The Effect of Greedy Lucy

Last week for MMMMonday I wrote a story about a very naughty girl who had an excellent time with a group of friends on a boys weekend. The scenario came from the mind of Mr Jones so he was very happy when I put it into words. I am happy that I was around to record his response…

So many things about this situation are yummy.

  1. Being connected enough to be able to enhance on his fantasy
  2. Knowing he enjoyed reading my work
  3. Watching his response
  4. Sharing his response with you all

I hope wherever you are there is something in your day that makes you say MMM.

I missed the deadline for MMMonday Link party but absolutely click on the button and find some other MMM

mmmMondays

Or see who else is being Wicked this week

Wicked Wednesday

The Whole Truth

For last week’s Wicked Wednesday the theme was two truths and a lie. My post outlined three things and there has been much speculation about which one was the lie. So here is the big reveal.

1 I have never owned a dog.

True! I grew up on a cattle property. We had dogs that were working dogs who essentially belonged to my father. They were friendly enough but definitely not my own pet. As the post outlined after I left home I chose to own a cat and I have never looked back.

2 I lost my virginity when I was 14

As some of you suspected this is the lie. There is some truth in the story that I told. I did mess around with a ringer. But we never got past third base. It was stupid. He took advantage and I am fortunate it never went further.

3 I make my own clothes

True! I have several outfits in my wardrobe that were made by myself. I even made a dress for myself and The Unicorn from the same fabric. They are not the same style of course. That would be weird.

The Truth About Me

What can I tell you about me that you don’t already know? If you are a regular reader you know all of my dirty secrets. Sure, the average person in my face-to-face life is not aware of them but you freaks? You pretty much know it all. So here goes. Which one of these is the lie?

1.      I have never in my life owned a dog.

It’s not that I don’t like dogs. I love dogs. If I have the chance to say hello to a dog when I am walking in the bush near my home I will. The Unicorn and I used to walk most mornings and we had a collection of dog friends that we would greet. But I have never owned my own dog. When I moved into my first house away from my family and boarding houses I decided to get a pet. At the time I was working a lot and the commute from where I lived to my job was long so I decided it would be cruel to get a dog because they would be alone a lot of the time and I wasn’t sure I could commit to walking them every day.

I grew up on a farm. We had working dogs of course. From that experience I have very strong views about caring for animals. I don’t believe big dogs should be kept in a regular yard at all, even with regular exercise. I don’t believe any dog should be kept in a yard without the opportunity to get out and about every day. So I chose a cat. She stayed with me for nearly twenty years. Just before she left us my daughter got her own kitten, he is attached to all of us but he is hers. I now am responsible for a rainbow lorikeet. They look cute but they are noisy, messy and can be very aggressive!

2.      I lost my virginity when I was fourteen.

Like I said I grew up on a farm. My father owns 22, 000 acres. It sounds like a lot if you come from a place where the stock to land ratio is high. Somewhere like Europe or even the coastal parts of Australia. But there are parts of Australia where 22, 000 acres is tiny. For his whole life, my dad raised grass fed, free ranging beef cattle. My brothers and I were home-schooled until we reached high school age. We all learned to ride horses when we were small children and we all spent many days riding around in the Landcruiser with our Dad fixing, fences, checking water troughs and fixing pumps and windmills. About four times a year we would muster. This would involve herding up all the cattle (about 2000), paddock by paddock, counting them, treating them for ticks and buffalo flies, separating out the calves that needed weaning and branding the new calves.  

During these times, my Dad would hire extra men to help him. We all participated in mustering (except my mother, but we don’t talk about that).  My father was not a fan of horse riding so avoided the actual herding on horseback as much as possible by finding other tasks to do. Consequently, my brothers and I were left with ringers frequently to do the grunt work of riding out to locate and collect cattle. There were so many opportunities for a young, curious girl to be alone with a young horny man… It was inevitable really.

Source Australian Geographic. https://www.australiangeographic.com.au/travel/travel-destinations/2014/03/gallery-outback-ringers-of-the-top-end/

3.      I sew my own clothes.

I am a bit like Tula Pink (although The Unicorn assures me I do NOT want to become a Tula Pink person). The Unicorn and I have an ideal when it comes to crafting and creating stuff. We call it “Out of the Closet”. Basically, it means that when we make items the first stop in the search for materials is our own cupboard. My mother is a hoarder. If she died tomorrow, I could make it my full-time job to sew up all the fabric she owns and knit or crochet up all the wool she owns, and I probably wouldn’t be finished before I die!

This has driven me to be a bit obsessive about NOT buying fabric “just because it looks nice” and to put on blinkers every time I go to Spotlight so that I buy what I came for and get the hell out. It also means that I can usually obtain something to add to my own closet every time I visit her.

I sew a range of things, clothing mainly, but also toys and quilts. There are several dresses in my regular school rotation that I made myself. There is something about being able to say “Thank you I made it myself” when someone compliments you on your outfit!

So, there you have it. Which one is the lie and which ones are the truths? As Writer of Words says, I will see you in the comments.

This post is part of Wicked Wednesday #460. Click on the image below to see who else is sharing.

Ben’s Mum

I started writing this for last week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt. But life is a bit on top of me right now. Rebel has kindly let me link it up this week.

There is always that one mother that everyone lusts after. The one who is just a little bit different from the others. In primary school my friend had one of those mums. We were children lust wasn’t part of our landscape. What we did notice was that the other mums looked different from Ben’s mum. Ben’s mum wore her hair out, sitting over her shoulder with one strand falling around her face. The top button of her blouse always seemed undone, and her skirts were shorter than the other mothers.

We didn’t think anything of these things. Other than to think Ben’s mum was pretty. The other mothers always looked at her sideways. She never seemed to be part of the groups of mums standing around their cars in the carpark waiting to pick up their children from school. We were kids, she seemed happy, it didn’t seem to be a problem. Ben and I grew up, we went to the same high school. Ben’s mum didn’t really change. Her dresses were still short, and her hair was still long. In high school no – one stood around the carpark chatting. Cars pulled in, kids got in or out, depending on the time of day, and they drove away. Life went on.

One day we were at Ben’s sitting on the couch with a boy who had just come to our school. We were sixteen, life consisted of school, X-box, eating, part-time jobs and hanging out with our mates. If we weren’t talking about gaming, we were talking about girls. We played League of Legends for a while, but it got boring. So we sat around talking about sex and girls. Goaded by our friends we played hot or not; listing girls at school who we thought were hot and laughing when someone listed as hot a girl we felt differently about. Then our new friend dropped a clanger,

“I think Ben’s mum is hot,”

The room went still. I looked at Ben, he had this weird look on his face. Like he didn’t know where to look or what to say. The other boys with us looked down and shuffled their feet. The new boy, Carl was defensive,

“Well she is.”

Sam broke the silence, “Dude that is not cool. You can’t talk about someone’s mum like that.”

Things were really awkward, and everyone went home as soon as they could. But later that night when I was in bed I thought about Ben’s mum and what Carl had said. Ben’s mum was hot. I knew that, I had known that for a long time. All of us knew that, including Ben. It was a rule between all of us to never talk about it.

In the darkness of my room I reached for my penis. It was firm in my hand. The familiar feeling of my penis in my hand, my hand moving the way I knew would pleasure me was reassuring. Even my fantasy was familiar.

Ben’s mum opened the door for me. She smiled that beautiful smile.

“Hello Josh,” she stepped back so I could come inside. “Ben is not here but I can get you a coke.” I follow her down the hallway watching her ass move under the thin fabric of her dress. In the kitchen she bends down to get a drink out of the fridge. The hem of her dress lifts until I get a glimpse of the pink panties she is wearing. I sit on the stool near the bench and she leans forward to pour me a drink. I can see that the bra she is wearing matches her panties. She smiles at me,

“Call me Katie,” She pours a drink for herself and sits next to me. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, she puts her hand on my thigh. I look at her, she smiles and slides her hand upwards,

“You are the cutest one of Ben’s friends,” she leans forward and our lips meet.

In my bed my hand is shuffling up and down under the blanket. I feel the familiar pressure building. My breathing is heavy punctuated by small grunts.

Katie takes me to her room, and I watch as she slips out of her dress, she unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. Her breasts are amazing. She pulls me towards her, and my hands reach up and cup her breasts. She looks down at my pants and smiles at me. Before I can say anything, she unzips them and pulls out my penis. Her hand is warm as it strokes me.

I cannot hold back. Jizz spurts out of me and covers my hand. I lie there thinking about Ben’s mum for a few moments longer before I reach for a tissue to wipe my hand. Sleepiness is taking over and I drift off.

The next day I knock on Ben’s door. His mum answers,

“Hello Josh,” she smiles that smile. I feel the familiar twinge in my pants. “Ben has just gone to the shop to get some milk, he won’t be long. Did you want to come in and wait for him?”

“Sure Mrs Adams,” I look down. It feels weird being alone with Ben’s mum.

She leads the way to the family room. Her ass moves under her dress, the way it does in my fantasy. The twinge in my pants is a little stronger. I am desperate to find somewhere to sit, so I can hide my erection. She walks into the kitchen, of course she hasn’t noticed anything. I sit at the bench. The counter hides the bulge in my pants.

“Would you like a coke?” she asks.

“No thanks Mrs Adams.” I reply. I couldn’t stand to watch her bend into the fridge. It would be too weird.

She smiles a big smile at me, it doesn’t help. “You are so much more grown up these days Josh, you should call me Katie.”

Image by Agent John from Pixabay

To see who else is being wicked you can click on the image below

Blurred Lines

In a previous MMMonday post I wrote about my dalliance with the idea of hooking up with a much younger man. I have been chatting with such a man who has a very active imagination. Of course one of his fantasies is fucking his teacher. After a conversation with him this scenario popped into my head.

I meet him after school, still wearing my school clothes. I even leave my name badge on. For authenticity. It adds to the anticipation. He is sitting in the corner of the coffee shop with his notebook out in front of him. A smile plays over my lips. The only thing that would make this better would be meeting in a library.

“Hello Jai,” kids with ‘J’ names are always the ones who give teachers the most grief.

“Hello Miss,” he looks up from his book. I bend down to see what he is working on. My blouse falls open. Did I forget to button it properly?

“What are you working on?” I ask as if I truly was working, completely oblivious to him looking down my blouse.

“Just this stupid Trigonometry,” he replies. A phrase I have heard a thousand times from frustrated students. Including a several awkward boys whose names started with J.

“Trigonometry is not stupid,” my voice is transplanted directly from my classroom. “It is really quite simple. See you put the formula into a triangle like this. Then you fill in the bits that you know, and the triangle tells you if you need to multiply or divide.” I had taught this a million times but even now, even when it wasn’t really the point, I was still oblivious to his gaze.

Then I feel his hand on my thigh. Under the table he lifts my skirt and his fingers trail up my leg.

“What do teachers wear for underwear?” His voice was quiet.

I sit very still. The boundary we just crossed is raw for me. All my professional life I have avoided thinking about situations like this. I have ignored the possibility that a student may be having this exact fantasy as I try to align the numbers on the page for them. For a moment I wonder if this scenario may be too much. But here in this coffee shop with a consenting adult it is different enough. These things don’t matter. I push away the thoughts, close them in a box. They belong to a different me. I shrug,

“What do you think?”

His fingers creep up my leg to graze the edge of my knickers. My groin tingles. I feel a trickle of wetness between my legs. His lips curve up in a smile. His fingers slide under the elastic to stroke my slit.

My legs fall open as his fingers stroke me. I struggle to maintain my composure.

“So, I would like you to have a go at this problem,” I re-direct him to the trigonometry on his notebook.

He grinned at me, “But Miss, CEEBS.” He is even using the same words as my students now. The division between fantasy and reality blurs even more. His fingers penetrate me, I gasp. His face is very close to mine. “Is there anything else you can teach me?”

My breathing is heavy. I struggle to focus, aware of the people moving around us, wondering what they can see, what they are thinking.

“Not right here,” my voice is low.

He continues to slide his fingers in and out of my sopping wet cunt. I feel as if I will be sitting in a pool of my own desire. “Where then?”

“My house is just around the corner. There is no one home.” Trigonometry is forgotten. Right now I am very interested in anatomy.

He smiles, like a teenager that he was just a few short years ago. “Let’s go then!”

Image by dognamedseven from Pixabay

This post is part of MMMonday week 8 and Wicked Wednesday #456 “Imagination” Click on the badges below to see who else is sharing

In the Bubble

When Mr Jones and I started our swinging journey our “rules” as they were, revolved around both of us being together at all times. It was important for us to stay in contact and to look out for the other. Over time our level of trust and understanding of how to avoid dangerous situations has grown. In line with that we have expanded our horizons and these days heading out on a solo date is part of our regular repertoire. Our concern for each other has not changed. Mr Jones is concerned for my safety and prefers to know where I am and what the plan is. Equally so I am concerned to know that he is OK and not being put in a position that will damage his confidence.

In line with our “rules” we typically sought out couples. I was not so interested in other women that I wasn’t interested in other men and Mr Jones was not so insecure in our relationship that he couldn’t bear the thought of me being with another man. So we swapped partners with other couples. I am sure long term readers of these pages have read about the complicated nature of finding a suitable couple. Often one “pairing” will work while the attraction between the other two partners is lukewarm or non-existant. The politics of the situation can also become a hassle.

Mr Jones and I are fairly open and honest in our communication with each other and we both try very hard to be the same with prospective partners. Sometimes they can’t pay us the same courtesy. When they make their way to the swinging table they bring with them a host of insecurities and sometimes downright toxic relationship behaviours that can make the situation awkward.

After a few encounters and even friendships that took that path we found ourselves pulling away from swinging with couples and the swinging lifestyle in general. My mental health also spurred this disconnect. I was taken up with surviving massive hormonal changes associated with menopause and the stress of my new career. Mr Jones’ confidence declined and consequently his interest in sex followed.

I started 2020 with the realisation that I had retreated into myself much too far and needed to push myself to get out and become more connected with people around me. 2020 was to be my year of socialising more.

Then Covid happened.

As we slowly come to terms with different ways of interacting and socialising Mr Jones and I had the opportunity to spend a weekend closeted in a huge country house with a few other couples who have the same ideas about marriage as us. That is we went to a swinger’s house party.

We hadn’t met any of the people in the group before but the Brisbane scene is not that big. We had a couple of mutual acquaintances with the hosts and had probably rubbed elbows with some of the others. In any case this was a completely new situation for us. We had attended house parties but not a whole weekend. We honestly didn’t know how it would turn out. Would it be a two day orgy? Would we come home completely shagged out, unable to walk? Would we be left in the corner while everyone partied on? Would we find the couple of our dreams and dissolve into a happy polyamorous future?

As it turned out none of the above happened. Sex was not even a big feature. Nudity was limited but that was more a function of the weather, which was a little cool. What happened was a lot of drinking, something I am not used to. A lot of talking, some naughty truth or dare type games, a naked spa session and an altogether great weekend in the company of people who perhaps could be described as our tribe.

One of the ways our “Hostess with the Mostess” described it was like being in a bubble. In fact I think she needs to copyright this term as it is an entirely accurate description of the environment she creates. While in her bubble, that she creates with her husband, you feel safe and loved and able to be yourself. There is no body shaming, there is no feeling of not fitting in. Mr Jones and I found ourselves immersing into experiences that we would not have had left to our own devices. We were comfortable enough to do our own thing but also join in when we wanted. For the first time in a long time we made connections with other couples that were not vanilla but not necessarily focussed around picking up. It was what we needed. Affirmation that we had value as people and we could be all of ourselves.

Always with Vanillas there is restraint. A need to hide something, often a fear that they will discover a secret and it will have repercussions on our children or our careers. Or a fear that they will be offended and launch a personal attack. Our recent experience with swingers has been in a club, in that environment the connection is based around sex and not usually much more. Without realising it Mr Jones and I had put ourselves in a place where we never fully connected. It wasn’t particularly a problem, but you never know what you don’t have.

As the weekend drew to a close I felt the imminent bursting of the bubble. It was a little sad. I am definitely looking forward to reconnecting with our new friends inside the bubble.

This post is part of Wicked Wednesday #432. To see who else is being wicked click on the image below

Consent and Dick Pics

I posted recently about my appreciation for a good dick pic. I absolutely stand by my appreciation for cock. That doesn’t mean I want to have images of cocks shoved in my face when I am not expecting them. Fortunately for me I associate with adults in most of the places I hang out, even online. Most of my followers seem to be fairly adult and understand the concept of asking for consent before launching a shot of their genitals at me.

During a conversation with a student, and subsequently my own daughter who is almost 18 it came to my attention that boys in that age bracket are not so adult. My daughter is not one of the “popular” girls. She is in fact a rather unique individual who very steadfastly walks to the beat of her own drum and tolerates only those who are willing to accept her the way she is. Consequently her Social Media presence and usage are quite different from the average teenager.

But this post is not about her. It is about the experiences of more ‘average’ 14 – 18 year old girls. Typically these girls are very much involved in Social Media. Most of them use Instagram and Snapchat and a large number of them also use Tick Tock. For many of these girls their social lives are lived through their stories, check ins and posts. A lot of their real world conversations are about what they saw on social media. Although these services have the capability to lock down privacy most of these girls don’t bother with keeping their content private. How can one generate attention when your privacy is locked down?

Clearly this behaviour can become a problem. If you are interested in finding out about the biology behind it you can read this article here. Something that a lot of people aren’t aware of is the way young men use open unprotected social media accounts to seek out girls. Boys find girls they haven’t met by searching contact, follower and friend lists of their friends or followers. When they identify a female name they introduce themselves in a way that whole heartedly confirms that we are descended from apes. They drop their pants, take out their phones and send a photo of their penis. 

A student told me recently that should receives somewhere around 3 – 4 unsolicited dick pics from boys that she doesn’t know per week!!!!

Every week!!!!

From boys she doesn’t know or has spoken to.

So she is 16 – 17 years old and definitely prone to exaggeration but even if she has inflated the number by doubling it that is still a lot of dicks.

Both the genitalia and the owners.

A colleague told me today that his daughter who is approximately 14 received an unsolicited dick pic from a boy at her school.

The school he also teaches at. Meaning this boy thought it was perfectly OK to expose himself and send a picture to an unsuspecting girl knowing that he would have to face her father at some time during his school day and every school day until he leaves that school.

I don’t get it. I mean these boys wouldn’t walk around the school yard with their dick hanging out so why send pictures to all and sundry without an invitation? It is the same thing. 

During the course of the conversation with my daughter we tossed around the idea that part of the problem is girls who don’t push back because they don’t want to discourage the cute boy who might be interested in them. While girls may feel pressured to accept the behaviour so they can get the attention of the cute boys none of this is OK.  

Ever.

As part of my job I am preparing a lesson or series of lessons discussing consent and trying to give teenagers, boys and girls, some tools to enter into the world of sexual activity with a level of confidence and control. A big part of this process is teaching about the idea of consent. In all honesty, for at least part of my audience, these lessons will be shutting the gate after the horse has well and truly bolted. 

Although I feel passionate about equipping young men and women with some factual information and hopefully introducing to some young brains the idea that asking for permission before throwing anything sexual at an unsuspecting person is the decent human thing to do. I am also realistic enough to know that one lesson is not enough. It is tempting for parents to avoid the icky uncomfortable topics like sex and relax in the knowledge that school has it covered. 

We don’t.

Behaving like a decent human doesn’t come from one lesson. It comes from a lifetime of seeing your family and significant people in your life behaving like decent humans. It comes from your father and your mother and any other significant adults telling you what is expected over and over. The person who learns from being told once is very rare. Most people, especially teenagers, need to be told many, many times.

Mothers of boys know that teaching their sons about appropriate penis use is a large part of raising a boy. First you have to teach him to aim at the toilet, then you have to teach your toddler to put their pants on before they go out in public. Then comes lessons about not walking around with their hand in their pants. After that comes the really important part, taking pictures of their penis and sending it to girls is also not OK. Neither is expecting that they have the right to shove their dick into whatever orifice takes their fancy. As tired as you are of talking to your boy about his dick and as stupid as it feels, it is necessary if any of this is going to get better. I have a 20 year old son and recently I found myself re-iterating some lessons about appropriate use of his penis. 

Fortunately the conversation was just a confirmation he had the situation well in hand; rather than an intervention to prevent an unintentional pregnancy as a result of a less than satisfactory relationship. But the point remains. Parents, you are never going to stop talking to your sons about their penis. Probably ever. Unless you want a phone call from a school about them sending dick shots to all the girls in the netball team. 

This post is part of this week’s Wicked Wednesday Roundup. If you want to check out who else is being wicked click the icon below.

I have also linked this post to 4 Thoughts or Fiction #157 Teachers. For some thought provoking erotica or just thought provoking ideas head on over and check it out.

Tuesday Morning Conversation

So as seems to happen my twitter followers have heard the punchline of this conversation with me but I felt the need to share the following conversation with you all.

So this guy messaged me on the swingers dating app I use. In actual fact I had sworn off contacting people from this app for a while because it has become HARD WORK. I really don’t know why I broke this promise to myself but here is what went down:

Initial message: Hey you look super sexy I would like to get to know you better.

For the record he was listed as living in Newcastle, about 700km from me. That is what made me think chatting to him would be a bit of harmless fun.

Response: We can chat if you like my Kik is …..

He messaged me back almost straight away but I didn’t respond. Something about his Kik profile didn’t feel good. I should have taken it as a sign. So next morning;

Gemma: sorry I didn’t respond last night I crashed really early.

CFW (Thhis stands for complete fucking wanker. Reasons for this alias will become apparent very soon): I want you to suck my dick

Really I should have shut this down then and there. This kind of opening never ends well but I am all for giving someone the benefit of the doubt

Gemma: I only sick dicks that are big enough and pretty enough.

CFW: sends dick pic. It wasn’t pretty and who can tell size from a close up with no point of reference.

Gemma: If it isn’t in real life it doesn’t count

CFW: Can I see your pussy?

Gemma: amuses herself by sending ‘pussy’ pic

CFW: Lol

At this point I leave to drive 20mins to work. I thought that was that but I was wrong

CFW: I want to lick you.

I decide he is not going to get the hint so I give it to him straight

Gemma: Look I don’t do sexting or sex chat or any of the things that involve me talking dirty and sending pics while you wank. If that is what you want then I am not your girl.

Again. I think That is that, but it wasn’t. I get to work

CFW: I am looking to hook up

Gemma: so tell me your story

At this point I have ignored multiple red flags and STILL I am engaging this person. And then it happens

CFW: I am just looking for a hole to fill. I don’t want to be your mate.

What

The

Actual

Fuck???????

I know that men sometimes think this. I know that many think this without actually admitting it but saying it to someone you are supposedly trying to get sex with?

Gemma: well you aren’t going to fill this hole because your dick is not big nor pretty enough.

Yes I should have shut it down. Blocked him, deleted the conversation, ghosted him but I wanted to make him feel as worthless as he had just done to me.

CFW: well you are a fat old granny I bet you won’t enjoy the 10 years you have left.

Then in the middle of the staff room, getting ready for classes and a day of wrestling with teenagers I did what I should have done after the first message. Deleted the conversation. Ended it.

I was shocked, hurt, violated. Worse, I had no one to share what had just happened to me. Not one of the 130 odd people sharing the staff room with me at that moment could help me. They don’t know what I do, they can’t know what I do. I had to just pull myself together and move on.

There are those who would say putting it out there meant I asked for it. I didn’t. I was polite, I was clear about what I am about. Nothing about anything I do made what CFW said OK. Don’t get me wrong, it is perfectly ok to say “I am just looking for sex” and “I don’t want to get intimate”

Telling someone that you see them as a cum bucket, that is not OK. Responding in such a nasty way when you get rejected. That is not OK. It is never ok to be rude or treat someone like junk.

For the record I spent the rest of the day grumpy and out of sorts. I am proud however of the fact that what he said didn’t make me feel less sexy or attractive. It hasn’t made me question my lifestyle or my choices about hooking up for sex. I AM attractive and he definitely was the one who missed out. I refuse to stop believing in myself.

This post is listed as part of Wicked Wednesday prompt #405 Don’t Stop Believing. As always there is a plethora of talented writers to enjoy so get on over at check them out!

A Toxic Conundrum

The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday is “Relationship”. During the week I had a conversation with a a twitter friend that brought up some memories of a time when my own relationship was very strained.

Having small children is hard. No one will argue. I was more fortunate that many women. Being pregnant was ridiculously easy for me. Right from the first thought of “let’s have a baby” to the part in the delivery room when they gave me my babies to hold and nurse for the first time.

My children by and large have been pretty stock standard. No disabilities, no health issues, no learning problems. Just average run of the mill kids. But children are all consuming. The moment they come into being they take first place in your attention, always. At least that is how it was for me.

Which is where the problem started. Mr Jones was used to occupying that space. And while he was ok with not having perfect dinners and an immaculate house he was not really ok with not having as much or the kind of sex that he was used to. He married his fantasy girl and then he broke her by putting a baby in her I guess.

For many years, yes years we went around in this circle of him feeling unloved because I didn’t WANT to have all consuming sex with him and me feeling a whole range of emotions. Firstly guilt at not being able to make him happy, secondly frustration that my husband didn’t seem to relate to my struggles as a constantly tired person who was desperately trying to keep a career together as well as be the super mother and housewife.

There were many, many occasions when I tried my hardest to give him good sexual experiences. Sometimes I succeeded. Even more rarely I enjoyed myself. More often than not I was just left feeling like he had taken a piece of my soul. It was after those times that I then went on to feel even more guilty and unhappy with myself and to ask myself the question “Why can’t I just be a horny individual like everyone else?”

The damage to our sex relationship during those years was ridiculous. Both of us were permanently scarred. For many people reading this I am sure you are asking WTAF?? How did this confident, sex goddess come from that?

The answer, I have no clue. None. There was a cheating incident, by me not him, then there was a visit to a swing club and an incredible journey through a hidden, secret lifestyle. The journey itself was not always easy and there were some very wrong turns but it was our journey and we are still on it. In the end I don’t think swinging itself was the saviour, although it opened a lot of doors in my mind that had been closed. In the end I think it was more about the life lessons learned.

Things I know now that I wish I had known then;

If you want your partner to clean the kitchen / do the washing / buy you flowers then just ask them outright, explicitly. It is easier and you will get what you want.

You can’t do everything and be all things to all people without destroying your own soul. You will become a doormat if you try and no one gives a second thought to the mat as they wipe their feet on it.

Sex is fun. It is ok to enjoy it, no matter what your sexually repressed overly Catholic upbringing taught you. And if it isn’t then don’t fucking do it. No matter who your partner is or what their relationship is to you. Not enjoying sex will eat you up inside.

I don’t have the ultimate answer to the sex drive imbalance. Men I can’t tell you how to make your wife give you the sex you want. Ladies I can’t tell you how to get your man to give you sex that will make you happy. I don’t think anyone can solve someone else’s relationship problems. In the end you have to work it out for yourself.

Good lick (no that wasn’t a typo).

After reading my humble offering head on over to Wicked Wednesday to read some amazing content.

Curiosity

It has been quite a while since I have participated in Wicked Wednesday. Over the last couple of years whenever I have sat down to write other things seem to grab my attention. I have been making more of an effort of late. So let’s see if I can sustain it.

The expression “Curiosity killed the cat” had never really made much sense to Jen. She had always seen life as a journey of discovery. No question was too silly to be asked, nothing was too dangerous to be explored. Which is why, when her colleague gave her his phone so she could look at the photos he had taken of his new car she swiped one too far.

You can tell a lot about people by the junk photos on their phone….

Suddenly she had learned something about Mac that was completely unexpected and at the same time compelling. Without missing a beat she flicked back to car photos and passed his phone back. “Impressive,” she raised her eyebrows at him. He seemed slightly confused but the moment was broken by an interruption from a co-worker.

Later in the toilet Jen allowed herself to remember what she had seen. The image seemed etched permanently on her mind. Sitting in her cubicle in a little bubble of privacy she pushed her panties around her ankles and spread her knees. Her fingers slid gently over her naked pussy. Leaning back slightly Jen closed her eyes and remembered what she had seen, the proud erect cock, arching back slightly towards it’s owner’s taught muscular stomach. His fingers were curled around the shaft pulling the skin back to expose the delicate pink helmet slick with pre cum.

Jen slid her fingers downwards, pressing around her clit, teasing herself as she imagined him above her on a bed teasing her with his gorgeous cock. As she slid her fingers inside her slick wet cunt she imagined him pressing the head of his cock against her opening. She slid her fingers out covered in slippery wetness. The cubicle seemed filled with the scent of her arousal.

In her fantasy he slid his cock slowly inside her pressing her folds apart, penetrating her as he looked into her eyes. Her fingers, covered in her arousal slid upwards to stroke her swollen clit. Oblivious to everything except the fantasy filling her mind and the sensation in her clit Jen slid two fingers from her other hand inside her slick, wet cunt. She pressed against the rough skin just inside her opening sending a jolt of arousal through her. There was just enough consciousness left to remind her to clamp her lips shut to keep the sound of her pleasure inside her throat.

Her fingers moved frantically over her clit and she thrust her other hand inside herself, three fingers now, she wanted to stretch her cunt the way she knew that beautiful cock would. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of her orgasm and she pushed herself towards it. Her pussy jerked and pulsed as the heat spread from her fingers throughout her whole body. A small amount of liquid spilled over her hand and she smiled blissfully as she leaned her head against the wall of the cubicle keeping her breathing as quiet as she could.

The sound of footsteps entering brought her back to reality. She wondered how long she had been away from her desk. A slight feeling of panic fluttered to the bottom of her stomach as she pulled her panties back into place and straightened her skirt.

Returning to her desk she allowed herself a quick glance in Mac’s direction. His head was bent over his desk and he was oblivious to everyone around him. Still warm in the afterglow of her orgasm Jen took her seat and returned to her work.

Five minutes later her phone pinged. Still mostly focussed on the figures in front of her she puzzled at the text ‘new picture message’. Curious she opened the image. One tiny glance was enough to send a new jolt of wetness through her already damp panties.

I saw you looking. 😉

If you enjoyed my humble offering I am sure you will find much more to tantalise you over at Wicked Wednesday