How a woman, me, is in awe of her 18 year old nephew.
*
As the final waves of the self-induced orgasm crashed over me I clicked the mouse and the PC screen went blank.
Other than removing my finger from the mouse I didn't move. I remained exactly as I had been as I'd climaxed. Laid back in the leather office chair in front of the glass topped desk, one of my hands was still cupping one of my full breasts the other was between my legs. I also didn't adjust my clothing. The tracky top remained undone, I wasn't wearing a bra. The lycra gym pants, with the elasticised waist, were left around my ankles and the pretty, pale blue, lacy panties stayed half way down my thighs.
As I lay there, so the feelings and emotions that were becoming quite familiar filled my mind. There was the thrill of "talking" to an almost total stranger in a chat room; the arousal as he became more and more intimate and the excitement as I felt myself responding. There were doubts, of course, but the intensity of a man saying such stirring things to me was such a turn on. The release I gained when my hands roamed my body and the satisfaction when I brought myself to a climax were always awesome. But after, there was always the guilt and the remorse, the feeling that I'd demeaned myself. Demeaned myself with the man but more so to myself. They were particularly strong today for the man I'd cybered with was still in his teens. True his late ones for he was over eighteen, but still young enough to be my son and, worryingly in some ways, I found that added to the thrill.
As I at last moved somewhat reluctantly from the chair and rearranged my clothing so the reconciliation and justification began. It was my enormous sexual frustration that caused this, or so I figured. The frustration brought about by the lack of sex between me and Richard, my corporate lawyer husband. The frustration caused by him seemingly having lost his sex drive. He blamed that on the murderous hours and demanding travelling that the job required. He was rarely at home before eight or nine in the evenings, often had papers to read when he got home and one week in four was spent at the firm's New York office. As a result, sex seemed to happen pretty much only when we went away for the occasional weekend or when we had holidays which, nowadays, as Richard fought hard for his partnership, were few and far between. Richard more and more needed something other than my body to get him going. He seemed to have lost interest in that in most ways apart from photographing it and that had became a key part of our sex life; in some ways I often pondered that was our sex life.
When I thought back to the early days of our marriage I realised, that compared to many, we were not that active and were certainly far from adventurous even then. But Richard was a very conventional man and I came from a solid middle class English background. Such things were just not talked about. I admitted freely that other than in the bedroom our marriage was fine. He was an excellent provider, a caring father to our two children and really a good friend to me. That was significant and has become more so as we passed the ten then the fifteen and now the twentieth anniversaries of our nuptials, he was my friend, not my lover! He was generous, not that I needed that for I have my own money, generally very caring and considerate and never questioned what I did with my time or what I spent on clothes or the house in St Albans, which he knew I hated.
All in all it was an ok marriage, certainly from the outside looking in. We were, I suppose, rich, had a huge, albeit an ugly Victorian pile of house that had been in Richard's family since it was built, god knows why, a son of eighteen and a girl of sixteen both of whom had gained entry to good public schools where they boarded, another aspect of our marriage with which I was not happy, but was powerless to change. We attended grand functions through Richards work, ate at the very best London restaurants and when we travelled it was usually at least business if not first class and we stayed in the top hotels. We generally got on well, rarely rowed and certainly in public gave the appearance of being the perfect couple.
But the lack of sexual action was becoming wearing. To be truthful it had been getting to me for several years now and it was beginning to tell. I was permanently frustrated. Frustrated to the point that some days I walked around like a dog in heat and often found myself masturbating two or three times a day. Hence, the chat rooms. Finding those a couple of years ago had been a godsend to me, and may well have to date saved the marriage. It was a new way of giving vent to my sexual needs without recourse to having an affair. But as time went on I wasn't at all sure that I wouldn't succumb to accepting one of my chat pal's invitations to meet and to having another affair. The sexual pressure and the loneliness were becoming so strong that I was afraid that if the right man came along, as he had just on four years ago when I'd had my only affair, I'd start another relationship. But they were so messy. The lies and excuses, the pretence and the subterfuge had so messed up my mind that I had nearly had a nervous breakdown. I felt that the pleasure and excitement I'd gained wasn't worth the constant guilt and worrying. That's why I was at present fighting hard against giving in again.
The chat rooms, though, had influenced me in other ways for they'd opened my mind up a lot. They had given me a different perspective on sex, introduced me to the erotic and I admit to porn and filth. They had shown me that there were so many people out there with fetishes, with differing sexualities and a really deep interest in an amazingly wide range of variations on the common theme of sex. Until the chat rooms I had no idea just what a huge part sex played in so many peoples' lives and was, I realised with a jolt, beginning to play in mine.
It wasn't just chat rooms although they certainly played a part in me finding a determination a year or so ago to do more with my life. I'd taken up tennis again and had started having golf lessons. I'd toyed with salsa or ballroom dancing but steered away from them in fear of what my reactions might be when in a man's arms being held close to him.
I'd taken a big plunge though by going into business and I'd started a food shop and posh café in Harpenden just outside London to the north. Although it never really made much money it was a great outlet for me for it gave me another interest. Organising and managing and using my mind to overcome problems had been a great stimulus and had given me a very strong feeling of independence, it also really helped my self-esteem, which had taken something of a battering recently. It was there that I met Amanda with whom I quickly became good friends. It was so good that Amanda would pop in most days for a coffee, so good that now and then we'd have a drink or dinner together, so good that she, a very good golfer, gave me a few lessons. It was so good that slowly Amanda seduced me.
We both knew it couldn't last, but we both enjoyed it. Amanda was by her own admission, "probably b-sexual" but I had never been with another woman. I have to admit, though, that I was a willing 'seducee' and during the affair an avid participant. That was how my excursions into chat rooms and the subsequent email exchanges had enlightened me, opened up my mind and made me receptive to her advances. I wanted to experiment, push out the boundaries and try new experiences. Amanda gave me those opportunities. Our affair petered out after a couple of months when she moved to inner London, but we keep in touch are aware that one day we will probably end up in bed again.
The short bi affair, apart from opening up my sexuality, also seemed to give me more confidence. I felt more empowered and liberated and my views on self gender sex and erotic matters in general widened very significantly. That, together with my chat room activity really changed me to the point that sometimes I felt that I was beginning to live purely for sex.
"The fucking trouble is though," I often muttered to myself, "is that I don't get any."
Pulling up my loose gym pants and panties I went into my bedroom and showered. As I ran the soap over my, what I knew was still a nicely rounded body, I thought about the eighteen year old boy with whom I'd just masturbated. I'd seen his lean, youthful muscular body on his cam and I had visualised myself crushed against it. I'd seen him cum and then watched in amazement how within fifteen minutes he was hard again. Hard enough for us to play out a scenario in which we pretended to have sex. Well really we did have sex only it was of the very modern electronic kind called cybersex.
I'd been using chat rooms as a masturbation tool for a while now, after all it's much more exciting to type to or, better still see on cam the man I am pretending to fuck than laying on my bed with my eyes closed trying to visualise it. I was beginning to lose count of the number of times and the number of men and since Amanda women with whom I'd "cybered." It was starting to worry me that I was losing control. But did it really matter I pondered as I walked naked into our large bedroom? "So what if I fuck half of America via a screen?" I reasoned, "I'm not hurting anyone and quite frankly I enjoy and more importantly need it."
"Hello Cat."
"Phil, how are you?" I asked down the phone to my sister Phillipa, who lived in Canada.
Phillipa said."I've got a favour to ask Cat?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Well Glenn's coming to London for one semester as part of his degree course and I wondered if he could stay with you. It's only for six weeks or so?"
"Of course he can, he'll be most welcome but you know that the kids are both away at school so it'll be pretty boring for him."
