Excerpt for Kissin’ Christie (A Hypersexual Diary: The Adventures of Mr. Curvy, Chapter 49) by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Kissin’ Christie

(A Hypersexual Diary: The Adventures of Mr. Curvy, Chapter 49)

Copyright 2018 Ron Galbraith

Published by Ron Galbraith at Smashwords

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Adult Content Notes and General Disclaimer

This ebook is intended for adults only, and is not suitable for readers under 18 years of age. It contains adult content and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual activities. All activities described herein take place between fully consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age at the time such activities take place. This ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, place or event is unintentional and purely coincidental. Any mention of any trademarked property is done so without the permission of the trademark holder, and is not intended to imply any endorsement of or by such trademarked property.

Table of Contents


Chapter 49: Kissin’ Christie


About Mr. Curvy

Special Bonus excerpt from Chapter 51: Making Morgan Moan

Connect with Ron Galbraith


Hypersexuality is considered by most mental health professionals to be a psychological disorder, in that those who are diagnosed with it typically are obsessed with sex and feel compelled to engage in frequent sexual activity. That’s me.

My name is Ron. I am a straight, white guy, by now solidly in middle age. I’m a licensed architect, and work independently, which gives me a reasonable amount of flexibility and independence, along with a decent income. I’m not rich, by any means, and I pay alimony to both of my ex-wives, but I have enough left over for some fun. I’m fit and reasonably trim- I work out almost daily and I’m careful about what I eat. I’ve been told that I’m better looking than most men my age, with a rock-hard body and sort of a rugged look, emphasized by a beard and tattoos on both arms.

I have been hypersexual my entire life, and by now, I have had sex with hundreds of women in all manner of situations. Over the course of these adventures, I’ve learned something about how to give a woman pleasure, which is heightened somewhat by a congenital curvature in my dick; when it’s hard, it curves upward at a thirty-degree angle, making it a perfect G-spot finder. An old girlfriend bestowed the name “Mr. Curvy” to it, and that name has stuck.

If anything, the pace at which I meet and have sex with girls has increased over the last few years, banging two, sometimes three new girls a week. These stories chronicle some of my more recent adventures. These are true stories; they actually happened exactly as they are described, except that the names of the women and other characters have been changed to protect their privacy.

Kissin’ Christie

The first week on campus is always chaos. That’s true for every school, at every level, and the community college near New Orleans where I taught part-time certainly was no exception. It was teeming with students wandering around with confused expressions, trying to figure out where to go next.

I tried to avoid the chaos when I could, but faculty, even lowly part-time instructors like me, had to be on campus to get their paperwork sorted out and their schedules organized.

But part of me really didn’t mind. As chaotic as it was, it gave me a chance to scope out the new girls.

There were usually hundreds of new students that first week, many of them teenage freshmen and new sophomores, looking lost as they wandered around the campus. Statistically, around sixty percent of them were female. More than half of those were at least marginally fuckable. And many were nubile young hotties.

The kind of girls I loved to fuck. Naturally, most of them foolishly preferred guys closer to their own age, but I had learned long ago that it wasn’t an iron-clad rule. A lot of those girls were open to an older guy, as long as he was reasonably attractive, self-confident, and acted sensitive and caring. As a hypersexual, I had had many opportunities to meet and hook up with those girls, and by now, I was at the point that I was fucking a different girl at least weekly.

The parade of nubile coeds on campus was a delicious smorgasbord, and I was always looking for the next one. Naturally, I stayed away from girls attending the technical program, where I taught, to avoid ethical conflicts. But the girls in the other programs at the college, especially the academic university-prep program, were on an entirely different track.

Fair game. And those girls were usually much hotter, and more numerous, anyway. A win-win for me.

So, I wasn’t surprised when a girl stopped me, as I was walking back to my tiny office after meeting with the dean over my new schedule. She thrust a paper at me.

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where Building G is?” I looked at the paper; it was a campus map. And then I looked at the girl, and smiled.

She was petite, young, and very pretty, with long, straight dark red hair flowing over her shoulders to the middle of her back. Her skin was pale, and I noticed that it was a little rough with traces of acne, masked somewhat by makeup, but certainly not enough to bother me. And the part that made Mr. Curvy wake up were her eyes, big and blue, smiling into mine. This girl was cute. Really cute.

“I do know where Building G is,” I told her, returning her smile. I paused.

She giggled. “Okay, then, where is it?”

I said, “Oh, you want to know that, too?” We both laughed.

“Well, yeah!” she said.

“Why don’t I show you,” I said. “It’s over there.” I nodded in the direction of the building, across the campus. “I’m guessing you’re new here.”

“Good guess,” she said, with another smile. “I can tell you’re smart. You must be a professor or something.” Her voice was teasingly sarcastic.

I shrugged my shoulders modestly. “No, I’m just a part-time instructor. I rate about the same as a janitor around here. Maybe less. They work harder than I do.”

She laughed. “I’m Christie,” she said, sticking out her hand, with another smile.

“I’m Ron,” I said, taking it in mine. It felt soft, and she gripped my hand firmly. “It will be my pleasure to show you where to go,” I added.

“Some people have no problem telling me where to go,” she said, deadpan, and then she laughed.

“I’ll do better than that,” I said. “I’ll take you there myself.”

We continued chatting as we walked across the campus, with a teasing, light-hearted tone.

She told me that she was nineteen, and was a local girl, born and raised on the West Bank, across the Mississippi River from New Orleans proper. She had been attending classes at a school there, and transferred to the community college because it had better programs and a better reputation.

Her eyes teased mine as she joked and laughed, easily responding to my hypersexual seduction banter. Finally, we had arrived at the building she had asked about. There was a long line of students waiting to get into the room she had written on her map, and she took a place at the end, behind two studious-looking Asian guys.

“Here we are, Building G,” I said. “Or as we call it around here, the G-Spot.”

She laughed. “Clever,” she said.

“If there’s one thing I know how to find, it’s the G-spot,” I added.

She laughed again. “Oh, really?” she said. “I bet you say that a lot.”

“Remember what I said before? I prefer to show it, not say it.” I grinned.

“I bet you do.” She was smiling broadly, shaking her head in amusement.

“But seriously,” I said, “It was fun meeting you, Christie. You have a great sense of humor.”

“Thanks,” she said. “So do you.” She smiled into my eyes invitingly.

I turned to walk away, and then bent to her ear. “If you need anyone to help you find the G-spot again, just let me know.”

She laughed as I walked away.

The next day, I was walking back to my office from delivering my first lecture to my new construction management class, when I heard a voice calling my name.

I turned around, and it was Christie, walking toward me, a wide smile on her pretty face.

“Hey, there,” she said. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

“Hi, Christie,” I said. “I see you found your way back.”

“From the G-spot, yeah,” she said, with a giggle.

“Are you between classes? How’d you like some lunch?”

“Ah, sure… yeah, I’m hungry, actually. Thanks!” Her smile was radiant.

“The cafeteria here isn’t terrible, and it’s quick. Or we can go to someplace better, if you like.”

“The cafeteria should be fine, thanks!” Her blue eyes sparkled into mine. Damn, this was a pretty girl.

We walked together to the cafeteria, talking and laughing together. I jokingly encouraged her to splurge and select the most expensive item on the menu, the double cheeseburger, and she demurred, laughing, and picked the chicken salad instead. I paid for our meals, and led the way to a corner of the room where it was slightly less crowded.

We continued laughing and joking as we ate, and I kept her off-balance with a few well-placed, teasing barbs, mixed with compliments. She laughed, returning my banter, her pretty eyes sparkling into mine. They seemed to be conveying something directly to Mr. Curvy, and he was liking what he was hearing.

Finally, we were done and it was time to go.

“Thanks, Ron,” she said. “You’re so much fun.”

“So are you,” I said, and smiled into her eyes. “Let’s get together again. Give me your number?” I pulled out my phone.

“Sure!” She recited the number, and I tapped at the screen, making a new contact for her. I told her mine, and she wrote it down on a corner of a paper napkin.

“I’ll call you,” I promised.

“I hope so,” she said, smiling into my eyes again, those big blue eyes sparkling. “Or I’ll call you.”

Mr. Curvy was awake.

I decided to wait a few days before calling her, to give her some space. A pretty nineteen-year-old, in her first few weeks of classes in a new school, no doubt had a lot of things going on in her life. Plus, I didn’t want to seem too eager.

Frankly, she dropped to the back of my mind after a day or so, especially when I hooked up with a cute young brunette in a coffee shop. She was a tourist from Arkansas, and she ditched her friends and came over to my place. It wasn’t long before her clothes hit the floor, and we spent the next two hours naked in the bed together, satisfying each other completely and repeatedly. I almost forgot about Christie.

But apparently, Christie didn’t forget about me. About a week later, the phone rang. I saw that it was a local 504 number, and picked it up.

“Hey, Ron,” a girl’s voice said.

“Hey,” I replied, not sure who it was.

“It’s Christie. Remember me? From the college?”

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