The first time I had a penis inside me (other than in my mouth) was on my wedding night. The experience of being penetrated was marvelous. I knew the feeling of my finger inside me, the tampon applicator and, of course, boyfriends' fingers probing... but when Arthur's rigid penis opened me it made my ears buzz; I felt with each thrust that my eyeballs would pop out of my head. He shouted his orgasm and it ended much too soon, his body slumping on mine. His hardness shriveled inside me and, as I felt his semen oozing down the crack of my bottom, I vowed that I would get him hard again and again that night...which I did. Each time he fucked me longer. But there was no foreplay, nor was there cuddling afterward.
Not once during our marriage had Arthur's selfish attempts brought me to orgasm. I pretended, for his sake, to come when he did but found he didn't seem to care. After our first year of marriage he wanted sex less and less which, given the amount of enjoyment I took from it, was more of a blessing than a curse. I had become quite good at satisfying my own needs, at least physically. I indulged in wild fantasies, not to mention improved methods of masturbation, and it got to the point where I would watch men walking toward me, barely able to keep my eyes above their crotch. I was always too honorable, though, to seriously consider having an affair but, in my mind, many men had me.
I had heard about women having wild thoughts about their sons, a thought that was totally repulsive to me. But something happened within the last couple of years that caused me to assess the kind of person I have become. My son Lee had just celebrated his 18th birthday. He'd been working out with weights since the eighth grade, had developed a muscular body and had become a fine athlete. He'd never been modest around the house, often parading in nothing but his boxers, for which I scolded him. By that time his body had become beautiful and images began filling my mind, images of Lee completely naked...even with an erection (blushing). I tried to make the images go away, prayed about it...a lot, then felt like a hypocrite when I savored his naked cavorting in my mind.
One Saturday morning, about 10:30, (it was just before his graduation from high school) I was walking past his room. The door was open a crack and I heard what sounded like painful moans coming from the other side. I thought he might have hurt himself playing baseball and, being the compassionate mother, I raised my hand to push his door open but, through the crack, my eyes caught his reflection in the mirrored closet doors at the foot of his bed and I froze. He was lying on his back completely naked. In his left hand was a girly magazine, which he was holding up above his face. His right hand was wrapped around his substantial erection pumping it like he was blowing up a bicycle tire. The moans were of his pleasure. Having done similar things so many times in my life I understood. Just the same (I'm so embarrassed to tell you this) I was spellbound.
My fantasies hadn't prepared me for what I was seeing. Lee was much bigger than Arthur, and, from the length of time he masturbated without ejaculating he could, apparently, last much longer. I shouldn't have been watching, invading his privacy like that, but I was riveted. My years with his father led me to believe it would be over quickly. But he kept stroking and moaning, moaning and stroking for what seemed a full five minutes. Finally, he gritted his teeth and sucked in a spitty hiss; It was beautiful (blushing). His sperm gushed like a string of tiny pearls in a long arc, laying a line from his abdomen to his chest. Still pumping, he grunted and a smaller arc spurted on his stomach, pooling in his navel. His legs opened and closed as he kept flailing, his creamy seed flowing over the shiny purple head of his penis. His silent pumping turned to the slurpy sounds of his hand sliding through his semen. I wanted to...I wanted (oh, you already think I'm depraved) I wished I could go in and taste his sperm but quietly backed away from the door. It was terrible (blushing). It was wonderful.
I wanted to tell Amanda about what I had experienced but was afraid of exposing my fantasies, afraid of what she might have thought. She has a son, Corey, the same age as Lee; they played on the same high school baseball team. I wanted to tell her but feared losing her as a friend...and lover.
Our bridge group rotated houses, getting together every other week. I was the host the first time, when, after the game Amanda kissed and fondled me in the kitchen then took me upstairs and ravished me. It was all about her introducing me to the wonder of being made love to by a woman. The next time was two weeks later; the game was at her house. She called me that morning and asked me to wear something loose, "a skirt would be fine." The other six girls were wearing slacks. Amanda and me were the only ones wearing skirts, but, nobody seemed to notice. After the game I lingered until everyone else had left. During bridge, anticipating what Amanda and I would do after the game, I became so wet between my legs that I felt like I was going to slide off my chair.
We cleaned up together, just like at my house. I was washing the dishes when Amanda, from behind, slid her left arm under mine and fondled my breast. At the same time she lifted the hem of my a-line skirt and caressed the inside of my left thigh. Electrified by her hand on my breast and another so near my pussy, I spread my legs. Touching my pussy through my panties she gloried, "My God, Mary Wilhelm, you're delicious, your panties are soaking wet!
Turning me away from the sink she unbuttoned my blouse, removed it, and then undid my bra. Her lips touched mine (Our kisses are so incredibly tender...soft), undoing her blouse and bra while our lips melted into each other's and her naked breasts encompassed mine. Air whistled through both of our noses and I felt like my pussy was dripping with my roiling juices.
It was like a dream, a slow motion dream: our naked skin touching off tiny explosions where ever it touched, our mouths opening, exuding the dark and humid warmth of our oral cavities, the velvet of one tongue slipping under the pussy-like underside of the other, then swirling to capture our passionate offerings.
