My History

I have always been an inveterate journaller. I began on this journey when I was about five years old. I can remember my parents encouraging me to write something that happened during the day. It developed into a serious habit. I can't remember more than about three days where I haven't written at least something that happened to me.

My story follows. It is taken from my many years of diaries, all of which I have kept since I wrote them. Generally they have been under lock and key but sometimes not, unfortunately.

I lost my virginity when I was eighteen to a biker named Tom. He rode a beautifully restored 1950 Indian Chief Black Hawk and was covered with tattoos. He was tall and muscular and I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

My name is Jacinta and I'm a 5'6" green-eyed girl with a 34 C bust-line and what my father called, 'breeder's hips.' Tom showed me how to properly love a man. I realise now, nearing the end of my life, that I was lucky. So many of my girlfriends had horror stories of their first time, but Tom was different.

He made sure I was satisfied before he was himself - a rarity in the 70's, believe me. But he spoiled me. I expected every man to be the same. I was sorely disappointed.

But he did give me something else, a love of tattoos. He was covered and he could tell me about each one. He remembered where he got them, and why. There seemed to be a story to each one. I decided that I'd like to do something similar.

I decided that I'd like something to remember my first sexual experience with Tom so I asked him about getting a tattoo. Back in the late 70's it was unusual but not unheard of for an eighteen-year-old girl being tattooed.

I decided on the Indian Motorcycle logo, a chief's head, without the name of the company inside it. I had a small Indian Head tattooed onto the inside of my hip-bone where it would be covered by my clothing at all times.

Getting the Indian tattoo meant that the tattooist would see me nearly naked. He flirted with me pretty heavily while he got things organised. He shaved me completely and while he did so he copped a pretty good feel of my pussy. I enjoyed it so I didn't say anything.

The tattoo looked really good and fortunately Nate the tattooist didn't try anything else with me. He did make me feel mighty good though.

Two weeks later I returned to see if I needed any touch-ups on my Indian. Nate had a close look and this time had me panting and moaning almost right away. His fingers were magical. I spread my legs wide for easy access and he dropped his pants. Before I knew it he was pumping away at me. I was in ecstasy. It felt so good.

He gave me a great orgasm and kept right on pumping. As I came again so did he. He squirted inside my quivering pussy as I came again.

When I finally regained my senses I decided that I wanted a tattoo to commemorate the occasion. A small tattoo gun was then inked on the opposite hip to my Indian. My collection had started.

Being young and horny I kept seeing, and fucking, both Tom and Nate for the next year or so. No new tattoos in that time. I had decided to keep them for any new fuck-buddy I found.

One thing I did learn was that I loved sex. Any sex, any time, anywhere! I loved straight fucking; I loved giving and receiving oral sex. Hell, I even loved anal sex. That was Nate's doing. He got my anal virginity not long after he had fucked me for the first time.

Life went on. I finished school without having any new sex partners. But then I went to College. Oh, boy, that was fantastic. In my four years I ended up with seventeen new tattoos. I had them on my ass, around my pussy, on my shoulders and on my arms. I even had a foot tattoo.

Every one of them had something to do with the partner I'd fucked. I got a book, a calculator, a microscope and a telescope. I had a car, a football, a baseball bat and a hockey stick. I got an apple, a chef's hat, a pair of glasses and a surfboard. I got a filmmaker's clapperboard, a bicycle and even a wookie (It was around the time of the original Star Wars, remember).

They were all small and cute and each reminded me of a sex partner. I didn't even think about the number of tattoos I had, or the number of partners I had.

Eventually I graduated and, strangely enough, got a job teaching second grade. By this time I had four more tattoos; a fish, a stethoscope, a truck and a basketball. I had been at the school for a year when a graduate teacher joined us. He taught fifth grade. He was tall and slim, with dark curly hair. He was really quiet but had a good sense of humour.

I tried to get him to notice me but he didn't. We got together with other teachers on a Friday at a local bar and I always sat next to him. He hardly gave me the time of day.

Eventually I asked him out. He knocked me back. So I asked him to come with me to my sister's place, a three-hour drive away. I told him I needed another driver. He said yes.

When we got there he met my sister and her husband. We chatted for what seemed like hours. Eventually I got him alone and kissed him. He kissed me back. He was a great kisser, fantastic, in fact.

That's all we seemed to do for the rest of the weekend. We didn't fuck because my sister's husband was a bit of a prude and gave us separate rooms. But I had enjoyed myself anyway.

Steve was really sweet. He treated me like a princess and never refused me anything I asked for. The first time we slept together was wonderful. It wasn't as mind-blowing as my experiences with Tom and Nate, but it was nice. I was getting really attached. Oh, by the ay, his tattoo was a tiger. It was his Chinese star sign. He was born in the year of the tiger.

We had just finished fucking one night when he asked me to marry him. Without hesitation I said yes. We'd known each other for about three months. He treated me so well; I knew most guys weren't like that. I'd decided it was time to settle down anyway.

Life moved pretty quickly after that. We had a long engagement, about eighteen months, before we married. All that time I was a one-man girl.

Until my bachelorette party. The week before the wedding my bridesmaids took me out clubbing. We drank and flirted and drank some more. I remember at some stage one of my bridesmaids leaving with some hunk of a man who wasn't her husband. Another one fell asleep at one of the clubs. By the time I got to the final club it was just one bridesmaid and me.

We found a couple of hunks to dance with. The music was slow and the dancing was close. My partner had his hands all over me and I was the same. I felt his cock through his pants and decided I wanted to feel it. I unzipped him and thrust my hand into his pants. I grasped a rather large cock and started wanking it.

He grabbed me by the wrist and took me outside into a laneway next to the club. He lifted my skirt, ripped off my panties and thrust himself into my wet and waiting pussy. I tore at his shirt and sucked on his nipples. Before long he was cumming. As he sprayed my pussy with his man juice, I came too. We collapsed onto the ground.

As we lay there panting I saw that he had an eagle tattooed onto his shoulder. Later that week, amidst the frantic, last minute wedding preparations I found myself enough time to get an eagle tattoo on my upper thigh.

I knew then and there that I wasn't going to be able to stay faithful to Steve. I loved him in my own way but sexually I needed more. I quite happily allowed the wedding to go ahead and would deal with anything else later.

Our honeymoon in Hawaii was spectacular. The sex Steve and I had was wonderful. He liked me naked and he liked to look over all of my tattoos. I was starting to get quite a collection.

Almost inevitably I found a fuck buddy while in Hawaii. Steve went snorkelling one day but I didn't want to go. Instead I stayed behind. Instead of staying at the resort I decided to do a local excursion to see what the locals did for fun. I found a bar and before too long a Hawaiian native, a huge islander, started flirting with me. Because I flirted back I think he thought I was up for anything. Of course, I was. He took me home with him and I found myself on my knees in front of a large brown cock.

I worked it all the way into my mouth and sucked hungrily. Eventually I deep throated him. He fucked my face for a while until I felt him cum down my gullet. It wasn't pretty, or sexy, but it was good!

He pushed me onto my back on his bed and unceremoniously mounted me. I was dripping wet. He pushed his whole length into me in one go. It felt like being fucked by a log. He thrust in and out, without a care for me. He only wanted to get off again. I thought that him taking me like that, treating me like a piece of meat was sexy. I wanted him to fuck me hard and he did.

He made me cum but he didn't care. He just kept fucking me until he came again. Then he rolled off me and fell asleep.

I got up and used his shower. Then I wandered back to the resort and was there well before Steve came back from snorkelling. I told him I wanted a tattoo as a memorial of our honeymoon. I opted for an islander design for my big Polynesian fuck buddy. I didn't even know his name.

We settled into married life easily. We both went back to work, although this time at different schools. On the odd occasion I strayed outside my marriage but usually with someone I already knew.

We hadn't discussed having kids but we both wanted them. Eventually, almost inevitably, I fell pregnant. I knew, but Steve didn't, that it most likely wasn't his. I had found a new mate at my new school. We had been sexually active for about six weeks when I found I was pregnant.

The day I found out I made sure to go home and fuck my husband. We hadn't fucked for a while so I was sure he wasn't the father. I delayed telling him for a few weeks. He was over the moon with happiness. I just hoped he wouldn't find out.

I was still collecting tattoos, one for each new partner. I was up to about fifty by this stage. I did get two new ones while I was pregnant. The pregnancy produced no complications and when it was time I went into labour and gave birth to a healthy baby girl. We named her Amber. She looked like me.

Life continued and I collected tattoos. A new baby did little to dampen my enthusiasm for new conquests. A little over a year after Amber was born I fell pregnant again. This time I knew it was Steve's, as I hadn't strayed for a while. Once again there were no worries with the pregnancy and our second baby girl, Erica, was born. She looked like Steve.

After Erica was born I found a new fuck buddy, Bernie. He was the archetypical tall, dark and handsome. He was also hung like a horse! He was an orderly in the hospital where I had Erica.

He was casually flirty with all the women on the obstetric ward but I flirted back. The day after I left hospital I found myself out by myself. Steve's mother was looking after the girls. Wandering through the shops, I spotted Bernie. He noticed me too and we struck up a conversation. We flirted with each other until I asked him if he wanted to go somewhere more private.

He led me to the car park and to his truck. We got in and kissed straight away. His hands attacked my milk filled tits and I went straight for his cock. In a tangle of arms, legs and clothes, we managed to slip part 'A' (his cock) into part 'B' (my pussy). It was short but sweet and certainly took the edge off my hunger.

We got ourselves dressed and decided to meet again, as soon as we could. My mother-in-law was staying with us so I asked her if she could look after the girls again because I felt I needed a spa day. I contacted Bernie and he was free. We spent the day in his bed.

He was a master cocksman. I hadn't fucked anyone this good since my first, Tom. First he fucked me hard. Then he made love to me. Then he fucked me again. It was sublime!

I kept fucking Bernie. He was so good to me. I didn't have any other new partners for ages. Bernie was enough. In fact it was probably Bernie who is the father of our next child, our first boy. Steve was so excited to have a son. He would be heartbroken to find out it wasn't his.

The pattern repeated itself. I kept finding new guys to fuck and Steve never found out about them. I guess that because I had been screwing around on him since before we were married, my behaviour was 'normal.' I never went out of my way to hide anything because I'd always fucked outside the marriage.

As I got older I became more insatiable. By the time I fell pregnant for a fourth time I had over a hundred tattoos. I loved life and I loved my lifestyle.

I had spent time visiting my parents in my hometown so they could spend time with their grandchildren. One evening I left the kids with their grandparents and I went out. When I arrived at the bar I immediately saw Tom, my first lover. I went straight over to him and gave him a big hug. He was surprised to see me but in a good way.

We shared a few drinks and caught up on each other's lives. It wasn't long before he led me out to his truck. We had a quickie in the truck and I promised to see him again the next day.

As it turned out I spent time fucking him every day I was there. We just felt good together. When I arrived home Steve was so happy to see me he didn't let me leave our bed for a whole day.

It was soon after this that I found out I was pregnant, again. Because I had spent a day fucking my husband when I got home there was a good possibility that the baby was his. But it could be Tom's too.

Half way through my pregnancy I was huge, much bigger than before. I had a scan and found out I was pregnant with twins. Wow. I would be the mother of five! What a trip!

Our babies were born, two boys, non-identical. We were really busy at this time but Steve was wonderful. If ever I needed a break he would take time off work. I usually trolled for a fuck buddy. I was adding to all my tattoos while my husband was playing daddy with the kids. At least two of them weren't even his. Maybe the twins weren't either. That meant that I could only be certain that one of my five children was actually his.

Not long after the twins were born Steve accepted a job as Principal of a small rural school. While I was reluctant to move I saw it as an opportunity to spend time with him and play at being his wife. I knew that a small town wouldn't be the sort of place I could find a fuck buddy without everyone knowing about it. I thought I could give up my fucking around.

It was not to be. It turned out that the nearest large town had a thriving nightlife and I spent many an evening there fucking strangers while Steve was busy at school.

The life of a small school Principal was really busy. In addition to all the school administration, he had to teach full time too. He was often at work late just to catch up on the necessities.

Fortunately there were a number of teenagers willing to babysit our brood. This gave me ample opportunity to go out. In the two years we were there I got fifteen new tattoos.

We moved again because the job wasn't what Steve thought it would be and he didn't enjoy it. He went back into the classroom at a school miles away from anywhere we'd lived before, but near my hometown. My mind wandered at the possibilities!

Life continued. Steve worked and I fucked around. I hooked back up with Tom and Nate as well as meeting a few new conquests. More tattoos, too.

We were creeping up to our twentieth anniversary. Our eldest had finished school and the others were growing up too. The day of our anniversary was a Thursday. We planned to go out to dinner on the Saturday afterwards. Steve had a meeting on the actual day so I made plans to go out with Tom.

I was halfway through a nice meal and looking forward to a nice long, hard cock when I got a text message from Steve. It was short, and to the point:

"I found your diaries."

I looked blankly at the screen. My mind went into overdrive. I made my excuses to Tom and went home. Steve wasn't there. Nothing was out of place so thankfully he hadn't left me. I was beside myself with worry but not really for him. I was more worried about how I would get through the situation.

I know that makes me sound like a bitch but so be it. I was more into self-preservation at the time.

Steve didn't come home the next day, and he still wasn't home on the Saturday, our anniversary. At about eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, the day of our twentieth anniversary, I heard a knock at the door. I went to answer it and found two policemen at the door. They knew me (in fact I had fucked one of them) and asked if they could come in. They sat me down and, with sadness in their eyes, told me they had found Steve's body down by the nearby creek. He had shot himself.

The note they handed to me simply said, "Your fault. I hope you're happy."

I collapsed to the floor and sobbed my heart out. I eventually snapped out of my sadness and cold-heartedly realised that it was, in fact, my fault. I had let my husband down badly. I found out in those hours after his death that he loved me without question. But I also realised that I had never really loved him.

I liked him but never really loved him. My selfishness was such that I couldn't see how my behaviour might affect him. I never really wanted this to happen, never really wanted to hurt him so badly. But I was so wrapped up in my own lifestyle I guess I never really thought about it.

So there I was, a widow with five children, all of whom still lived at home. They had lost their father but I couldn't tell them why.

It's funny, you know. I never slept with another man for the rest of my life.