Please do not read if you are under 18 years of age. Thanks to all of you who sent me feedback for "Mother's Shining Example". I am sorry that it took so long to get this out to you all, and I hope it is worth the wait. The first chapter of Vivian's story is mostly plot and character build up. For some reason, I have been really taken with this character and I want to do her tale justice. As always, I would love to hear your feedback.
Ch. 1
My name is Vivian. I have been instructed by my son-in-law to record the events of my training. My late husband began teaching me on our honeymoon on how to service and please him. This is the story of our beginning and how he turned me into a cock worshipping slut.
I was raised to be a good girl. My mother was a traditional 50's housewife that stayed at home and took care of the kids and baked cookies. My father worked and brought home the bread and made the decisions. Their roles in life were very clear and so I chose to follow that model when it was my turn to find a husband. I thought nothing would make me feel more secure than to be taken care of like that. Then along came the sexual revolution and women's liberation and every ideal that I had held dear was turned completely upside down. Suddenly it was wrong for a woman to take care of the home and children, wrong to take care of her husband. Women were free to make their own decisions and be liberated about sex, or so I was told by every jerk on campus that only wanted to get into my pants. I knew that to be a virgin on a college campus in the early 70's was crazy, but I was taught that my virginity was something sacred and a gift to my future husband. It wasn't so much a religious thing, but a measure of respect for myself and my future husband.
Most of the guys that I met were only interested in getting me drunk and getting laid. After a while, word got around that I didn't do that kind of thing, and the "date" offers dwindled. That was fine by me, I had not met one single man that I thought was worth my time anyway. Until I met Paul. I was a junior working in the campus bookstore when he came in to get his books for the last term. He smiled and was polite, and I found myself smiling back in spite of my usual shyness. He came in the next day for a book that he had "forgotten" to buy and when he finished in the checkout line, Paul asked me if I would like to have lunch with him. I accepted.
Upon getting to know him, I learned that he was raised in a similarly traditional household in the south. At the end of our first lunch, Paul walked me to my dorm, and thanked me for a nice afternoon. After he left, I thought to myself, well that is the end of that. He got the idea that I won't put out, and I will never see him again. I wasn't surprised that he didn't try to kiss me, but I was a little saddened. I thought maybe this one might turn out to be different.
As it turns out, he was different. He came again the next day at lunchtime and so it went for a week until he asked me out to dinner. He always seemed genuinely warm without pressuring me, so I accepted. That night, we talked openly about our expectations for our respective futures. I was open about my need to stay a virgin until marriage, and he nodded as I spoke.
"I knew that you were different when I first saw you," he told me. "Do you know I watched you for half an hour before I asked you for your help? You were so gracious to people and trying to get what they needed. I am glad that you want to wait. It makes it so much more special, like symbolically giving yourself completely and totally to your husband ."
I blushed at his words, but I think that that was the moment that I fell in love. I knew and he knew that I was lost. He asked my father for permission to marry me six months later, and I eagerly accepted. We agreed that because we were both in our senior year in college, we would wait until graduation to get married. It really wasn't that far away, but because we were officially engaged, we felt at liberty to play and tease with each other a little more than before.
I remember one night after dinner, he was walking me back to my dorm in the dark. He took my hand and slipped me into a dark alley in between two buildings. We were no strangers to kissing by this time, so I brought my arms up around his neck thinking he wanted to steal a private smooch before we got home. Instead, he stretched my hands up to where an old sign fixture was still sticking out of the wall. He whispered in my ear to grab on to it and hold. As I stood there with my arms over my head, he took a long look at my shape in the moonlight. He must have liked what he saw, because he grinned and walked slowly around me in a full circle. I was blushing profusely by the time he came to stand back in front of me, but I stayed as he wanted and returned his gaze. He brought his hands to my outer thighs and rubbed my skin through the thin cotton fabric of my skirt. Slowly, he rubbed in circles until his hands migrated to my rear where he pressed me into him and kissed me passionately as I hung onto the iron bar.
He broke the kiss and backed away and we both stood and breathed heavy for a few seconds before he gave me a funny look and motioned for me to let go of the bar and step back out onto the sidewalk with him. I took his hand and snuggled into his arm as we walked, glowing with love and desire. He kissed me lightly when we reached the doorstep and he said goodnight.
Several times we pushed the boundaries of propriety, but instead of upsetting my moral code, I found myself virtually panting for more. He was an odd mixture of outrageous suitor and perfect gentleman. By the time our wedding day arrived, I was in a fit of longing, hardly daring to believe that our union would finally be consummated.
I won't bore you with wedding details except to say that my hair and dress were suitably out of 1974 and our wedding pictures were something my daughter gets a good laugh out of today. It was an entirely enjoyable affair with much celebrating and good will. As we were packing to leave for our honeymoon, Paul offhandedly remarked that I should not bother to pack any underwear for our trip. In my overly horny state, I took his remark at face value and left them all in the undies drawer. He would not tell me where we were going on our honeymoon, only that it would be hot, and that we would have plenty of time to spend alone together.
I had packed a bikini, the first I had ever owned. I remember hoping that Paul liked what he saw and was not disgusted that I wanted to put my body on display. But I wanted to tan, and he had told me that we would be alone. I could never have pictured the tiny bungalow on a private beach on the back of a posh island resort. I know it is cliché, but the sandy white beaches and azure ocean water were an incredible sight to behold. Having been raised in the Midwest, I had never seen an ocean before. It was awe inspiring.
Paul smiled at my reaction and told me to unpack the suitcases while he ordered lunch. I was happy to be occupied, a little nervous but exceptionally excited about what was to transpire that evening. I heard him hang up the phone with room service and he joined me, in the bedroom, hanging up the last of the items in the wardrobe. We made small talk until our meal arrived. The conversation came easily, but the undercurrent of desire and anticipation was making me twitter in my seat. I was so keyed up, I could barely stand it. He must have noticed my anticipation, because he pulled me into his lap and kissed me deeply. When we broke apart, he looked a little stern.
"I want you to try to calm down and try to finish your lunch. We have the whole week ahead of us, and I have something to talk to you about after we finish here."
"Okay, I responded, trying to make my breathing even. "I'm sorry, I am just so excited, to be here, and be with you, and start a new life, it is a lot to take in right now," I said.
He grinned at me and motioned to finish my salad. "I am sure we can come up with an outlet for your exuberance very soon. And he winked.
I blushed to my core and finished eating with gusto. When we were done, we wandered out on the terrace with some wine. The afternoon was getting late, and the sun was just barely making pink streaks in the sky. We watched in silence for a minute and then he directed me to sit in one of the padded lounges on the deck.
