorite looks is to wear a large gold cross with a chain of carefully chosen length, so that the bottom of the cross is lost in my cleavage. If I'm flirting with a guy, I'll tell him some story about the cross (my favorite is that it's a reproduction of one used in the crusades; I embellish this story a lot at times), and then men have an excuse to study my boobs and cleavage, presumably by looking at the cross. This works every time. Every single time. No exceptions.

Oh yes: update! My hair is now a beautiful shade of blonde. It's absolutely gorgeous. And the salon that did it also did my nails, both fingers and toes. The fingernail of my middle finger is blue, and the rest are red. That way when I go to Washington, D.C., I can flip the bird at the Trump administration with a little drama. I figure blue is a good color to use to do that.

Steve however voted for Trump. After a huge fight, we decided not to discuss politics. But I still cannot believe he did that.

Well, okay, even if he's gay, he's still a man. A white man, too. Added to that he's a hyper religious one, even if his religion is not that kind to homosexuals. Maybe those three things explain it? Frankly, I cannot explain it. He is such a nice man, yet he votes for vicious people.

Now let me tell you my story. I am writing this kind of like a day by day record, as it happens. This morning I took an airplane and went to visit my parents in Indiana. It's kind of a family holiday: It's the anniversary of when the charges were dropped.

Those would be the charges against my Dad. He's an orthopedic surgeon, and he was accused of insider trading. I'm convinced he is guilty, and so is everyone else who knows my Dad (even if he is my Dad, I have to say it's fairly obvious that he is sleazy where money is concerned), but the government still needs "actual facts" to convict him. Alternative facts do not cut the mustard in the courts. Well, at least not yet.

Indiana is the land of Mike Pence, and it is not a good place to have an abortion. I was raised there, so I'm careful about sex. My religion does not allow birth control, and I don't want to need an emergency abortion when I'm in Indiana. So I just don't have any sex when I'm home in Indiana.

My brother, who is a good man, convinced me to go on the pill. That solves a lot of problems. In addition, my religious piety is fading away.

My faith began the long side into irrelevance when I began to have sex outside the marriage. My brother Bill encouraged me in my extramarital sexual activities, to my great surprise. "You never know when some lucky guy is going to seduce you, Sis," he said. So now I'm on the pill. I always listen to my brother: He is older and he has the wisdom of age. Well, he's only almost three years older, but he's smart.

To be completely honest, I am not sure I want more children. Two is enough for me. This means the pill makes sense, because for a man to get me into bed, quite frankly, it's just a little too easy. If I'm drunk, almost any man who makes an effort can enjoy my charms.

"I'm off sex," I told my brother Bill. "Nobody is going to seduce me. Nobody is even going to get near me. I have two children, a happy life, and sex was never that great, anyway."

"Hello, Mary, do you hear yourself? Your ex-husband Steve is gay. Maybe you should try a man who is more into women?"

"I prefer to consider Steve bisexual," I said.

"Mary, he left you for a man. A good man to be sure, but a man. He's gay. We're Hoosiers. He's gay, and deal with it," Steve said.

"What do you mean we're Hoosiers? What does that have to do with anything?" I remarked indignantly.

"It means that what you see is what you get. He left you for a man. He's gay," Bill said.

"The idea that Hoosiers are not capable of nuance is offensive, Bill. What's wrong with you? He fathered two of my children!" I said.

"Did he really?" Bill said.

Oh, shit, I thought. Could Bill know? I don't think it's possible. Nobody knows, not even Steve. During our marriage, I had a few one night stands, because Steve could not satisfy me sexually. I grabbed sex a few times with whomever was handy.

The truth is, while I can narrow it down to three or four men as potential fathers for my children in each case, I don't really know exactly who the father is of either of my children. It could in fact be Steve. I always made sure to seduce him around the time I could have gotten myself knocked up.

As far as my children are concerned, Steve is their father. And he might be, too: the sex was lousy, but we did the deed with some frequency, and he could easily be the father of both of them. The point is, I just don't know. I don't want to know.

I know that sounds disgusting, and it probably is. Suddenly it hit me. One time, when I came home briefly to see my parents, I ended up having sex with Josh who lives next door. Josh was convenient, and I was horny. It happens.

Bill is best friends with Josh, and maybe Josh told him we had sex around nine months before little John was born? (I love to call my son Little John; it reminds me of the robin Hood stories my Mom used to read to me at bedtime.) Bill is not dumb; he would figure out the rest. I really hate the way men talk about their sexual conquests.

We went on like that this afternoon for around an hour. It ended like all such discussions in our house: with bourbon on the rocks.

*************

Sunday:

I just reread what I wrote yesterday, and it gives a false impression: my sex life is not on hold, just the sexual intercourse part of it is on hold. More importantly, I did not have the strength to tell you what happened late last night, after my third bourbon on the rocks. So I'll tell you now.

I have just finished my Mom's delicious breakfast of pancakes and bacon, with real maple syrup. Bill insists that she use the real thing, and he buys it for her. She still uses Log Cabin syrup, but only when he is not home. This nourishing breakfast has given me the strength to write down what happened. Maple syrup always revives me.

It was late, and both Bill and I were drunk. Our bedrooms are upstairs, and our parents have a downstairs bedroom, as does Grandma. Grandma is not well enough to be hopping up and down a flight of stairs all the time. So it's just Bill and me upstairs.

Well, last night I took a shower and I washed my hair. I dried off and then went back to my room. I forgot to close my bedroom door. It was wide open.

I should explain: My room has a little hall to the door, so it's easy not to notice if the door is open when it normally would be closed. There is a large mirror in the small hall, so if my brother Bill stood correctly he could see my entire room while he was hidden in the hall.

I retained the towel that was wrapped around my hair, kind of like a turban, but I dropped the towel covering my body, since I was in my own room. My body was almost dry; I did no longer needed the towel.

Speaking of turbans, you know, the last time I was in NY my taxi driver wore a turban. He told me was from the Punjab in India. It was pretty cool. New York is so very different from Indiana. We don't even have taxis in my small hometown. But I digress. I do that a lot, I guess. I'm sorry.

Back to the point: I kept the towel around my hair but dropped the towel around my body, since I was now back in my room. I was walking around naked, doing stuff, just like I do in my room at home, with my kids, when they're both asleep in their own room, that they share. They're little, so they go to bed early, thank goodness. I just wasn't thinking.

Well, it turns out the drapes were open. They usually are in the daytime. I had forgotten to close them. The upshot is that the neighbors could see me parading around in my birthday suit if they wanted to look. I put on quite a show, too, even it was inadvertent.

For example I put my leg on the bed and used the towel to dry my pussy. It felt good, so I made sure it was really dry. A little later I decided maybe I should dry it again. You get the idea.

As I said earlier, the bedroom door was open too. If Bill wanted to spy on my naked body from inside the house, it also would have been easy to do. I was inadvertently exposing myself in two directions at once. I laugh to myself as I reread what I just wrote, 'if Bill wanted to spy on my naked body.' Of course he did.

I'm not an exhibitionist, far from it, this was all inadvertent. It matters, because Josh lives next door, and as I told you earlier, he may or may not be the father of one of my children. I think he is not; I think it is the john from my one night of whoring. Or it could always already be Steve. I don't really know.

Also, Josh is a good friend of my brother Bill, and Bill's bedroom is across the hall from mine. Both Bill and Josh are 29, almost three years older than my tender age of 27. I would be horrified if Josh happened to be looking out the window, and saw me. If Bill's bedroom door was open, he would have a rather spectacular view of me as well. God, I hope neither man noticed those things!

Okay, Dear Diary, maybe what I just wrote sounds strange? I had already once made love with Josh, and doubtless he remembers enjoying my naked body. What's the big deal if he sees it again? Well, it is a big deal. I don't want a repeat of that one night stand, and my flagrant nudity could be misinterpreted. Also, it is creepy to think I was displaying my body from my window inadvertently. I can't explain it, but I feel it was creepy.

Okay, maybe it's not such a big deal? Maybe subconsciously I wanted him to see me, to see if he was still interested in having sex with me? Maybe I wanted to see if I could still be an object of desire? How should I know? A human mind is a complicated thing. You're a diary. You would not understand, but you can take my word for it.

As for my brother, he's a man and I'm a sexy woman with a great body, and all men like free peeks of nude women. But even if the woman is their sister? I think that would be a limit case. Even if Bill saw me, he probably looked away and closed his own bedroom door. That's the decent thing to do. So I am not too worried about Bill. It's Josh that worries me.