Some years ago I was born. I make that statement clearly and distinctly to set to rest any rumors about my being hatched which may arise from my overabundance of sarcasm and wit. I was brought up in New York City with a strong Irish Catholic background. My parents were working class and very conservative. I went to high school in a nunnery, i.e. a Catholic school, where I wore a pretty little uniform. For some reason, known only to God, I didn't fill out that uniform until my senior year, when, suddenly – a bosom, a very big bosom. Before that I was just one of those cute, little, high school girls in a uniform.
I was not the most beautiful girl in school, nor the most charming, but somehow I was the winner. I was always at the head of my class, though I had picked up, from my father, a tough, championship level foul mouth. (Picture sweet, ordinary looking girl with wide mouth saying, “Fuck off!”) I never, ever participated in sports, though I did do some casual exercise. My idea of a good, Saturday evening was reading the papers or a book. A date was a rarity, but, during my senior year, I started dating the football team quarterback. To this day I am not sure why because my idea of sex until I was married was the magazines NOT permitted in our house so he didn't even get BT (remember that?).
Going on to college was never an option in my family. So I married the quarterback. I was, would you believe, a virgin until my honeymoon. Terrible word that, stigmatizes so many. As a matter of fact I refuse to fly Virgin Atlantic because I don't trust any airline that has never screwed anyone, like out of their luggage.
Mr. Quarterback turned out to be a born loser. Couldn't earn a dime, but drank beer with the boys regularly. I worked to support us. His idea of sex was the missionary position, period, about bi-annually. We divorced after a year and a half.
About a year later, still in my prime and, basically, still innocent, I met another boob who, for reasons not yet clear, I married. He, at least, had a job, a very good one. He also had a temper. Though he was a bit more intelligent than my first, he was, as I have since discovered, a jerk in bed. He got transferred to Lancaster which is in Los Angeles County. As he had bucks we bought a house.
One night, at a party at our home, he got drunk and hit me – ONCE and that was it. I grabbed a suitcase, the checkbook, the car and scrammed to a hotel. The next morning, when the bank opened, I cleaned out the family checking account, saw an attorney and got an apartment, in that order. We decided on a quick, clean divorce. I got the car, the house, a six figure settlement and was back on my own. He, lucky guy, did not get jail.
I went looking for a job. I had all the usual ones like sales clerking in a department store. I bounced around because I got bored with the monotony and the crappy pay. While I was working as that salesclerk a friend suggested that I get into a more career oriented occupation so I could make more money. I did some checking around and found out she was right. So I went back to school, got my skills in order and became a medical secretary and medical billing specialist. After a couple of beginning jobs I started working for a small group of doctors. The pay was fantastic and, because I was so terribly organized, I ended up running the office. I also got my real estate license and started picking up extra money selling houses.
After my second divorce I dated the usual group of ‘fix-ups’ from my friends. You know the kind - “He is so charming and so very nice, you really MUST meet him.” As I bore easily and do not suffer fools gladly I felt that most were jerks. Los Angeles is not exactly the best place in the world to meet really great men and, at that time, I was in the boonies, 85 miles from downtown Los Angeles. Though many of these men were, in fact, quite nice (for someone else) I did not find one that I wanted to have a relationship with. It was then that I decided that I probably would not get married again and that I wanted to enjoy my freedom.
I palled around with a group of girls from the Lancaster/Palmdale area and we would hit the bars and dances. It was more grope and choose then anything else. I bedded a few of the men I met, but nothing special. Though my understanding of sex was still the missionary position I did start realizing that I had been missing something as a few of these men were very good lovers.
One night I was having dinner with a gal and she asked if I enjoyed Las Vegas. I had never been there so she suggested we go. She knew I’d let a couple of guys pick me up and that I’d had sex with them so she mentioned that the men were hotter and more willing to spend a buck. We went a few times and had great fun. I got laid quite often. It was at this time that I started exploring sex and my own sexuality. It was also the time of the sexual revolution of the 60s and 70s so sex was everywhere. Would you believe that I did not have a cock in my mouth until my late twenties.
I have always been a believer in realistic self examination. I believe that is shown by my cutting my bad marriages short rather than hope and pray that they will improve, fat chance that. So many women stick it out and won't face the truth which is so sad, but that's not my style. Anyway, one day one of my friends commented, quite casually, that, as I was making good money, I really could improve my looks, especially the way I wore my hair and dressed. That hurt, though she didn't mean it to. I went home and looked in the mirror. I actually stared and examined myself very closely. I then got undressed and stared some more, front and back.
I got out a pad and listed my good points and my bad points. I still believe in serious self examination and the results, in my case, have been excellent. Though I went to the gym three days a week I wasn't taking it seriously and had been becoming a bit dumpy. I knew that I was not beautiful in the clean cut, American way, though, I suppose, with charity, a blindfold, and work on my part, I could be called ‘striking.’ I am five foot ten inches tall, my breasts are big, firm, and heavy with dead centered nipples, good legs, green eyes and long red hair, but I had developed a tummy. My idea of a hairdresser was a bottle in the bathroom. I had never had a manicure. My wardrobe was very ordinary, usually bought for business. I think my innate intelligence made me realize that both I and my wardrobe needed help.
I went to the nearest newsstand and bought every women's magazine available, something I had never done before. I went home, sat down and read each one. I looked at the ads and the models. I leaned back and the light bulb went off. Carla was a frump!
I picked up the phone and called one of my friends who always looked sharp. I told her my problems and asked for help. Now, we all know that there is nothing a woman loves more then to be told that she looks better than another woman who needs help, and asked to give assistance, well ‘hooray!’ Judy met me at my house the next morning and looked me and my wardrobe over. “Honey, I love you dearly, but you are truly a major disaster area.” When she learned that I did my own hair she snickered. When she looked at my bras she gagged. Judy then asked me what I was prepared to spend to get it all together. “Whatever it takes,” I said.
Judy looked again at my closet, shook her head, walked to the back yard, got a 30 gallon trash can, walked back in to the bedroom and started throwing. “Bad, awful, Goodwill Special, dreadful, years out dated, old fashioned, good only for work,” etc., etc. I was reduced to about three outfits that were passably suitable for the office.
“Come on,” Judy said, and took me to Sak's Fifth Avenue. “This is not going to be cheap nor easy, so be prepared.”
We started in the lingerie department and progressed to sport's wear, dresses and evening wear. “You have fabulous boobs, show ‘em. You've got great legs, show ‘em. Your eyes are green, accent them” ... and on and on. I got home with outfits I had never even considered before. Skirts cut at my thighs, necklines to my navel, and bras that lifted and displayed my breasts to Alpine heights. It cost me close to four months salary, but, as I tried on each outfit, I was thrilled. I also learned exactly what a Merry Widow can do for you.
The next Saturday Judy took me to her beauty parlor and I got the works. Manicure, facial, hair color, styling and makeup. When I left I knew I looked great and my sense of well being and self confidence improved 100 percent. Hey, in California, you get points for high self esteem. To this day I am a firm believer that there is no such thing as ugly women, just lazy ones.
In the interim I had arranged with my gym for a regular, strenuous workout schedule and diet. I proceeded to trim myself down. Now when I look myself over I still realize that, though I am not gorgeous, I am well put together. I accentuate my legs, breasts, hair and eyes which are my best physical attributes, and do enough to my face so that I don't cause any barph bags to be pulled out when seen.
Today I believe that I have “good taste,” but it has taken years of reading and training. I know my good points and play on them, my bad points I hide, except for my gross sense of sarcasm. My favorite store is Victoria's Secret. I have learned how to dress sexy, but not trampy, unless called for, and how to dress differently for each occasion. I think the most important thing I have learned is that covering up can be far, far more sexy than showing everything. An example: I have gone to the Academy Awards nearly every year with different actors, writers or directors. One year I wore a red dress that showed everything, and I looked like every starlit in the place. I was completely ignored. The next year I wore a floor length, grey silk dress that covered everything from neck to ankles, except it had slits up the side of the skirt. Under it I wore a bra that shoved my breasts out, but you couldn't see any cleavage. Men fell all over me. See - it left everything to the imagination.
When I dated I noticed the comments starting about how good I looked. I felt good. My self esteem had improved a thousand percent. Though I was making good money that was not the basis for my sense of worth. I decided that enjoying myself was becoming an important part of my life. As I had already decided that I would probably not get married again I dated solely for my own pleasure.
I was still not really that experienced in sex, and I knew it. Then I met Dixon. Dixon was a PhD in Electrical Engineering and worked at Boeing. He was six foot, rail thin, crew cut and wore, yes, horn rimmed glasses. Dixon was a complete gentleman and when I was with him I was a complete lady. I liked Dixon.
On the third date we had dinner and he asked if I’d like to go back to his house for a “drink.” “Jesus,” I said, “are you finally going to fuck me?” I may be a lady, but I’m not a shrinking violet. I think he almost crashed the car. “Well, I see I’m not going to have to waste an hour seducing you.” Dixon was a miracle!! He was a fabulous lover and teacher. So much so that I spent the weekend with him. He was the first man to get me to climax. He convinced me to try everything - from blowjobs to anal. He opened the world of wonderful sexuality to me and I have never stopped thanking him.
After Dixon and as I became more confident and comfotable with myself I noticed that the men in my life were also changing. I no longer dated duds just to go out, I would rather read a good book. I became very particular. I only dated men who would please me. I started dating some fabulous men running the spectrum from movie stars to accountants with highway patrolman and professional wrestlers in between.
If I bedded a man he had better want my pleasure to be as important as his. I started enjoying sex more and more. It was about this time that I became expert in the art of oral sex. My husbands had never really wanted to bother and most dates were happy to get a simple suck. Now I discovered that I loved to please a man, that men loved having their cocks sucked and that I had a passion for cum. The feeling of a man having an orgasm in my mouth was super erotically delightful. I also started having spectacular orgasms myself. I strongly maintain that this resulted from my own new feelings of self worth and that self worth made me realize that, yes, I can want a man sexually and, surprise, Carla can get horny.
That’s the First Chapter of my autobiography – Stand by for the next chapter.
I was not the most beautiful girl in school, nor the most charming, but somehow I was the winner. I was always at the head of my class, though I had picked up, from my father, a tough, championship level foul mouth. (Picture sweet, ordinary looking girl with wide mouth saying, “Fuck off!”) I never, ever participated in sports, though I did do some casual exercise. My idea of a good, Saturday evening was reading the papers or a book. A date was a rarity, but, during my senior year, I started dating the football team quarterback. To this day I am not sure why because my idea of sex until I was married was the magazines NOT permitted in our house so he didn't even get BT (remember that?).
Going on to college was never an option in my family. So I married the quarterback. I was, would you believe, a virgin until my honeymoon. Terrible word that, stigmatizes so many. As a matter of fact I refuse to fly Virgin Atlantic because I don't trust any airline that has never screwed anyone, like out of their luggage.
Mr. Quarterback turned out to be a born loser. Couldn't earn a dime, but drank beer with the boys regularly. I worked to support us. His idea of sex was the missionary position, period, about bi-annually. We divorced after a year and a half.
About a year later, still in my prime and, basically, still innocent, I met another boob who, for reasons not yet clear, I married. He, at least, had a job, a very good one. He also had a temper. Though he was a bit more intelligent than my first, he was, as I have since discovered, a jerk in bed. He got transferred to Lancaster which is in Los Angeles County. As he had bucks we bought a house.
One night, at a party at our home, he got drunk and hit me – ONCE and that was it. I grabbed a suitcase, the checkbook, the car and scrammed to a hotel. The next morning, when the bank opened, I cleaned out the family checking account, saw an attorney and got an apartment, in that order. We decided on a quick, clean divorce. I got the car, the house, a six figure settlement and was back on my own. He, lucky guy, did not get jail.
I went looking for a job. I had all the usual ones like sales clerking in a department store. I bounced around because I got bored with the monotony and the crappy pay. While I was working as that salesclerk a friend suggested that I get into a more career oriented occupation so I could make more money. I did some checking around and found out she was right. So I went back to school, got my skills in order and became a medical secretary and medical billing specialist. After a couple of beginning jobs I started working for a small group of doctors. The pay was fantastic and, because I was so terribly organized, I ended up running the office. I also got my real estate license and started picking up extra money selling houses.
After my second divorce I dated the usual group of ‘fix-ups’ from my friends. You know the kind - “He is so charming and so very nice, you really MUST meet him.” As I bore easily and do not suffer fools gladly I felt that most were jerks. Los Angeles is not exactly the best place in the world to meet really great men and, at that time, I was in the boonies, 85 miles from downtown Los Angeles. Though many of these men were, in fact, quite nice (for someone else) I did not find one that I wanted to have a relationship with. It was then that I decided that I probably would not get married again and that I wanted to enjoy my freedom.
I palled around with a group of girls from the Lancaster/Palmdale area and we would hit the bars and dances. It was more grope and choose then anything else. I bedded a few of the men I met, but nothing special. Though my understanding of sex was still the missionary position I did start realizing that I had been missing something as a few of these men were very good lovers.
One night I was having dinner with a gal and she asked if I enjoyed Las Vegas. I had never been there so she suggested we go. She knew I’d let a couple of guys pick me up and that I’d had sex with them so she mentioned that the men were hotter and more willing to spend a buck. We went a few times and had great fun. I got laid quite often. It was at this time that I started exploring sex and my own sexuality. It was also the time of the sexual revolution of the 60s and 70s so sex was everywhere. Would you believe that I did not have a cock in my mouth until my late twenties.
I have always been a believer in realistic self examination. I believe that is shown by my cutting my bad marriages short rather than hope and pray that they will improve, fat chance that. So many women stick it out and won't face the truth which is so sad, but that's not my style. Anyway, one day one of my friends commented, quite casually, that, as I was making good money, I really could improve my looks, especially the way I wore my hair and dressed. That hurt, though she didn't mean it to. I went home and looked in the mirror. I actually stared and examined myself very closely. I then got undressed and stared some more, front and back.
I got out a pad and listed my good points and my bad points. I still believe in serious self examination and the results, in my case, have been excellent. Though I went to the gym three days a week I wasn't taking it seriously and had been becoming a bit dumpy. I knew that I was not beautiful in the clean cut, American way, though, I suppose, with charity, a blindfold, and work on my part, I could be called ‘striking.’ I am five foot ten inches tall, my breasts are big, firm, and heavy with dead centered nipples, good legs, green eyes and long red hair, but I had developed a tummy. My idea of a hairdresser was a bottle in the bathroom. I had never had a manicure. My wardrobe was very ordinary, usually bought for business. I think my innate intelligence made me realize that both I and my wardrobe needed help.
I went to the nearest newsstand and bought every women's magazine available, something I had never done before. I went home, sat down and read each one. I looked at the ads and the models. I leaned back and the light bulb went off. Carla was a frump!
I picked up the phone and called one of my friends who always looked sharp. I told her my problems and asked for help. Now, we all know that there is nothing a woman loves more then to be told that she looks better than another woman who needs help, and asked to give assistance, well ‘hooray!’ Judy met me at my house the next morning and looked me and my wardrobe over. “Honey, I love you dearly, but you are truly a major disaster area.” When she learned that I did my own hair she snickered. When she looked at my bras she gagged. Judy then asked me what I was prepared to spend to get it all together. “Whatever it takes,” I said.
Judy looked again at my closet, shook her head, walked to the back yard, got a 30 gallon trash can, walked back in to the bedroom and started throwing. “Bad, awful, Goodwill Special, dreadful, years out dated, old fashioned, good only for work,” etc., etc. I was reduced to about three outfits that were passably suitable for the office.
“Come on,” Judy said, and took me to Sak's Fifth Avenue. “This is not going to be cheap nor easy, so be prepared.”
We started in the lingerie department and progressed to sport's wear, dresses and evening wear. “You have fabulous boobs, show ‘em. You've got great legs, show ‘em. Your eyes are green, accent them” ... and on and on. I got home with outfits I had never even considered before. Skirts cut at my thighs, necklines to my navel, and bras that lifted and displayed my breasts to Alpine heights. It cost me close to four months salary, but, as I tried on each outfit, I was thrilled. I also learned exactly what a Merry Widow can do for you.
The next Saturday Judy took me to her beauty parlor and I got the works. Manicure, facial, hair color, styling and makeup. When I left I knew I looked great and my sense of well being and self confidence improved 100 percent. Hey, in California, you get points for high self esteem. To this day I am a firm believer that there is no such thing as ugly women, just lazy ones.
In the interim I had arranged with my gym for a regular, strenuous workout schedule and diet. I proceeded to trim myself down. Now when I look myself over I still realize that, though I am not gorgeous, I am well put together. I accentuate my legs, breasts, hair and eyes which are my best physical attributes, and do enough to my face so that I don't cause any barph bags to be pulled out when seen.
Today I believe that I have “good taste,” but it has taken years of reading and training. I know my good points and play on them, my bad points I hide, except for my gross sense of sarcasm. My favorite store is Victoria's Secret. I have learned how to dress sexy, but not trampy, unless called for, and how to dress differently for each occasion. I think the most important thing I have learned is that covering up can be far, far more sexy than showing everything. An example: I have gone to the Academy Awards nearly every year with different actors, writers or directors. One year I wore a red dress that showed everything, and I looked like every starlit in the place. I was completely ignored. The next year I wore a floor length, grey silk dress that covered everything from neck to ankles, except it had slits up the side of the skirt. Under it I wore a bra that shoved my breasts out, but you couldn't see any cleavage. Men fell all over me. See - it left everything to the imagination.
When I dated I noticed the comments starting about how good I looked. I felt good. My self esteem had improved a thousand percent. Though I was making good money that was not the basis for my sense of worth. I decided that enjoying myself was becoming an important part of my life. As I had already decided that I would probably not get married again I dated solely for my own pleasure.
I was still not really that experienced in sex, and I knew it. Then I met Dixon. Dixon was a PhD in Electrical Engineering and worked at Boeing. He was six foot, rail thin, crew cut and wore, yes, horn rimmed glasses. Dixon was a complete gentleman and when I was with him I was a complete lady. I liked Dixon.
On the third date we had dinner and he asked if I’d like to go back to his house for a “drink.” “Jesus,” I said, “are you finally going to fuck me?” I may be a lady, but I’m not a shrinking violet. I think he almost crashed the car. “Well, I see I’m not going to have to waste an hour seducing you.” Dixon was a miracle!! He was a fabulous lover and teacher. So much so that I spent the weekend with him. He was the first man to get me to climax. He convinced me to try everything - from blowjobs to anal. He opened the world of wonderful sexuality to me and I have never stopped thanking him.
After Dixon and as I became more confident and comfotable with myself I noticed that the men in my life were also changing. I no longer dated duds just to go out, I would rather read a good book. I became very particular. I only dated men who would please me. I started dating some fabulous men running the spectrum from movie stars to accountants with highway patrolman and professional wrestlers in between.
If I bedded a man he had better want my pleasure to be as important as his. I started enjoying sex more and more. It was about this time that I became expert in the art of oral sex. My husbands had never really wanted to bother and most dates were happy to get a simple suck. Now I discovered that I loved to please a man, that men loved having their cocks sucked and that I had a passion for cum. The feeling of a man having an orgasm in my mouth was super erotically delightful. I also started having spectacular orgasms myself. I strongly maintain that this resulted from my own new feelings of self worth and that self worth made me realize that, yes, I can want a man sexually and, surprise, Carla can get horny.
That’s the First Chapter of my autobiography – Stand by for the next chapter.
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