Freeing the Woman Inside Her

The topic of the presentation was: Freeing the Woman Inside You. I didn't have anything else to do that afternoon, and the kids were with grandparents, the talk was at the Memorial Building, three blocks away, and I had finished writing thank you cards for our anniversary gifts. My husband was hunting with his buddies, and I was curious about that woman inside me.

Did she need to be freed? I was willing to listen. We had been married for twenty years and what was once frantic sex, had slowed to 'make it fast I want to finish this chapter' kind of sex. We had sexual intercourse like the phases of the moon, and it was rarely full. I wasn't sure the topic of the talk was sex, but I was hopeful.

I arrived twenty minutes before the speaker was to start, so I listened to the women around me and chatted when spoken to. "She's written five books," one woman next to me was saying. "She thinks every woman should have at least one lover," she announced gleefully to those around her.

Sure, at least one, I thought. "I would need at least three," the woman holding court was saying as she laughed at her own joke. Most the women standing close laughed, although it was mostly an embarrassed snicker.

"Is she married?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, and her husband agrees with everything she says," the woman said.

"Probably thinks it frees him up to play golf," a woman behind me said. "Happy wife, happy golfer. My husband would drive my lovers to the door if it got him on the golf course more," she said.

"Do any of you ladies have lovers?" I asked. There was an embarrassed giggle, but they all said no.

One woman sitting alone said, "My lover is a lawyer and keeps me happy while my husband works." The ladies around me tittered, like they thought she was making it up but secretly hoping she was not. If one of them was able to lift herself out of the doldrums of married life by vicariously getting a thrill of freedom and adventure from someone else, they'd be all for it, I thought.

I was interested in the young woman who professed to have a lover, and I watched her. She was quite beautiful, with full lips and an even fuller bra, with a sophisticated air that made you think she just might have a lover at that.

The speaker began by introducing herself. "My name is Dr. Alicia Hastings. I have a husband, a Labrador retriever, and a lover, and I recommend the latter to keep the heart healthy." She waited for the laugh to finish, then went on. "I have a degree in psychology and three books on female sexuality. Ladies, there is a fairy tale going around about animals that mate for life, but that is just not true. Monogamy is not as natural as you've been told. Even the human animal doesn't seem to mate for life, the divorce rate proves that. My message today is to take care of yourselves."

She paused and looked out over the crowd. "In societies all over the world, women are treated like property, used as sexual objects, and for breeding purposes. However, it may be time to change things around. There is a woman in New York City who has two men who she lives with and who consider themselves her husband and who hope to father a child with her.

"She is a new kind of woman who is leading the way to a different era. My job is to show you a way to make your life more enjoyable, richer, and more satisfying," she said. The audience was quiet, listening intently. "It is not true that the greatest sin is to have sex with more than one person. The greatest sin is to limit yourself because society tells you that you must commit to just one partner.

"You need to commit to yourself. No one will care about your sexual pleasure as much as you do. Let me ask you, have you ever felt guilty for a thought about your physical pleasure? Of course you have. For centuries the most serious crime a woman could commit was sexual infidelity, but for all that time men were excused from such offenses or given the right to have harems or multiple partners without any recourse."

As she spoke I saw many women in the audience nodding their heads in agreement. I looked around the auditorium and could see smiles on the faces of the women near me. The woman who had announced that she had a lover looked enraptured. I felt strangely empowered by her words and I thought of my own situation. My husband never cheated on me, as far as I knew, but he considered me his, and he expected fidelity to be his entitlement, for me to be loyal and devoted to him for life. The truth is, I do have a sexual fantasy world of my own, and I savor it.

I keep my sexual desire under control, but I do find other men attractive and I do masturbate, although I have never revealed that to anyone in my life before. I do enjoy sex, but my husband has gotten fairly uninterested as his work has taken up most of his energy and time and spirit. He is often just too tired and when he does want it he wants it quickly and does not want to be bothered by romancing me or foreplay.

It takes me awhile to become aroused and often he is finished before I am even slightly turned on. There are a couple of men I know I am attracted to, but I have never considered being unfaithful. I keep hearing the speaker say, "Take care of yourself. No one else will."

There is one man who often flirts with me and I am attracted to, but I have resisted giving in to him, although I have fantasized about having sex with him quite often. He is handsome and sexy, and complimentary, but I have been able to control my desires so far, although after hearing Dr. Hastings I am torn. I am tempted to toss my promises to be faithful aside and give in to temptation. I want to take care of myself. I want to be responsible for my own sexual pleasure.

His name is Anthony and he works where I do. I see him every day and he often comes by my desk to chat and flirt. I enjoy the attention and I find him sexy and intriguing. I hear Dr. Hastings telling me it is time to change things around and take control of my sexuality. I hear her talk about the not level playing field and unjust attitudes about sexual behavior. I think of myself as a sexual captive, and I begin to resent it. That feeling gnaws at me, twists my stomach, and just makes me crazy.

The week after I listened to Dr. Hastings, Anthony came by my desk and I found myself flirting back more than usual. When he asked me to go for coffee after work I accepted. I told him we could meet at the coffee shop, and I went in to the restroom next to the office and slipped out of my panties. Driving to the coffee shop, I felt naughty but excited sitting in the driver's seat being naked under my dress. I was so wet that I left a spot on the seat.

At the Starbucks we sat across the table and I crossed my legs, and I wanted him to know I was dripping and naked under my skirt on the chair just a couple of feet from him. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to kiss me, and most of all, I wanted him inside me.

It was one of the strongest impulses I can ever remember. I knew if he asked me to his apartment I would go. I sat across from him hoping he would make a play for me, to ask this married woman to have sex with him, to know that I'd left my panties off just for him.

I didn't know how to tell him that, without telling him that. Finally, it just came out. "Do you want to fuck me?" I asked amazing myself with my boldness. He sat there digesting my question.

"Yes," he eventually said. "Do you have any panties on?" he asked as if he'd watched me in the ladies room.

"No," I said.

"Good," he replied. "Would you come to my apartment?" he asked.

"Of course," I said.

On the way to his apartment he asked if my husband knew. "Of course not," I said. Then he surprised me and asked if he would care. "He thinks he owns me," I said repeating the words of Dr. Hastings. "He doesn't. He thinks a man should be able to have affairs, but a woman shouldn't," I said. "Yes, he would care."

"And you don't care that he would care?" he said.

"No. Are you trying to talk me out of your bed?" I asked him.

"I hope not," he said. "I have been wanting to make love to you for a year. "I have dreamed every part of it."

"So have I," I said, confessing more than I intended. We rode in silence the rest of the way. We didn't make small talk or chat about the weather or politics, or sports, we just thought of what we were about to do. We just thought about our persistent fantasies and carrying them out.

Again, when we got to his apartment we didn't talk. It wasn't necessary. We just took each other's clothes off, slowly, seductively, and I didn't think of my husband once. Not once. Dr. Hastings' words kept coming back to me. "It is time to take care of ourselves. You need to free the woman in you. You need to be in charge of your own pleasure."

I was getting in charge of my own pleasure. He helped me back on the bed and I instinctively opened my legs. I allowed him to see where my panties had been. I guided him into me, smiling as he slid in. I pushed my hips against his, forcing him deeper. I squeezed my vagina closed, tightening my muscles, holding him inside, savoring the feel of an enthusiastic cock inside me and celebrating the feeling.

I kissed his mouth and searched for his tongue. I held him in with my hands and pulled him to me. I fucked like a dock-side whore and reveled in the luxury of wild, uninhibited, depraved, wanton sex. I humped against his weight. In a moment of self-assertiveness, I said, "Eat me, please."

He complied eagerly, scooting down my body like a hungry vagrant and placed his lips against my sex, his tongue snaking into me, forcing my labia apart like window shades. "Suck my clit," I ordered. He did and I squirmed with delight as the fire built within me, my head going ack and my fists clenched and tight.

In a moment of inspiration, he lifted off me and picked me up and placed me on my knees, then he got behind and drove himself deep in my anus and began thrusting in forcefully, pushing me forward with each forward lunge of his body. I bounced in front of him as I knelt on my knees on his bed and held my mouth open, grunted with each aggressive motion of his hips, and purred from deep in my throat.

We fucked nonstop for over an hour, groaning and calling out, reaching orgasm after orgasm and wonderful sensation after wonderful sensation. He fucked me from behind, from on top between my thighs, from under me as I rode him cowgirl, and he ate my pussy to powerful orgasms that had me holding his head against my throbbing sex and calling to the gods.

When we finally stopped and tried to catch our breaths, I collapsed like a wet rag and said, "I am fucking you for all of the frustrated housewives in the world who never get the woman in them liberated."

"I don't care," he said. "I'll fuck you for any reason or no reason at all except that you are one fantastic fuck. Baby, your husband is an idiot if he doesn't fuck you three times every single day. I have no respect for a man who can't see he has a fucking treasure in his bed and doesn't even know how lucky he is."

I didn't say a thing, but I felt the charge of a fantastic afternoon of sex with an appreciative and sexy man with a hard cock and an awful lot of energy.

We rested, then we did it all over again. My pussy was raw, but it felt wonderful. My back ached, but that ache reminded me how much pleasure I'd just had. My legs were stiff, but I welcomed the stiffness. I felt like a woman desired and one well-fucked. I felt like a wanton woman and an a wife who had released herself from servitude. I was having an affair and taking control, as the speaker had said, of my own pleasure, my own sexuality, my own life.

We fucked that day nearly all afternoon, and I came so many times I lost count after five. I sucked him, drank all I could hold of his semen, and he ate me until my pussy gushed and stung.

He took me to my car and I drove home a happy woman, smiling the whole way, emancipated by my own passion for good sex. When I got home my mood was bright, my life seemed richer, and even the dull parts felt easier to tolerate. I sat in the kitchen and drank coffee and thought about my day. There were dishes in the sink and I didn't even care. I even left a spill of cereal on the floor, something I thought I was incapable of.

When my husband came home from hunting, I even asked him how he had enjoyed the trip and even cared. My frame of mind had improved greatly from a morning filled with getting ready for school routines and hassles to an afternoon of storybook sex. The doctor had been right. A woman gets better when she controls her life with orgasms and oral sex that she doesn't have to beg for. She may not have said that exactly, but that is what I heard her imply.

I have been fucking Anthony for a year now and I haven't had one guilty thought or a second of regret. We meet at his place and we have sex until my energy runs out. The sex is hot and the bed is sweaty. It is the kind of lovemaking a woman dreams of and often sends her life waiting for.

Do I worry my husband is fucking his secretary or paying women to suck him off? Not a single bit. I wish him well if he is getting that from someone. I hope they fuck him good. I hope they bring him out of his lethargy and show him the same kind of spark that I have found. Freeing the woman inside me is a worthwhile goal, and now that I have done that my life is better in every single way.