“Fucking useless men,” I said.
“Yes they can be.”
“I have had it up to here with them,” I replied touching the top of my blonde hair.
“Yes it did sound like that.”
“You obviously heard us in the garden.”
“It was rather difficult to avoid Chris.”
“Yes, I am sorry.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Anyway it’s kind of you to invite me round.”
“Not at all that’s what neighbours are for love.”
That was almost a year ago now. It was the day I kicked my husband out after finding he’d been unfaithful to me yet again. In that time, as I waited for my divorce to come through I only had sex with one person. Just one person in all that lonely period. And then only twice with them. That night and once again a week or so later. But that sex was wonderful. It was different to any I’d had before. It was invigorating, exciting and so satisfying and it was with the person who had heard me arguing with my husband and who had invited me round. Yes, the only person I had sex with was my neighbour Phillipa, a woman some ten or so years older than me.
But after her I stopped. It somehow didn’t seem proper. I did not have the inclination. I did not have the will to leave my twelve-year old daughter to go on dates. Also, I did not feel the need to ‘have a drink’ with husbands of friends who once I was separated found that they had fancied me for years or that their wives really didn’t understand them. I had not realised how popular I had been all these years I’d been with my husband. Silly girl!
At thirty-nine there doesn’t seem to be that many eligible single men around. After the hurt I had been through there was no way I could do that to another woman hence, married ones were out. So, a combination of being emotional and very morose, disillusionment with men, a general lack of availability and trying to bring some semblance of order to my shattered life all signalled one thing. I became almost a recluse in my home in Manor Road, Chigwell, where I remained barricaded up against any marauding males with my daughter, Emily, for almost a year.
I spent that year working hard on the divorce that, thankfully, in the end turned out to be reasonably amicable. Both he and I wanted it to be as easy on Emily as it could be and we went out of our way to avoid any unnecessary acrimony. Fortunately money was not really too much of a problem for I had helped him build up his small company into a much larger one and he was able to buy out my shareholding. He was also generous, but then he always was and with more than money. I found out as my lawyer delved into his past that he was a serial adulterer. As it turned out, he had been unfaithful to me throughout the marriage. The bastard, but then he is a man!
Although I had nothing to do with men and after Phillipa I had no sex at all, it was, looking back, an interesting time. I started playing golf and tennis again. I got a new car and I got a job. Calling on old contacts, I started writing copy on a freelance basis. Mainly, as it turned, out for recruitment ads but also some technical stuff, a little scriptwriting and a few speeches for a big company whose marketing director I had known for some time. Quite badly, it seemed, he wanted to get into my knickers so we had numerous meetings about the speeches he had to give as he briefed me in person. I took his briefs but never gave him my knickers, after all ‘never fuck a client’ is an old ad industry dictate and, in any case, he was married.
I also found several new things on the Internet; erotic story sites, porn and chat rooms. And boy did I need them. Having had an active and varied sex life during my marriage and rarely going more than a couple or three days without it, I needed a different form of relief – masturbation. During my marriage, other than when we had phone sex when he was away or when I masturbated as he watched, I had pretty much given it up. Having made my discoveries a month or so after my fling with Phillipa, I made great use of them during the ensuing months; they became my jerk off aids!
“Have you ever cybered?” was the question that started it off.
At the time, I did not even know what it meant.
“What do you mean?” I typed back.
“Have sex on here?”
“Fuck off,” I typed putting him on ignore.
However, most of the chats I had gradually turned to sex as I suspect most chats for most people do. Not necessarily heavy aspects of it or too deep, but general questions and answers. I didn’t mind that as it aroused me a little thus, making relieving myself easier when I logged off. I had come to terms now, with my real reasons for spending many hours in chat rooms, I was lonely, had too much time on my hands and needed something else to do with them! In other words it helped me to masturbate.
I was really surprised how quickly I got to know people in the rooms. Levels of familiarity, quickly turned to a sort of friendship that rapidly became quite intimate. I found topics that would be unthinkable to talk about in reality were relatively openly discussed. Antalya Escort Was it me, I often asked myself? So I put that question to my chat friend Mark.
“No,” he typed back. “I find it with most people, well the intelligent ones at least.”
We discussed that at some length and reached the conclusion that the anonymity of the web helped us lose our inhibitions.
“And that means Chrissy, I can ask your breast size and what types of panty you prefer. Lol” He typed.
I could hardly believe that I typed.
“35 C and a thong or boy shorts.”
At his request I also told him that I was 5′ 6″ tall, weighed 137 pounds, had blonde hair that I wore long down to my shoulders. I guess that was the start of my virtual sexual relationship with him. The next couple of times we chatted we went further and further. We even exchanged photos, with me cropping mine so that he could see only part of my face.
“What is your most sexually attractive feature?” he asked a few sessions later.
I told him that it was my bum.
“Why?” He asked.
“Because at nearly forty it is still pert and firm.”
I guess I was on dodgy ground and maybe I was setting myself up for what came next.
“I really am a bum man Chris.”
“Yes, I adore stroking them, squeezing them and kissing them.”
I suppose if I was not up for it, I should have stopped there and changed the subject as I had several times with him in the past few weeks. Instead I said.
“Yes Chris I do and I would love to kiss yours.”
I gulped. Not so much at what he had said, I had heard far worse, but at my reaction. I felt a surge of arousal.
“Would you Mark?”
“Yes, would you like that?”
Things were going downhill rapidly when I typed.
“Imagine you are kneeling Chris wearing just that thong.”
This really was pee or get off the pot time. With hardly any hesitation I typed.
“And I am behind you, ok?”
“Can you feel my hands cupping your breasts as I run my tongue across your right cheek.
“And do you like it?”
“Is it exciting you Chrissy as you feel me kiss your right cheek.”
“Do you like me pinching your nipples Chris?”
I was in alone that night as Emily was on a sleepover at a school friend’s house. It was quite warm and I had been sunbathing on my terrace, which is quite secluded. As I often do, I had been topless, but not then naked as I occasionally sunbathe, and when I came inside an hour or so ago I had just slipped a tee shirt on over my bikini panties.
I was becoming worked up and as I typed I found my hand reaching for my breast.
“Yes,” I typed doing precisely that to myself.
“Can you feel my tongue going so very near to the crease in your bum?”
“Oh god, I can.”
“Are you very aroused Chrissy, I am.”
“Yes. Are you Mark?”
“Yes you have made me very hard. Are you wet? Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes I am and yes they are.”
“Have you touched yourself?”
“Yes have you?”
“Yes of course I have, I am rubbing my cock. What are you doing?”
“Holding my breast.”
He asked me what I was wearing and I told him. He told me that he was naked and suggested that I remove my tee shirt. I felt very adventurous when I did that.
“Do you want to masturbate with me Chrissy?” was the next killer question that I suppose I should have evaded, but I didn’t.
“Touch your pussy for me,” he asked.
I did. It was like an electric shock. “Have you Chris?”
“Inside or outside your panties?”
“Outside,” I lied as my fingers slid along my wetness.
“You sure Christine? Are you sure your fingers are not inside your panties. I bet they are.”
I didn’t reply and he went on to say that he was pumping his cock and thinking that he was fucking me. I had sent him a selfie, well before they were called that, so he knew what I looked like as I did him.
“They are in them aren’t they Chrissy?”
I could lie no more. “Yes.”
“And are wonderfully wet?”
“Yes,” I typed as I pushed two fingers inside me.
“Are near Chris?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Oh yes, cum with baby, cum now Chrissy.”
I did. Hard, long and strong. It was as powerful a self-induced climax as I had ever experienced.
I guess it was like taking drugs. After the first fix, I wanted more and stronger experiences and I became hooked. I cybered with Mark several more times, but then, with the web being so transitory, we moved on. For the next few months until I felt able to go for the real thing, I became cyber promiscuous. Generally, I had three or four regulars and as one would drop off I would find a replacement. Don’t get me wrong, it was not a daily occurrence, but then I do not think that during those few moths I ever went a week without ‘having a fix.’
Inevitably, I suppose, I went further and I pushed out the boundaries. Antalya Escort Bayan
Occasionally I would initiate something with a throwaway remark and now and then I would give in very easily and would ‘fuck on the first date.’ I got into role-plays and described giving blow-jobs, having them cum on my face or tits and of course being fucked in most positions. I admitted to one ”friend that I had a vibrator and used it on myself describing in minute detail what I was doing. I let one guy call me and the sex we had on the phone was blisteringly good. I drew the line, though, at cam to cam.
The other aspects of my ‘chat room’ period were that I broadened my knowledge and understanding of sex quite considerably. I had no idea just how many different fetishes people, well men mainly, had nor that there were so many different sexual practices that turned them on. Also, I became less judgemental. If a man wanted to discuss something with me, perhaps him wearing women’s panties, spanking or me wearing a strapon, if he was able to discuss it in a reasonably intelligent way, I found myself being willing to do so.
So, in defence of my rather pathetic ‘hobby,’ I claim it as a period of learning and growing when I became a fuller and more rounded person, intellectually at least. You may see it different and consider it to be a time when I indulged myself in a deviant sort of electronic sex. As they say, ‘you pays your money and you makes your choice!
Then the divorce came through and things were different in many ways.
We decided to sell the house in Chigwell and I bought a garden apartment in a nearby area, Buckhurst Hill. That was convenient for Emily’s school, my golf and tennis clubs and near to her and my friends
Once the wait for the finalisation of the divorce was lifted from my shoulders, I felt better. I felt more able to start rebuilding my life. I stopped being the reclusive celibate. I bought a whole new wardrobe as I set out to become a single woman of the 21st century. A liberated female. One who could take or leave men. One who recognised sex for what it was. Basically a commodity to be enjoyed. Not something that was mixed up with love and affection, but a pleasure, an indulgence, something I would do because I wanted to. No other reason, no other motives.
Oh yes, as I signed the final divorce papers sitting in my lawyer’s office in my new Janet Regar thong and ridiculously skimpy bra under the tight linen trousers and low cut top, I was sure that I would now be able to ‘fuck ’em and leave ’em’ just as men do us,
For a while it worked just like that. For a weird year and a bit I did ‘fuck ’em and leave ’em.’ I may well have actually fucked a few too many and certainly I left too many for at the end there were none left.
Was I promiscuous? Of course. Was I an easy lay? Well fairly? Was the sex good? You bet. Was I happy? Was I by fuck? No I wasn’t!
My first date after the divorce was a salutary lesson and an amazing experience for me. It was also quite funny, sad, all mixed up and, overall rather disappointing!
He was someone I met at a golf tournament as his club Toot Hill. We got on well as we played and we chatted easily at the following dinner. Older than me in his mid-forties, Peter was a widower with two children. Well-off, a lawyer with his own five-bedroom house in the town where I had spent most of marriage he met me at an opportune time just a couple of weeks after the divorce was finalised which was the time I had set myself to re-enter life! Well at least to make an effort at it. Now over a year without any form of physical, let alone sexual contact, I guess I was close to being so frustrated that even a glance from a good-looking man could start things moving in me.
When he asked me out I at first found myself starting to refuse as I had done throughout the previous months, but then I remembered my pledge to myself so I accepted. We had dinner and then I met him for lunch and we went out a couple of times for drinks. Other than a few brief pecks on the cheek and one fairly energetic goodnight kiss there had been nothing physical between us although clearly the time for that was approaching. I could feel the pressure of the ‘if you don’t like the heat get out of the kitchen’ or more crudely, but probably more accurately, ‘pee or get off the pot’ being applied. After all, people of our ages don’t go out purely to talk about golf do they? In fact, as we had little else in common that was largely what we chatted about. The moment when I, excuse me, was supposed to pee came with the suggestion from him, that I have now learned is quite prevalent amongst the new age men movement, which largely had passed me by, of ‘come round to mine, I’ll cook dinner.’
In the two days since he had asked my mind had been on little else.
I just could not get my head around whether I would go to bed with him if that was proposed. On the one hand I wanted to. I needed sex and I wanted to have another man. A man free from the impositions of wife-swapping, revenge Escort Antalya affairs and the red mists I’d had in the latter days with my ex. I needed to know whether I would be able to respond to and accept his advances. Whether I would become aroused and indeed, whether I would be able to have an orgasm? I’d had no physical contact with a man for so long and, although I had found relief and a degree of satisfaction from other means, I knew that I was enormously frustrated. I was also concerned at that, for I was worried that I would appear rather inexperienced and that I might climax too quickly and make a sexual fool of myself. Was dating worth it I began to wonder?
Countering all this, though, was my natural reticence. I had never given myself easily and I did not want to start this new period of my life as being an easy lay! On top of that, although I liked him and did, as far as things had gone, quite fancy him, I didn’t know whether this would transmit itself into the sort of sexual chemistry that I felt would be necessary to have good sex with him. I was out of touch with seduction. It had been so long that the outlook that seems to have become quite natural nowadays of, ‘we get on well so let’s fuck’ had never been part of my thinking.
So, in a quandary I had packed Emily off for the night as opposed to having a friend in, just in case I stayed over. As I was getting ready, I was like a schoolgirl on a first date. I could not decide what to wear. Rejecting some things because I felt they were too sexy and others because they were too formal I took ages to prepare myself. I bathed, washed my shoulder-length blonde hair, dried that and spent simply ages with my make-up.
I felt that I had better dress with a view to being undressed later, so I paid special attention to my underwear.
Should it be seductive black or virginal white? Or a pastel colour in between? I pondered on the bra. Net, thin and see through so that should my nipples erupt they would be clearly visible through my top, or thicker and more supportive to create a more interesting and dramatic cleavage? Tights or stockings? I mused over these critical matters for ages? And then of course there was the panties. The modern, high-waisted cut severely at the thighs type or perhaps, a thong, maybe French, possibly boy shorts or little bikini ones?
God the agonies of rejoining the dating game.
I eventually got myself to his house and we had a couple of drinks before he served me a well-prepared dinner. The atmosphere was easy between us and any concerns or inhibitions I had were being washed away with the bottle or so of white wine that we drank. At the end of the meal, I got up and said that I would clear away but he wouldn’t hear of it saying.
“Leave it until tomorrow.”
Feeling surprisingly warm towards him I went round the table and I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely meal. His hand reached out and rested on my hip as I bent over and my top of course gaped a little. His eyes, naturally I suppose went down my top and he pulled me onto his lap. How many years had it been since I had sat on a lap and had a snog, I wondered?
We kissed for some time his hands running up and down my back, outside the grey cashmere sweater. It sent pleasant feelings through me. I felt comfortable and at ease on his lap and showed no resistance when I felt his hands inside the sweater on my bare back. The intensity of his kiss increased and I responded. As his tongue searched deep into my mouth sending signals of his passion to me, my tongue touched his and pressed back against it. It obviously worked for slowly he moved his hand round to the front moving closer and closer to my breasts, but taking the time to gain my tacit approval at each stage.
Then lightly he touched one of them. It felt wonderful. The first time a new partner touches a woman intimately really is lovely and so arousing. This was no exception. They had not been caressed by anyone other than me for such a time, so the feelings were even more intense and special. Slowly and gently he stroked and rubbed me through the thin, black lace teasing the pink tip into a rock-hard protuberance. Feeling no resistance at all from me, he became more welcomingly adventurous easing his fingers inside one of the cups so that they were right on the nipple that once more exploded with feelings.
Now confident of my compliance and agreement his boldness grew and he pushed the thin sweater up so that he could see my breasts. I was pleased with my choice of bra for I knew that his eyes would be gazing at the two orbs encased in the gossamer thin, black net material and that he would be seeing the swollen nipples clearly. We manhandled the sweater off and it was only moments later that I felt the clasp being unclipped and the pressure on my breasts relieved as he removed the bra. He was now looking at me naked above the waist and he said very softly,
“Oh Christine they are so lovely!”
It’s a very special moment when a new partner gazes at a woman’s bare breasts for the first time. The feelings of pride as he compliments you and the, usually, clear indications that you are arousing him are lovely as is the want that seems to go through one from exposing such an intimate part of your body. His hands, now on my bare flesh, did incredible things to me and he murmured.