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C-Suite Letters: Supreme Courtship

Supreme Courtship

C|Suite Letters

Dear C|Suite: I never thought that this would happen to me…35 years ago, because actually… it never really did. Well, it happened in my mind though, so really, it kinda did happen, in a way. Actually, what I am about to detail (at length) feels so real to me, it’s almost like the most vivid sex-dream you could ever have. You know…the ones that feel so real that you wake up wondering why there is a wet-spot on your sheets; your pussy is a throbbing mess. Yes, I am a woman. A woman with a wild imagination, though.

I guess I should give a little bit of background on myself, before I go into the details of what my imagination ran with that one night, in my bed. Or what would’ve happened to me…over 35 years ago if the stars had aligned. As of right now, I am a doctor. Well, I am not really a doctor, I am a professor with a doctorate. A professor of psychology who’s had an insane obsession with one man for a very long time. A man that “got away”, so to speak: A man I could never have back in High School, during the early 80’s. For the sake of anonymity, let’s just call this man, “Brett”.

Brett, when we were in High School, was one of the most popular boys on campus. Oh my god, he was so dreamy. He had the most chiseled chin one could imagine and the cutest little butt; a butt that any girl going through puberty would want to grab and squeeze like a stuffed teddy.

Brett was his school's star quarterback. He was so hunky and dreamy that every time I thought about him, my then 15-year-old loins would quiver and I would be reduced to a wet-hot mess. Ugh….those were the days; being young and beautiful. Being desired; getting attention to the max. Things are different, now. My loins are nowhere near capable of producing such a powerful response; natural lubrication is now a foreign concept to my womanhood. What was once an oasis of male attention has now been reduced to the Dust bowl era.

After writing this lengthy fantasy to you, I anticipate needing some caffeine.

Ok, here it goes...

This fantasy that began in my mind, took place back in the early 1980’s while attending an all-girls school in the suburbs of Washington D.C. During such time at the school, girls and myself there frequently met and became ‘friendly’ with boys from other schools in the area. This is how I met Brett—my dream boy, the boy who sexually handled me.

During my freshmen and sophomore school years, when I was 14 and 15 years old, my group of friends intersected with Brett and his friends for a brief period of time. It was such a hot moment. So hot, in fact, I can barely recall any of the important details. My mind was in such a fog, due to my restless urges.

I had been ‘friendly’ with a classmate of Brett’s for a short period of time through my freshmen year; it was through that rather brief acquaintance and ‘connection’ that I attended a number (a lot) of parties that Brett also attended. We didn’t know each other well, but I knew him and he knew me…even though we never actually spoke in reality. I don’t even think we ever made eye-contact even once.

In the hot summer of 1982, like most summers, I spent almost every day…masturbating—when I was not at the Columbia Country Club in Chevy Chase Maryland, swimming and practicing diving.

One evening during that summer, after a day of diving at the club…and masturbating shortly thereafter in my room, I attended a small gathering at a house in the Bethesda area

I think it was in Bethesda in my dream…not really sure but I am pretty sure I masturbated just once that afternoon before the party; used two fingers that day and it took like no time at all…maybe <5 min...

There was music playing in the bedroom—I want to say it was ‘Heat of the Moment’ by Asia—it was then turned up louder by either Brett or his friend (let’s just call him…Marc…Marc with a C. The music was turned up and I was turned on. Once we were all in the room, I was then pushed onto the bed—just the way I like it— and Brett got on-top of me….

By this time in my dream, I think I'd already creamed my panties.

He then began running his hands all over my soft, young and tender body.—A body that only knew the hands of my own at the time. He was grinding into me…his boner felt so meaty. I was swooning. He kept grinding over my jean shorts and bathing suit.

Was I still wet from diving practice? I couldn’t tell.

I yelled…not hoping that someone would mistake my screams of pleasure for horror, but because I had just came….from Brett grinding on my like my own personal buffer butler. His weight was so heavy on me; like a beast who knew exactly how much pressure to place on my womanhood…wayyy better than my hand.

Brett then groped me and tried to take off my clothes; he had a hard time… because I had like... 5 layers on for some reason. I believed, in real life, that Brett wanted to have sex with me. In my dream, like in real life, I wanted so badly for him to do nasty things to me. I wanted to be like all the other girls who got to score with the big-cock jock; to feel his Campbell’s sized can-of-a-dick, fill me up with some Cream of Mushroom.

When Brett couldn’t get my 5 layers of clothes off, I tried to yell for help and when I did…I instinctively put my hand over my mouth…due to my second orgasm that ensued.

It was a doozy, I'll tell ya.

This is what terrified me the most and what has had the most lasting impact on my life—how many fictional orgasms Brett gave me at the house party…and if It would've been like that if this all had happened for real.

It was hard for me to breath…it was one of the best sleep-gasms I've ever had.

After the second orgasm…I felt as if Brett was going to accidentally kill... it on the third orgasm. I mean, if one was good, and two was amazeballs, then surely the third would have exploded my vagina in a way that only the cosmos could understand.

The whole time this was happening, Marc was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, masturbating; beer in one hand, dick in the other. Shortly, after my second orgasm, Marc came over to the bed and started jumping on it—he was trying to help the ‘motion in the ocean’. This did wonders…I came for a third time. It was totally rad!

After this happened, we all toppled over and Brett was no longer on-top of me. I was able to get up and run out of the room to the bathroom…where I could clean mine and Brett’s juices off of my face, chest and thighs…and maybe some of Marc’s. I could hear Brett and Marc in the other room laughing…because Brett had farted and it had apparently smelled like egg salad.

They then loudly walked down the stairway; pin-balling off the walls because they were so dizzy and light-headed from all the cumming. I waited, and when I didn’t hear them come back up the stairs….I began masturbating in the bathroom. I didn’t want to hurt Brett’s feelings…but I would’ve liked for him to have given me a fourth orgasm back in the bedroom; I still didn’t feel fully satisfied.

So I thought to just finish the job, myself.

After she-bopping, I left the bathroom. I went down the same staircase and exited the house. I remember stepping out the door onto the street and feeling a big sense of relief; knowing what we all did together and not having to look each other in eyes after we had all finished….that’s always awkward.


This sexual escapade, that played out one night in my mind, like I said before, drastically altered my life and I have been obsessed with Brett ever since... I came three times with him in my dream.

I just wish there was some grand way I could get his attention and share my fantasy with him.

I can't recall all the details of this gathering and all who were present. But I do know that, like many of these summer gatherings, it was most likely a ‘spur of the moment’ type of gathering. I love quickies, both in my mind and in the bedroom.

I truly wish I could be more helpful to the readers of C|Suite and provide more detail….but if I do…I will most likely pass out from the blood draining from my brain and rushing into my vagina. It would take me too long to write... as I would keep having to stop and go relieve my quivering parts every 5 min. Also, having to recharge my Magic wand is just something I don’t want to do right now.

The details, however, that I do remember about my dream and fantasy are the ones that brought me to write in today. They have been seared into my memory... and are often used as a masturbatory aid. One day I wish to tell the world my sex dream…my desires with the man I wished would’ve fucked me back in the summer of ’82, ’83 or whatever.

Maybe someday I could get myself into a large room…with cameras and microphones to tell my tale; a large room with a lot of high-status individuals. Maybe one day I could make a lot of money from this one steamy story that my imagination ran wild with. I could even write it as a romance novel, perhaps. Maybe one day….Brett could hear my fantasy. Then he would know and understand how horny was, and still am, for him.

Most of you, after reading this, might think I am insane. As a professor who teaches and practices psychology, I can defiantly tell you... that your instincts will hardly mislead you.


C-Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials. In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.

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