A few words from Jayne, the author.
With the first two parts I explained how many of us change as we get older and wiser (?) and how that influences our attitude towards sex. In those two parts we looked at how many women, including me, who are deprived of the regular loving sex of the early days of a relationship use masturbation as a substitute. As we experiment with how we do that and develop new techniques as I explained I did, so many of us want more. For most it's probably too soon to break their marriage vows completely but many of us give out silent messages to, particularly, the predatory males who zero in on us.
This part of my story looks at how that happened to me and how I resurrect memories from the dim and distant past of my youth.
Hugs
J x
After successfully wanking her way through the masturbating stage of her changing attitudes, many women will move onto a period where she notices, and sometimes responds to, the flattery and touchy-feely moments offered to her. During this stage she'll notice guys holding eye contact a little longer than they should, smiling and, perhaps raising their eyebrows enquiringly as they run their gaze up and down her body often focusing longer on her breasts, the hemline of her dress to see as much of her legs as possible or her ass, especially in tight jeans, leggings or shorts. It's also when she'll be touched more often sometimes in intimate places. At first, it may simply be a fingers touching her bare wrist or upper arm, or maybe an arm will go around her waist as she goes first through a doorway as his hand gently rests on her lower back and maybe even drifts further down onto the swell of her ass.
Women like me who live around London and commute into there for work also face another significant and unwanted touchy feely almost daily experience, being touched up on the crowded trains, particularly the London Tube. During the morning and evening rush hours the trains are extremely crowded and many passengers have to stand. As the trains get nearer to London and people are still getting on with few getting off people are squashed together so tightly their bodies are touching from their chests downwards. It's not possible to look around or keep tabs on what's going on beneath waist level and that's when women will now and then, and certainly most weeks, feel something pressed against her. Often that's just an accidental leg or hip, but now and then the shape, length and hardness of it will tell her that it's something more sinister and, in a way, exciting than that. Another feeling is when something moves around the swell of her ass pressing and often squeezing right on her cheek, which confirms that it's a hand. Whilst most of us protest, though no one's really interested or cares, deeper down there's a different feeling as we have a grudging liking for it.
Hello and goodbye kissing between friends and acquaintances may become more intense as his lips caresses her cheek they might move closer to her mouth with the braver ones even brushing her lips. As they kiss, the hand that slides between her body and her arm might touch the side of her boob or even rest on it.
As this period develops many women will find themselves, often almost unknowingly, responding to the advances, which in short are guys flirting with her. Her reactions and responses might well condition their future relationship. Ignore it and he is likely to give up and go off to find someone more obviously up for it, or go along with the flirting and she'll be likely to have some form of sexual activity with him. And of course flirting leads to being held, kissed and fondled, which in turn usually results in one thing, them fucking.
With Kevin away so much and the kids rapidly moving off my hands, I'd gone back to working in the advertising industry not because we needed the money nor as a conscious decision to get laid, but more just to be part of the world that was passing me by and, as I slithered into the second half of my forties, I didn't want to be passed by. My recent, and now almost a year long, adventure with masturbation had changed me, there was no doubt in my mind about that. As I'd had sex with myself, my full-length mirror, or with my vibrator, my mind had gone into overdrive with the way that it conjured up fantasies. They also went through stages. At first I saw myself with guys like Gus who was one of the young pros at the tennis club or one of the personal trainers at the gym, people I knew vaguely, but had little to do with. As my ways of getting myself off became wilder with the oil, the mirror and then the vibrator so my masturbating fantasies also became more extreme. Although now being in his seventies and a bit past it, Richard Gere and I had some lovely times together on my bed whilst Leonardo di Caprio and a few others of that ilk also chipped in with some lurid sexual fantasies. Although I'd had feelings for women before, particularly when younger before I met Kevin, I'd mostly suppressed them, but during the masturbation phase of my sexual change of life, my mind resurrected them so my masturbatory fantasies now included other women, a BBC female newsreader who was married to another woman, Kylie who abounded with rumours about her sexuality and Susannah Read, purely because I think she's lovely and incredibly sexy with great boobs.
As my woes with Kevin increased and we both became aware that our marriage was falling apart. I begged him to reduce the time he spent away from home, so we had more time together as a family, but his response was to tell me to travel with him, or that we should move to Singapore. I couldn't do that because I had ageing parents and I would miss the children too much. Such reasoning, however, fell on deaf ears with him and, if anything, his time away increased, which in turn increased my masturbation activity. I did try, though, to save our relationship by offering sex to him when he was home. I bought sexy underwear, rubbed my naked body against him in bed and reached around him to feel for his dick, but he was usually too tired or had an early start the next day, so most of our sexual activity was restricted to an occasional, cursory, quick fuck and that was it. As a result, even when he was home, which was no more than a week a month, I continued enjoying my mirror, oil and vibrator as my fantasies changed. Instead of the untouchable film stars who had been my earlier sex fodder images, I was in bed, or more likely on the carpet, with men closer to home. A few guys I worked with, a friend's husband, one of Kevin's partners and my lawyer all tasted what I had to offer not, I hasten to add, at the same time although the idea did cross my mind!
This is also the period when many women have some new experiences, or at least of the type she probably hasn't had for many years. This may not be because she's putting herself about or being overly amenable to guys approaches, though of course she might be, it's more because of how with age and experience she's changing along with the world in which she exists. In social and work situations she will often attracts men's attention and is more readily available for them to chat to, play tennis with, be their partner on the dance floor or at work have a natter in the kitchen or restaurant. During this phase touching will not only become more frequent, but is likely to also be a silent version of asking if she is up for it. Any of those, of course, can lead to, well, anything as they did with me.
Over the years I'd been touched in one way or another, both accidentally on purpose and purposefully accidentally many times. There was a time, though, many years ago when I had feelings that were like out of body experiences with the sensation that my body didn't belong to me and that I shared it with someone else.
In my late teens I was a pretty good tennis player and I almost, but not quite, qualified for Wimbledon a couple of times. During my gap year, between school and university, I had the time to play and train quite a lot including attending training camps at the national tennis centre at Bisham Abbey a few times. At the live-in camp, the male coaches were in and out of the changing rooms all the time when often we were partially undressed, or even naked, after coming out of the showers as we got dressed or undressed. They didn't even seem to notice us and after a while we forgot about them as well, after all most women tennis players are lesbians aren't they?
Those weeks at camp were hard work. We either, trained or, played tennis for at least six hours every day and then had theory, techniques, tactics lessons and massage in the evenings. Even with the lesbians there wasn't much flitting from room to room at night, we were so tired!
It was during my third or fourth camp visit that my 'out of body experience' started happening. The coach started referring to my body in the third person with phrases like, 'It will become more supple,' and 'If we do this to it, that will happen.' It was as if he was referring to something that didn't belong to me. It was the same when he demonstrated how certain muscles work. His hands would be on me, pushing and squeezing without any consideration of the man/woman aspects. He would massage me, focusing on my upper thighs, telling me to clench and relax them as his fingers were almost touching my pussy, which was covered by just a slither of cotton and, of course, I became aroused, but it didn't seem to matter to him. After all, it wasn't really me was it, just another body? After a few times like that, the atmosphere between us became relaxed and closer, but it wasn't just him and me. No, there most certainly was three in this relationship namely, me, the coach and my body.
Later, I often wondered whether Steve, the coach who looked after me, was really nothing more than a sleazy perv who preyed on young tennis women, perhaps having a different one, like me, each week or even several each week. At the time, I was putting everything into tennis and my social and love lives just didn't exist. I hadn't had full sex for well over six months and I was suffering from the inevitable frustration.
It was early summer when things really got going. One day I was lying on my front with Steve kneeling beside me holding my legs just above my knees. I was wearing a tennis skirt and a singlet, with panties and a normal bra under them, not the shorts and sports bra that I would have been wearing had I been playing. He was lifting my legs from the floor while pressing on the small of my back. The exercise was to stretch my thigh muscles and make me more flexible at the hips. As he lifted my legs a little and my skirt slipped upwards I felt his hands pressing on my bum, "Now I'm going to lift the legs and apply pressure against this," he said adding, "It'll make the gluts work harder." It hurt, yet at the same time excited me as he went on, "We have to get more power from this," adding as he squeezed, "From the bum." It was the first time I'd really noticed how my body had become that third person.
It was as if once he'd touched one of my intimate places, the rest became fair game. The next time it happened, I was on my back with his hands on my waist, then my stomach, and then his fingers touched the top of my pubis. It didn't seem to be wrong, not even when he pressed me there, not even when he slipped a finger further down and not even when that touched my lips through the panties. However, as the rush of sensations went through me, my body jerked and I grunted then groaned and, for some reason, I mumbled, "Sorry Steve."
