How My Sexuality Changes as I Age -

An introduction from the author.

Peoples' attitudes towards sex, what they want from it and the way they behave during it change as they get older. The experiences they have gained, their relationship with their partner and their appetite for sex all play their part in bringing about these changes, which tend to be more profound amongst women.

This multi-part story looks at how many women's attitudes generally and mine in particular changed as I got older and my marriage became more difficult. To some, it will be seen as not painting a very good picture of me and to those I apologise. To others, though, I invite you not to be judgemental and try to understand the pressures and events that caused such changes for me, which are similar to those experienced by many other women in situations similar to mine.

Whatever impression you gain from reading this fairly long, multi-part story I hope you enjoy it and gain as much pleasure and excitement from reading about my sexual exploits as I did writing about them, which incidentally, was mostly done when I was naked or just wearing panties.

Enjoy and hugs

Jayne

aka westjayne495

Some say that the first twenty years are the worst in a marriage. That to me is load of bollocks as I believe that's the best part, well at least the first ten are. However, mine started going tits up after about twelve or fifteen years. When that happened, like many others we were financially secure with a nice house and all that goes with it, the kids were growing up and I had returned to work. It's also when many husbands, including mine, become absorbed in their work, a hobby or drink, or all three, and they prefer to fuck around with that than fuck around with us in bed.

I am not using his preference to screwing clients financially to screwing me any way as an excuse for our marriage gradually going wrong, but it did and my attitude towards sex changed. It happened quite slowly at first, but then increasingly quickly as the length of time between us making love, as distinct from having a quick, cursory fuck, increased to the point that it only happened when he wanted it and not when I needed it. In my mind that meant when he wasn't getting it from any of the bimbos that worked for him masquerading as employees. And that was the first major change in my attitude towards sex when I one day realised that I didn't really mind him doing that. What pissed me off, though, was that he didn't share it out fairly by making sure my needs were looked after as well as his!

So, the first change in my thinking about sex was not so much about the lack of the actual act in my life, but more about a rueful acceptance of my husband having sex with other women. That happens when a woman sidles through her forties and realises that sex outside of marriage is nowhere near the big deal then it seemed to be when she was young and innocent, that is if she ever was that! That realisation can work both ways and be about ourselves and our partner. I guess I reached the 'I don't care what he does stage' after his second or third fling and they were only the ones I found out about. It's all very well not thinking sex is as big a thing as you had when 'taught by mum,' what you do about it is an entirely different thing, though, and that could and does change many lives as it did mine and his.

My first reaction was to start masturbating again. During the early stages of our marriage, I'd felt that getting myself off when alone in the house was, in a way, being unfaithful to him, so I didn't do it at all for years that is other than when we did it together. However, as my supply of sex dried up, I started again and even bought a vibrator that I kept hidden from my husband as I slowly built up a repertoire of masturbatory techniques. These included: looking at ladies' porn to get myself in the mood, using the vib, oiling my body and doing it as I posed naked in front of a mirror the combination of which provided me with the regular orgasms my mind and body needed.

I started to masturbate again almost by accident. One afternoon after playing tennis, I came home and showered and whilst soaping and sponging myself one of the young tennis pros Gus, with whom I and other women mildly flirted, came into my mind and out of the blue I imagined that it was his hands on my wet body and not mine. I didn't think any more about it nor did I do anything in the shower, which in any case is not a favourite place of mine for any type of sex, but as I dried myself he came into my mind again. Walking into the bedroom I stood before the long mirror and did something I rarely do and that was stare at my naked body, but not having my glasses on everything was a little blurry. When I put them on and ran my eyes over my nakedness, I found myself wondering what Gus would make of my near fifty-year-old body. That led me onto wondering whether he would have seen a woman around my age naked, which inevitably, I suppose, led to me wondering if he'd been with any at the tennis club, perhaps Maggie, I smiled feeling my body starting to tingle as I thought of her in his arms with their mouths clamped together. Looking closer at myself in the mirror, I questioned whether Gus would prefer mine to Maggie's. I know that he likes my shortish blonde hair and prefers it to be spiky with some darker streaks than longer, flatter and all blonde as I sometimes have it and he's told me and Sue, who also wears glasses, that he finds them sexy. From the glances he gives me, I'm also pretty sure that he likes my boobs that vary from thirty-four to thirty-six D going on DD and my legs that are thirty-one inches on the insides.

I had no idea why or what prompted me to do it, but suddenly I saw in the mirror that I was cupping both breasts. As I did that, I wondered what he'd think of the slight age and suckled sag of them, so I lifted them up to their pertness of many years ago. That sent a shudder of such desire through me that I discontinued my self-inspection and left wondering about my slightly wrinkled and bloated mum tum and, what I've been told is my best asset, my ass, for another day. But I didn't stop looking and was amazed to see my thumbs and forefingers on both hands pinching my nipples sending shock waves of pleasure and sexual desire through me. As the familiar warmth and tingling built up in the pit of my stomach and my breasts felt so full and heavy, I suddenly decided to go further.

Lying on the bed I closed my eyes, and with Gus, annoyingly yet provocatively, flashing in and out of my mind in various stages of undress, I let one of my hands slide down my body and unconsciously almost, I cupped my pubis and through the thatch of tawny coloured hairs I'd trimmed into a thin landing strip at Kevin's suggestion a few months ago, I gently rubbed it. My fingers were wrapped around it with the tips of them touching the folds guarding my clit and the edge of my pussy lips that were encouragingly, soaking wet. It was then just a straightforward move for me to fiddle those folds apart to expose my clit that I rubbed. The sensation that sent through my entire body was gorgeous and I heard myself muttering out loud, "Oh fuck yes, yes." It didn't take much longer for the sensations to build up my climax and with one hand between my legs roaming around the lips of my pussy and stroking my clit and the other tending to the surprisingly strong aching in both of my breasts and nipples, I made myself cum in a quite wonderful way.

That was the start of what I look back on as my masturbatory experiment!

And it really was experimental as, not to put too fine a point on it, for women to masturbate to a successful climax is nowhere near as easy as it is for men. We seem to need a little more than a naked picture, a porn movie or just the desire to be able to do this to a pleasurable and satisfying ending. Even as a teenager, I rarely played with myself that much. Later, with my husband I would do it in front of him, but I don't really count that, as it was part of our lovemaking. Even when Kevin was away on trips I hardly ever indulged myself other than during phone conversations with him, but again that doesn't really count as a planned and calculated act of self-sex. It was with my new found involvement with masturbating, however, things changed. I now had the ways and means I needed to arouse myself to the level where I was eager to do it and could start with the confidence that I would almost certainly probably finish successfully unless, of course I was interrupted! But it didn't start like that after my wanking awakening thinking about Gus. No, it took some rehearsing and development to get to the stage I reached where getting off was more than a quick fumble and became an almost ritualised, sexual ceremony.

The first significant add on to my jacking off process was oil. At first, I used Boots baby oil, but after reading about massage I moved onto Ylang Ylang sensual oil that was smoother, almost silky and had a far more erotic smell and feel as it soaked into my body. I would lay a large beach towel or two on top of each other on my bed before stripping off and checking myself in that mirror where this new sexual experiment began. Satisfied that my body hadn't changed and I was still me I'd get the oil and watching my hands both in the mirror and looking down my body I'd pour some onto my breasts and take my time as I lovingly eased the oil into each boob. The combination of seeing myself in the mirror softly massaging my tits, watching my nipples grow and areola glisten with the oil, the feelings that gave me told it was time to lay on the bed. In that position I'd complete the rest of the boobs oiling before pouring some onto my chest midway between them and my waist. I'd massage that into my body gradually moving downwards past my navel and purposefully avoiding my pubic mound I'd reach straight down onto my thighs. I'd rub it into the tops of them as far down as I could first and then, opening my legs wide, I'd do the sensitive inner thighs slowly moving upwards getting closer and closer to my pussy. Restraining myself as much as I could I'd avoid touching myself there for as long as possible before finally giving into the temptations and rubbing the oil into my mound and pussy lips, or as I was thinking in my aroused state, into and up my cunt.

By now I would be well along the route to orgasm, so I'd slow down and for as long as I could I'd avoid going near to my most sensitive places perhaps focusing more on my arms, upper chest and the backs of my legs. But the temptation would soon become overpowering and my hands, as if with minds of their own, or being guided by the person in my fantasy who I was imagining was caressingly massaging me, would find my breasts and nipples and would slip between my legs and delve into that wetness.

In the earlier days of my masturbation period I would usually have one hand focusing on my breasts and the other between my legs. I would cradle, cup, squeeze, pinch softly and rub my breasts moving that hand from tit to tit and nipple to nipple as the other alternated between rubbing on and around my clit, pinching it and sliding a finger or two up inside me as I finger-fucked myself, just as Kevin had done so many times.

Almost every time, no matter where and how I touched myself during this oily period, I made myself cum and I had pretty satisfying orgasms. But, after a while, I felt something was missing and that, of course, was the fullness of a hard cock filling my insides. So I bought a vibrator online waiting until Kevin was away, again, just in case it arrived when he was at home. My hands were visibly shaking as I thanked the Amazon delivery driver and took the package from him feeling relieved that there were no tell-tale markings on it. As it seemed rather sordid opening it in my kitchen or living room I went straight to my bedroom and quickly unpacked it there. At first, I was shocked when I looked at the long, thick, pink plastic tube lying in the cardboard packaging. My fingers were trembling as I peeled the cellophane covering from it and held the monster-looking vibrator in both hands as it felt too big for just one. I thought of measuring its length and girth as it seemed to be much larger than the rather ambitious eight by two inches that I thought I'd ordered. It felt lovely in my hands and I couldn't resist pressing it against my stomach as I imagined what it would feel like inside me if, indeed, I could take it. I'd estimated that Kevin was the same thickness, but as he'd once told me he was between six and seven inches in length, so I'd bought an additional inch and bit just to see what it felt like as I'd never been shagged with one that long.

With Kevin being away for another few days and no visitors expected I had plenty of time and with masturbation now being a frequent two or three times a week performance I had to try it out right away. I thought of oiling up first, but as I undressed in my bedroom that seemed unnecessary so I decided to go for a dry run and just use the mirror as my jerk off props as I now thought of them.

Standing naked facing the mirror with the vib in my hand I looked at my body the reflection of which had now become a very familiar sight and there was no need or motivation for a full inspection or any self-fondling. Turning the knob on the bottom of the vib I was startled at how loud it was as in my mind I'd assumed it would have a hardly perceptible buzz and not the rather noisy one I was hearing. I wasn't quite sure how to start nor if I was wet enough down there as recently my flow of womanly juices had reduced as the big M crept up on me. However, a quick feel on and just inside the lips of my pussy reassured me that all was in order, so I turned the knob on the bottom and pressed the buzzing tube against my breast. The feeling was lovely and any lingering doubts I had about my readiness for my initiation into having sex with a surrogate cock vanished.

Holding the vib against one breast and squeezing the other I got myself going with all the familiar sensations seeping throughout my body as my arousal increased. I hadn't planned it this way, as in fact, I hadn't really thought about what I'd do with it nor what my masturbatory fantasy would be. I just did what came naturally, although unlike most other times, I didn't close my eyes, but instead watched closely the route taken by the buzzing end of my new friend. On my breast, underneath and around it onto the nipple, across to the other one, repeat the titty tour then, still vibrating and filling the room with its sound it slid down my body until it reached my pubis where he rested for a few moments as I plucked up the courage to, as it suddenly came into my head, fuck myself. And that is exactly what I did

As it opened my thankfully nicely, lubricated lips I noticed the difference to Kevin. It was harder and it was vibrating so I stopped it doing that, but the firmness of it was strange, though not unpleasant. I watched it in the mirror going up me and was surprised how much of it slid in me, which was most of the eight inches and I felt that I could have taken more. Once it was up me and I got accustomed to it, I turned the vibrating on low and loved that feeling inside me and on my clit. The vibrating so near to that as the plastic stimulated the nerve ends around and inside my pussy was amazing and I quickly started to cum.

Taking it out I washed and dried it and pondered over where to hide my new friend from my husband.

The oil and vibrator usages in my masturbatory period were a learning process, they were part of the development stages of my technique and the near ritual of getting myself off that I created, which went something like this. It could be any time of the day, but my favourite was after an early dinner, when I'd showered, washed my hair and attended to all those age battling things that vain women indulge in. Usually dressed in a long, silk, turquoise robe that does up just with a tie around my waist, I might sit down at the PC and look at some lady porn. Sipping probably too much white wine I will lose myself in what's on the screen until I realise that not only the glass, but probably the first bottle as well is empty. Walking, maybe a little unsteadily, to the kitchen for essential supplies I will pass the full-length mirror on the wall on my way there and back. Oh the vainness that I have about myself when alone. Seeing my reflection, I will stop and let my gaze roam across the vision that could almost be another person. As I stand and stare at the reflection from different angles, it's as if my mind has left my body and what I see in the mirror is someone else and not me! I'll see the tight-fitting gown moulded to that body accentuating the curves and mounds of the regrettably enlarging breasts and hips. The lapels that may have slipped apart a little so that most of each, slightly sagging, I note with some anguish, breast can be clearly seen. The thrusting bumps of the two nipples pushing through the silk as they signal their arousal and involvement. And poking out like a long flash of vividly arousing flesh will be one of the, quite shapely I think, legs that has separated the skirt of the gown. Almost as with a mind of their own that remarkably life-like reflection's hands will probably fumble the tie undone and the gown will fall open and the nakedness revealed will hit me in the face like a blazing beacon. I see the swell of each of my breasts with the glaring pinkness of the engorged nipples emphasising their arousal and need for attention. I cast my eyes over the stomach with the slight swell and minor stretch marks that's the constant reminder of being a mother, to the strip of tawny coloured hair covering on the pubis. And there, beneath that is the glistening pinkness of the most evident indication of my arousal that I describe out loud to the mirror, "That's my cunt."

Smiling to that person in the mirror I will see the hands touching the body. Cupping the breasts, stroking the smooth skin and weighing the fullness of each orb in the palms of the hands. The fingers will find the nipples and they'll be rolled and then pinched and squeezed. Both she and I will react to that and I'll see the mouth fall open and the head go back a little. I'll feel the explosion of new feelings as my nipples respond to the pressure and my womanly juices go into free flow. A warmth, starting down near that little strip of hair, will flood through my body just as they will to the woman in my mirror making think again, 'How the fuck did she get in there?' as I watch her enjoying her large, soft tits just as I enjoy mine?

Now on a roller coaster of sensations and with a certainty that there will be only one outcome to this, the hands of that intruder in my mirror will become more adventurous and with one still stimulating those deliciously squashy and pliable tits, the other will slip downward towards the place that now most needs them. Pressing, probing and sliding, the fingers will seek and find that most sensitive little piece of gristle that snuggles so coyly between the folds of the silky-smooth lips that I will note are reassuringly wet. The thighs clasped around the hand, the fingers working between them I will see the eyes in the mirror closing, the breasts starting to heave and the other hand squeezing as the fingernails combine a little pain with the enormous pleasure by digging into the sensitive flesh and pulling the nipples out to a length that's so unexpected.

The gown will now have fallen to the floor for total nakedness is essential as the body in the mirror will be writhing against the hands that are doing so much to it, arousing it further, creating new and even more wonderful feelings and stimulating sensations and emotions that only a woman in the throes of a self-induced orgasm can know about.