Standard Preface: This is correspondence with a man who used the pseudonym Pace. He wrote me from about 1979 till 1987, because I answered an ad in a swinger's magazine. I never met him. I have no idea what has happened to him since 1987. He was born in the late 1920's and felt he might have a heart condition. He may have died suddenly, because the correspondence unaccountably went blank in mid-stream. Or he could be alive. It bothers me. He was obsessed with performing sex with his wife before groups of men. She was very pretty, gullible, and very much his junior. The period of intense sex performance he wrote about extended from 1967 to 1972. But he covered everything leading up to it and beyond. The material was scanned from typewritten pages and dot matrix print-out. Then edited and edited. If Pace's writing "voice" seems to change suddenly, blame my editing. Everything was originally written "in one long string". Time and sequence are "bugs" of his, and loom large. But all else is chaos. This man neglects typos and grammar, can switch from the vulgar to the pedantic in the flick of an eye. His personality was very Schiz, his lifestyle was, too, and so was his writing. I give you Pace, as he was, heavily edited and revised. He is honest, and self-admittedly an opinionated, bigoted man. That's him, not me, please don't shoot the messenger. ____________________________________________________________________ -------------------------------------------------------------------- How I'm Going to Show Off my Wife's Sexy Body Now it's clear I'm not a writer. But, I'll tell you this, this story is not one of those dumb juvenile porno whack-off stories, or those stupid, really asshole scripts you come across in all the dumb, really dumb porno movies. That stuff is so jaded, so boring. You know what gets me? The poor younger generation, the kids in their twenties and thirties. Those fucking ripped-off kids think that the stupid manufactured mass-production plastic standard General Motors Issue asshole stuff they see in porno crappola has anything to do with sex. Garter belts and stockings and mechanical dildoes. Oh, Real, Real Shittola!! That's nineteenth century whore crap, from England, yet!! Commercial crap to steal away your own exciting sex imagination, like TV, and Coke, and drive an Accura Legend. That's Accura Legend SEX. Garbage!! It's grubby money horse-shit sex. That fucking business of coming off on girl's backs and cunts, all that dumb shit. God, I'm glad I didn't grow up in a time of X-Rated horseshit. Marone a Mia!!! (That's instead of taking the Mother of God's name in vain). Anyway, I'm not a porno writer. I'm not a fantasy fuck dreamer. But, before I get on with the main story I want to talk about this product I dreamed up, all by my lonesome. I've prepared a video that illustrates what I talk about in these books. These videos are close-up views I took with the macro lens of a camcorder, focussing on snapshots, still photos. I've over-dubbed a voice script, to go with the pictures. I figured that these illustrative videos would make the books very, very real. They show still photographs of my very young wife, Eileen in her ordinary activities, in daily life. You can see her the way she worked around the house. See my wife, for real, as a wife and mother to our kids. Eileen was always a good, loving mother. But then the "fun" of the video are those "other" pictures. After you look at those precious family album pics, you can see, mixed in, my sweetie pie, stuffing her mother-hole with cock and huge veggies, chomping on dick. How about that? In these books I've also written about my sex adventures with other women and girls. You can see sex pictures of them, too, in the video collection. What's interesting about both of them was that I took the photos when I was teetering on the edge of 50, and both girls were under twenty. I took dirty photos of them, and was getting them to suck off my dick. Gorgeous little girls, like my wife was when I first married her, and me a fat ugly Italian. Eileen and Our Stag Party Routines Now for some realistic background on Eileen. My wife performed her first, and what I expected to be her only stag party at a packed veteran's club in 1966 when she was only 24. And the mother of two little kids. I looked old enough to be her fucking father, at 39. Fat and hairy and balding. Pretty little Eileen didn't even look old enough to have two kids. She looked like a fucking bobby-soxer, a high school girl, or a college freshman cheerleader. We were totally off the wall, as far as any stag audience was concerned. At the time Eileen was spreading her pussy so guys could get a look up her hole, that same pussy had given birth to two small kids, our 6 year old boy and our pretty 4 1/2 year old daughter (not mine, actually, as I later found out). I wanted to have that scene happen once in my life, to see it for real, and I couldn't stop pinching myself, I'd actually pulled it off. Crazzy me!! Whore's did stag shows. Doped up, crazy "nymphos", hopped up, anything goes soon-to-die, who-gives-a-shit nymphos did stag shows. A married straight suburban housewife, with kids? Nobody, but no married woman ever, ever, ever did that, as far as these Clubs were concerned. Well, they didn't know everything, there were a few others. But nothing, virtually nothing compared to the regular stag show activity. This is a knowledgeable guess, based on my own personal solicitations of Clubs, practically all of which I turned down as being too raunchy or wrong for what Eileen and I wanted. Just some statistical estimates. Averaged out over all the year, there are maybe 150 marriages a week in Massachusetts. Stag bachelor parties back then, in the sixties, were held most often by industrial workers, a lot of second-generation Italians or even more working class Irish. The only others who would have bachelor parties were the scum of the colleges, the drunken fraternities, and they usually had a party using a more feeble-minded or compliant girl-friend of one of the members. So the occasional lowlifes in the general pupulation would have a stag party. That would be the smallest percent of all the couples, not the average middle class church-goesrs, because the general run of the populations are too straight, or it doesn't go with their lifestyle in this religious uptight conservative New England. But concentrating on Massachusetts alone I'd guess, even back then, for bachelor parties, or parties held for salesmen, or visiting firemen, or fraternities, of which there was a shitload at the Boston colleges, in any week it would have only been a few, like two or maybe even three or four parties like that going on in any week. I admit, looked at cumulatively, it may look like a lot, as much as a hundred to two hundred bachelor and stag parties in any year. These would be anything from a hired stud and some hooker or hookers fucking for an audience, to sometimes, maybe once a year somewhere in the State, the real adventurers would have a real sex circus, animals and all, or combination stag shows and drunken gang fucks. But if you think about this happening among about five million people, that's not a lot. In the entire New England States, all of the States, I'd heard from the Clubs I worked with, there were maybe two or three other real amateurs like us, at any one time, taking a chance. Because when I would arrange something, that would always be a chance for the guy who was making the arrangements to bring up the question of whether my wife and I would be willing to do this or that sex act that they'd heard about some other amateur couple doing. Each amateur had a very different style, that was for sure. We didn't work by formula. Often these other couples were just like us, usually doing it for kicks. But they only tried it maybe once or twice, for the thrill of making money fucking and having a good time in a sex exhibition. Sort of at random. The amateur that made a practice of it, in Massachusetts, was asking for it; if they did it more than one or two times, sooner or later there were always little local yokel cops at these shindigs, and they'd rat to their Statie counterparts, just cop-to-cop courtesy. A careless couple would be set up for entrapment. I went to elaborate measures to avoid that, just in the way I worked it. Any amateur who came to the attention of the cops was sucked into their sick game. So that amateur would be off the scene pretty quickly. Eileen and I fucked for audiences all over New England, New York City and New York State. We spread ourselves thin, if you don't mind the joke. But, in general, nobody in staid, uptight, sexually repressed New England had ever heard of what we were doing, that is, in the sixties. In California, today, fuck it, it's like buying a hot-dog at the beach. No big deal. It's an amateur hobby or second income. But these are weird times. But what we were doing? Where did you ever hear of an audience being treated to a family-style (for real) slide show and home movies, beforehand? Just to give the affair that "homey" and "cozy" flavor. You get the impact?? That was a real kinky husband, for sure! My audiences dropped their socks with astonishment that it was actually taking place. They thought, always, that it was some kind of joke, or hype, or "kicky" con that I was putting over on them. Well, some six years, and 45 other stag shows, by 1972, my Eileen was then a jaded a 30-year old mother of three kids. At that point my disgusted wife pulled out of doing stags forever. Four years later she would totally split from me.