With the death of my husband, I had time on my hands. My grandkids told me that there were places on the internet, chat rooms they called them, where people could make friends and talk for hours with people who shared similar interests and experiences. I soon joined a chat site and began spending some time each day chatting with new friends.
A bit about me: I'm 62, silver-haired and petite. I try to keep myself in shape and wear the same sizes that I did in high school. I'd be less than truthful if I didn't admit that I enjoy the glances I sometimes receive from men far younger than myself.
Of course I learned that women receive a great deal of attention on such sites, and the messages a lady receives can be rather, well, in your face.
One night I received an instant message from a man who was far more polite and sophisticated than the norm. He was younger than I, thirty-one, and I made no secret of my age. After we had chatted for some days he suggested we exchange pictures. He proved to be quite handsome and dashing, with a rakish handlebar mustache. And he was very tastefully complimentary about my appearance.
The anonymity of chatting in this way tends to reduce one's inhibitions, and our exchanges began to be somewhat more intimate than I would ever have undertaken with a man I'd never met. We had reached a point where I confided that although I had loved my late husband, my sex life with him had been less than satisfactory, owing to the fact that he had been far less adventurous in that regard than I was.
"Jill," he typed. "Do you have any interest in bondage?"
I must have turned beet-red. I was a mother, a grandmother and active in my church. And yes, I had an interest in bondage, but absolutely no experience..
"Harry!" I responded. "What a shocking question! Yes, I've had thoughts about such things that a lady in my position shouldn't have!"
"And do you enjoy such thoughts?" he asked.
I couldn't believe that our conversation had taken such a turn.
"Yes," I answered. "I do enjoy them. Quite a lot."
"Do you enjoy pictures of ladies in perilous situations?" he asked.
"Oh my! I've never seen anything like that!"
"Would you like to?" he asked.
My face felt hot. Perilous situations? What would that entail?
"Yes, I would," I replied. "Where would I see such a thing?"
"What is your email address?"
I provided it. In a few moments I received a "you've got mail" notification. There was an attachment, which I opened. I gasped out loud. It was a photo of a mature woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. She seemed to be in a dingy room, perhaps in a basement. She was tied with ropes around her wrists pulling her arms up above her head. And she was completely naked, with her full, slightly sagging breasts thrust out in front of her in a way that was intensely erotic. I had never seen such a thing, and I didn't expect the effect it had on me. It was intensely arousing.
"Harry!" I typed. "I'm speechless."
"Do you like it?" He asked.
"Yes," I responded. "I like it very much. I've never seen anything like this."
"Would you like to see more?" he asked.
"Yes, please," I responded.
He began to send more pics in the same vein. They were all of mature women, some quite mature. As Harry gauged my reaction to each of them the intensity of the scenarios depicted increased. When he sent the first pic of a captive woman being forced to perform oral sex on her captor my hands trembled so that I could barely type. Then he sent one of a pretty, grandmotherly lady with her bare breasts criss-crossed with what had to be welts from a whip.
"Harry," I typed. "I've never seen anything so arousing. Why am I enjoying this so much?"
"What's it matter?" He replied. "I'm just glad you like them."
A few nights later he typed, "I have a serious question for you."
"Shoot," I replied.
"Would you like to see a naked, bound woman, in real time?"
"Harry!" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"I happen to be acquainted with a lady who enjoys bondage play, and she has always wanted to have another mature lady watch and participate. Would you like for that lady to be you?"
My head was spinning.
"Harry, do you really mean this?"
"I do indeed."
"Yes, I want that lady to be me."
"I'll make it happen," he replied.
The next day he emailed me and explained that I would be part of a roleplaying scenario, and all I needed to do was play along.
"Do you know what a safeword is," he asked.
"No," I responded.
He explained that his lady friend would be assuming the role of a completely unwilling kidnap victim, but that if anything that was happening actually became too much for her, she would say a predetermined word that would mean that she REALLY wanted whatever was happening to stop. He gave me his address and a time.
I arrived at the appointed time. I had never been more nervous in my life. I went up to the door and rang the bell. In a short time he opened up. He was more handsome than in his picture, and I could now see that he was impressively muscular as well. He invited me in.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Harry, is this really happening? Is that lady really here?"
