This is the first episode in my story series, The Emancipation of Genie Bright.
Thank you for reading.
***
"Road tax. Oh, and book a service for the car too."
"Uh, uh, uh, uh...."
"And did I ring Helen about the flowers?"
"Uh, uh, uh, uh...."
"I think my thighs are actually chafing! Come on, finish up, will you!"
"Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh....Oh shit, yes."
"There endeth the lesson." Genie thought as she lay there, next to Stephen, who had just emptied his load into her, as he had done, in exactly the same way, every week, for 3 increasingly, long, dull, years.
She had once described his sexual technique as metronomically monotonous which pretty much summed it up well, at least vocally. Unfortunately, his physical style seemed to be "enter, start thrusting, keep thrusting, come and exit". Hence why she actually ended up feeling most times now quite sore because he had no variation in his style and would often take quite a while to reach his peak...which was always the same.
It had got so bad recently that Genie had done the following during the endlessly similar, sexual acts.
1) Sang, in her head, as many favourite songs as she could remember,
2) Managed to practice a presentation and potential adlibs for a work training day,
3) Tapped her fingers on the bed along with the "uh, uh, uh",
4) Moved her head from side to side in time with the "uh, uh, uh",
5) Counted the seconds it lasted (a mind-numbing 646 on the first occasion she did it),
6) Wondered whether it's ever this bad when you get paid for doing sex,
7) Made an extensive list of sex things she wanted to do that hadn't happened in this relationship, and,
8) Was reminded of her lovely late Mum who had an obscure record that was a hit that she used to play occasionally by Laurie Anderson called "O Superman". Stephen did sex at roughly the same tempo so Genie entertained herself with remembering how it went.
"This is no good, " she thought. Duvet pulled back, into the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror and gave herself a good talking to.
"Come on, Genie, what the bloody hell are you doing. You've got a sore backside because he had sex in you, not with you. You don't have to take this anymore. You're 35, woman. There are men who are better than this. Take hold of it."
Take hold of it, Genie did and, by 10am that same morning, she was a single woman. He'd been quite calm about it and accepted that he wasn't very adventurous. They'd bounced in and out of their relationship a few times but, when the other parts of it started to reflect the sexual limitations, then it was done for.
-
Genie Bright. 5'5". Mop of loosely curly reddish hair. Grey/green eyes. Curvy and cuddly. Always smiling. Happy to help anyone. Marketing manager for a group of charities. No children. No parents. Has own flat and car. Loves travelling and music. Lovely friends. Single. Looking for someone who can do sex in more than one way, more than once a week. Simple!
Jeanette Bright became Genie one day at school when she tried to explain to a teacher what she preferred being called but could only spell the magical "Genie" and it stuck. Even jokes about rubbing lamps and magic were things she just took in her stride because she really liked the change.
Her Mum even loved the idea of it, her alternative spelling gradually pervading her whole life so that, unless the document was legal, "Jeanette" was consigned to the bedside drawer, along with the tampons, stale cigarettes, tissues, passport, out of date condoms and packs of batteries.
She always had batteries. They were essential as she'd survived the years with Stephen by entertaining herself regularly with a small selection of battery powered pleasure machines.
She got her money's worth too because, when the batteries were almost spent from the others, she put them in her dildo that could tickle her clitoris and be inside her. It only lasted 10 minutes each time but the slower speed and the deeper rumble of the vibration as the motor ran down was just the right speed for the stimulation she craved.
She almost looked forward to when one of her machines would start to lose its power because she knew she'd be able to use "The Rumbler" as she called it. No human had ever been able to replicate this particular feeling for her. It was always special.
Helen, about whom she recalled she had to ring during the "uh, uh, uh" that morning, was her sister. 4 years older and immersed in the ideal family life -- 2 children, husband, house -- the whole thing. But they were close, very close.
Their dad had gone off shagging when Helen was 9 and Genie 5. They never saw him again. Their Mum, Paula, had strode on with her two girls, unabashed, until she was struck down suddenly with a heart attack when Helen and Genie were 21 and 17.
The two young women were tight together before but the loss reinforced their place as the most important person in each other's lives. Helen's family life had not dimmed her love for her sister and Genie returned that in spades, quite happily being Aunt Genie to Helen's two.
Life hadn't been without challenges though. Following her Mum's death, Genie's weight fluctuated. Helen, though, kept her in check and avoided letting Genie fall into harmful eating patterns. Genie did spend her twenties forever losing and gaining weight. Only when she entered her 30's did her body settle and she was very happy with where she was.
Yes, there were a few softer bits on arms and legs and her tummy but she was a little more shapely as a result. Likewise, in the comfort of her own bedroom, she would stand every so often in front of her wardrobe mirror nude. She enjoyed what she saw. The slightest little tummy roll showed which was great. Her breasts pleased her too, not large but enough for her to feel that a bra was always essential, even though they happily sat, protruding from her body, pertly, without the need for support.
-
After having spent a happy weekend at home, relaxing into her new single status, Genie headed into work.
The charity head office she worked at housed a varied collection of individuals but Genie shared an office with Sheena Jamison, a striking blonde woman with a Scots/Irish background who had lived all her life in the south of England, with the accent to match, betraying the occasional twang of her Scots Mum and Irish Dad.
Sheena was someone of two distinct personalities. The work Sheena was casually professional -- colourful shirts and tops, jeans or trousers, hair often tied up, a light layer of, or no, make-up, immersed in solving colleagues IT issues, exuding calm confidence which often went a long way towards easing people down from an agitated state who came to her with laptops in dire need of rescue. Unflappable.
Then there was the other Sheena. The Sheena who enjoyed being in clothing as opposite to her work image as it was possible to get. The Sheena who treated her face make-up as a mask to be perfected.
The Sheena who would take Genie under her wing, despite Genie being 6 years her senior. The Sheena who would hand Genie the keys to her sexual emancipation.
