Lady Libertine Ch 03 Forbidden Fruit

"What are you up to?"

My entire body was jolted out of some deep trance-like sensual reverie. I was so engrossed and absorbed in editing my first draft of Angie's script for telephone sex that I had not heard Todd's footsteps. "Sorry for startling you. I thought I made enough noise with my feet to warn you," Todd apologized.

"Oh, you know how easily I startle," I laughed swiveling my chair around as I quickly transformed the build-up of sexual energy into gaiety.

Yet, I could feel that tattletale blush warming my cheeks. Damn! It was like having a constant chaperone saying, "Tsk-tsk" whenever I tell a fib. Yep, there's that teasing little-boy grin dimpling Todd's cheeks. I'm caught.

"Yes, tell me. What are you up to, Jeanette?" Todd probed.

I could feel my eyes widen and then move into a squint as I began chewing on my lower lip. His eyes and nod signaled that he would wait there patiently for an answer. I saw myself standing on the edge of a cliff, attempting to keep my balance while a mental and emotional commotion threatened to knock me over the edge. Which way do I go?

Do I tell him that I was working on something frivolous and felt embarrassed over wasting my time? Do I tell him that I had just written an erotic "script" for Angie to use with her new boyfriend for telephone sex? Do I confess that I just discovered how my own words arouse me? Do I tell him that he caught me engaged with myself sensuously in a way that I had never before experienced?

Would he feel left out that I began this new avenue of sexual exploration without sharing the initial inspiration with him? Would he feel jealous that Angie and I talked so intimately? Or is this all about me abiding in some fear of his judgment? Maybe, the most productive question to ask is "Will he judge me?"

The sacred advice, "Judge not lest ye be judged," came to me. I have worked hard not to judge others, but I continue to find myself judging. However, I learned to use my critical opinions of others as an incentive to expand my ability to abide in tolerance. How often have I found myself participating in some activity that I once condemned? Yet, I believe that the ultimate jury and judge reside in my own mind. So, I guess I have to accept that I must have judged others who wrote pornography even though I had read it. Otherwise, I would not feel this anxiety.

So, what is it? I have done nothing wrong. I merely wrote combinations of sexual words into a script for Angie. Or maybe it is not the writing that confuses me. Maybe, it is my body's arousal to what I have written that is causing me confusion. Yes, becoming turned on by my own words has put me on edge, and I felt as if I was standing at the precipice of some cliff.

Suddenly, I saw a glass walkway slide out from the edge like the walkway in one of those X-Men movies. An archway over an open door emerged at the end of the transparent path. "Am I offering myself some new gateway to pass through?" I wondered. The first step off this cliff involved one thing: I had choice. And, hell, that is what I teach my clients. Choosing to move forward in challenging situations results in breakthroughs. It is my choice whether I am honest with Todd or not.

"Well," I said a bit hoarsely, glancing upwards as if searching for help from some invisible angel. And then I took a deep breath, looked into Todd's waiting eyes, and confessed. "I just wrote an erotic script for Angie to use on her first telephone rendezvous with her new lover." I was vividly aware that I had not blushed as I waited for his reply.

Todd's eyes widened, and his head jerked back briefly before offering a simple dimpled reply. "Did you know that Lucille Ball's first part in a film was as a nude slave girl? I believe it was Roman Scandal in the 1930's."

Yes, that is one of the things that I love about Todd. He has an amazing knack for defusing almost any situation by reframing concerns with surprising trivia. "How do you know these things?" I asked.

"Who knows? More importantly, how did Angie convince you to do it? And even more importantly, can I read it when you finish?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Damn! Can he read my mind? Does he already know when I am up to something?" I wondered. I knew that spouses, and even remotely connected people, can have some kind of telepathic interaction, but I stubbornly refused to believe it existed between Todd and myself.

I confessed that I had already finished the script and had read it over for typos. "How about if I email it to you. In fact, I just realized that I would appreciate your opinion. However, I am sending it off to Angie now. Oh, it does include how she won her case or, at least, persuaded me to help her," I explained with a surprising calmness.

Waiting. Now, that can be the most difficult time for me. Todd had gone back to his "cave," which is the spare bedroom that he took over before grandchildren. Now, he shares it as a combined office, television room, and preschool-like playroom. I knew he would read the draft in his own time just as he has done with other things I have written. Angie had her copy as well. Waiting can deplete my sense of confidence in my writing, and my confidence is really shaky when it comes to sexually explicit writing.

"Except for one very important discovery," I told myself.

Yes, I was not feeling anxious over my lack of confidence. In fact, I still felt aroused as I recalled that script. I had discovered that my own writing stimulated a new sense of arousal. I could not recall feeling like this before. Of course, I was not some schoolgirl experimenting with sensuality. Todd and I have been sexually intimate since I was eighteen, so I have been passionately sexually active for over two thirds of my life. Yet, I was experiencing something new and unusual; something that almost seemed prohibited. Yes, it was as if I had suddenly bitten into some kind of forbidden fruit.

I thought about how much I had loved sex with Todd for over four decades. I had always been able to achieve a powerful clitoral orgasm through self-stimulation during a long session of penetration enjoyed in multiple positions. Before cumming, I always entered into a place of prolonged nirvana where all cares and fears disappear. I loved going to that place whenever possible.

Todd loved taking me into that state of bliss and always insisted on long lovemaking sessions. Making love required mutual time coordination and Todd's readiness for the physical stamina of maintaining a natural erection for over thirty minutes. That meant quality overruled quantity, so I would fall into sexual frustration while waiting.

However, Todd's ability to maintain long-standing erections declined in his mid- fifties when the doctor insisted on him taking medication for his high blood pressure. The diagnosis occurred soon after the loss of our son. Now his libido was not only dampened by loss, but he had just begun taking a medication that could interfere with the ability to maintain an erection.

We began to have intercourse much less frequently. I assured him that it did not matter, because the feel of his hands and tongue excited me. And, his half-hard cock gave me a new kind of wild pleasure. Yet, Todd became more and more reluctant to engage in sex. He did not believe me. Now, I wonder if it is because I have been dependent on stimulating myself to achieve that powerful final orgasm. Maybe, I have just become too much work.

A few years ago, Todd came back from his annual check-up with a prescription for one of those advertised male-enhancement drugs. We tried it a few times, but that was when I discovered that my vagina had changed. A hard cock for a prolonged period was no longer comfortable after menopause. Something had begun to change in me, and I did not achieve orgasm as I used to. Fortunately, I was able to convince Todd that the drug was not desirable. That was when he confessed that it gave him a headache afterwards.

Yet, something inside of him refused to believe that I found his semi-erect dick to be so delicious when he rubbed himself up and down my clit and vulva. I explained that I did not need to have a powerful body-draining orgasm with him anymore. I just wanted to have him caress me and hold me. And, I loved the mystique of playing with his flaccid cock and the feel of it growing slowly to a half-erection and sometimes even larger in my mouth. I guess there are too many commercials for male drugs stating otherwise, because Todd continued to draw away from me instead.

And, so, I became more and more dependent on releasing my sexual frustrations by using my trusty vibrator to achieve a powerful clitoral orgasm rather than stressing him even more. I became very proficient at achieving fast orgasms when I added the nipple clamps that offered the perfect pinch. I could achieve orgasm even faster if I imagined him making love to me while using my dildo as well.

I was not engaged with myself to make love to myself but to "get my rocks off" as quickly as possible in order not to get caught in the act. I never allowed Todd to watch me pleasure myself. Yes, allowing him to watch me masturbate was like another kind of forbidden fruit. Did I fear him observing me enjoying my own arousal? Did I fear that he would judge me?

But never mind all that because I am still experiencing this horniness. Arousal. How is it I am so aroused by my own erotic creative writing?

Suddenly, I got the idea to lean back in my chair and imagine myself on our bed with my vibrator. I envisioned my standard routine of removing my toys from their hiding places. First my vibrator, then the nipple clamps, and then the beautiful soft sculptured likeness of a hard cock. Yet, something was different. My mind drew me back into the script that I had written for Angie. Suddenly, I was that woman pleasuring herself on the bed knowing a man was watching from the pier through that telescope. I felt my vulva and belly begin to throb.

I leaned back in my desk chair and allowed my burgundy satin robe to open exposing my full 40 C breasts, soft belly, and top of my bare mons veneris. I thought about how Todd often exclaimed how he adored my plump mound of Venus after I changed my pubic cut to the landing strip I had read about in some modern romance novel. I decided to experiment with imagining myself taking Angie's part in the script.

My feet rested upon two of the legs that radiated out from the vertical cylinder supporting the seat of my chair. I allowed my knees to spread wide apart. I closed my eyes to imagine myself at the beach. But, suddenly, everything about Angie's script was erased from my mind. Instead, I found myself back at an erotic museum that Todd and I had visited decades ago. I realized that I had never forgotten that stiff cock standing upright out of the seat of a chair.

I began to imagine my chair supported by a hollow metal cylinder rod with a stiff life-like dildo inside. It was placed strategically below a hole created in the cushion. A strange fantasy, but it became effective when I realized that I could make the dildo go up and down with an imaginary button. I stuck my right middle finger into my mouth to moisten it before placing it between my labia. I was surprised that my inner lips were already swollen and moist. My finger began moving in a circular motion around my hardening clitoral shaft, and then I flipped the switch. The smooth mushroom-like knob began moving upwards to meet my slit and introduce itself with a minor entry into my cunt. My entire insides began to become electrified.

The sensational tension eased as the electronic cock moved downward in sync with me taking my finger away from my clit for a moments rest. Then, I allowed my finger to circle around my clit again while imagining the joystick moving upwards. This time the cock entered through my cleft to a greater depth as my tight sheath adjusted to its size. The momentary rest from penetration and withholding from clitoral stimulation recharged my genitals in preparation for an even greater jolt of firing nerve endings.

My cunt was swollen and wet, and I began to rub my hand up and down from my wet slit to my hardened clit as I continued to imagine the cock penetrating me more deeply each time it came up through the hole in my chair. Suddenly, my mind found another button. I switched it on with my left hand, and the cock and cushioned chair began to vibrate. I allowed the cock to press deeper towards my cervix as the vibrations continued and, literally, had to hold onto the arm of the chair to keep myself from jumping out of it.

The throbbing kept building until it pulsated from my vagina up into my throat. Then those brief sharp indescribable powerful tinges alerted me that I was on the verge of cumming. Ah, that heavenly sensation only lasts momentarily, cannot be prolonged, and must simply be savored in memory after the powerful orgasm that promises to follow.

I had to keep myself from moaning as my entire body exploded like a piece of dynamite. I sat there panting and marveling at how such an odd fantasy brought on such a powerful orgasm. I had never masturbated in another room before, and I had never cum in that way before. I knew it was no coincidence, and I suspected that something in me had suddenly changed after writing that script for Angie. It was as if something old had been blown asunder, and something new was replacing it. "Only with what?" I wondered.

"It's good. I like it, Jeanette!" came a deep voice just after I retied my robe.

I actually let out a little scream this time as Todd's voice startled me out of my thoughts. I also realized that he had almost caught me.

"Sorry for startling you again. I hope you don't mind, but I corrected a few typos," Todd added with a broad grin on his face. And then he suggested, "It might be good for you to read some stories on an Internet porn site to help your writing."

That was not at all what I had expected. And so, I had to believe that it was time to investigate this new sense of arousal that seemed like a forbidden fruit. Yes, it was time to taste this forbidden fruit of engaging in erotic writing.

"What sites?" I asked.

************

That night in another land:

"Well?" What were you up to today?" asked Santa as he handed Mrs. Santa a nightcap of eggnog laced with brandy.

Mrs. Santa smiled at how dashing he always looked in his old red corduroy smoking jacket over red flannel long johns. "I do believe my plan is working," began Mrs. Santa as she lounged on the red leather sofa. "Jeanette was honest with Todd about doing her ghostwriting for Angie's sex script. And, she was very surprised that Todd did not become upset, but actually offered to help."

"Remind me. Why didn't Jeanette want to tell Todd?" asked Santa.

"Because Jeanette has a hang-up about using naughty words. Her social conditioning convinced her that words have the power to be good or bad. She looked at words from a black and white, or dualistic, point of view. She could read naughty words and even enjoy the shock that registered in her head. However, she has subconscious judgments around dirty words, which confines her mind in a way that causes a kind of sexual frigidity."

Santa face registered confusion. "How can you call her frigid when she enjoys sex so much that she was willing to write me a letter to reignite her husband's passion?"

Mrs. Santa's eyes began to twinkle over the fun of engaging her saintly husband in such a rare conversation. "Jeanette is like many sexually active women regardless of age. There is a kind of disconnect between the emotional, mental and physical characteristics of sexuality when women continue to hold to the attributes of vestal virgins imposed upon them until the parents' acceptance is received. No sex, to forbidden sex, to condoned sex does not necessarily lead to a fulfilling physical and imaginative sex life."

"Are you saying that sexuality remains some kind of forbidden fruit that stifles the full enjoyment of sensuality?" asked Santa not only for clarification but to demonstrate to Mrs. Santa that he was listening carefully.

"Yes. It holds a mystique of being naughty, which is not only mind limiting but is like the submerged portion of an iceberg that can sink the ship of sexual love if something happens. The ego is fragile when engaged in something perceived as naughty, thus the reluctance of lovers to discuss problems and alternatives. Hell, few people even know where to start such a discussion. Thus the search for the perfect fuckin' pill."

"Oh, I love it when you use naughty words!" exclaimed Santa.

"I know," giggled Mrs. Santa. "That is the reason I am inspiring Jeanette to explore pornographic writing and to discover its power to breakdown her hang-ups. I also planted the idea for an unusual fantasy for masturbation. Direct experience in these matters is the best intervention. We will have to watch and see what happens as she discovers that words and the imagination have no power, except for the purpose she assigns to them. So far, she has discovered that her words and imagination have the power to arouse her in a way she never before experienced."

"And I get all the credit? God, how I love you!" exclaimed Santa as he took Mrs. Santa into his arms. He placed his rosy lips upon hers and drew out the kiss as he pressed his tongue between her teeth as if to explore the greater depths of her soul.

Then Santa released Mrs. Santa, and stepped back from her. "What is next on your plan?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," confessed Mrs. Santa. "It has been a long time since a mortal female has had just the right combination of life experiences and inquisitiveness to be molded into a Lady Libertine. I am taking it one step at a time instead of going through the motions of the ancient ways. I believe I will sleep on it."

"How about if I offer you my body to experiment with a few creative ideas first?" teased Santa.

"How about if you do me first, and then I will reward you with anything you desire," countered Mrs. Santa as she circled the top of her empty glass with her index finger. Then she captured the creamy residue from the inside of her empty glass. Her middle two fingers were coated with eggnog. She slowly placed her fingers deeply into her mouth, sucked for a moment, and emitted a loud smacking sound upon their withdrawal.

Santa jumped out of his chair, took off his jacket, and began unsnapping his red flannel long johns. "Here?" purred Mrs. Santa with maidenly delight.