What a strange day. I'm still not sure if it was one long hallucination or not. I expect to wake up and find it all was a dream. The fact my mouth has a very distinctive after taste and my thighs are still wet suggest otherwise.
So, there I was, at work bored out of my mind. Please don't misunderstand, I like my job just fine; it is the remainder of my life that has me bored out of my mind. We had so much sex when we were dating, but marriage and then a miscarriage seems to have sucked all the passion from my husband. He seems scared to touch me. A woman has needs. In some ways I bet a woman's needs are stronger than the needs of a man, whose needs seem so fleeting and easily sated while mine grow over months and now years. A simple, quick scratching of the itch may briefly pacify the urge, but it doesn't sate the need. Sigh.
Thank God for the Internet, although I think it more likely it was the doing of someone in a much warmer place. Of course, warm is how I feel, down there. I understand now why we think of down as hot and going south as warm, etc. Oh, the sexual allusions I conjure seemingly constantly.
But I digress to that inescapable subject. Back to that delightfully devilish Internet, at least for the moment. Fear not, my loins will betray me and I will digress. In fact, this tale is one long, sexy, digression. So, what is a bored, undersexed, wife to do? Why, get on line and Google what other bored, undersexed wives do to satisfy their urges. Shockingly enough, or perhaps not so shocking, there are web sites of all kinds - some with movies, some with live cams, and some with stories relating my precise predicament, a lonely wife's problems or at least some clueless man's vision of her problems. But those sites don't satisfy; rather, all they do is frustrate further even if a quick rub can scratch the itch briefly.
Then there are the real sites, the sites that scare, exhilarate and test one's own character – dating sites for the already spoken for. The sign up is anonymous – I created an anonymous email address to sign up. I thought I would just take a peek, I need not act. Heck, it was even free for women.
Oh, what a surprise I was in store for. A collection of young men seeking lonely older women, old men perving on younger lonely women, middle aged men deciding it's a good idea to take pictures of their junk, beer belly's showing. Other pictures where they had to be copied from some porn web site. However disgusting it all seemed, it was a bit erotic in all of its frightening loathsomeness. It turns out there is a world out there more corrupt than I am, which surprised me a bit. On some level I can take some solace in that and not feel quite so debauched. Just when I was sure that everyone on this godless site was either a liar or a freak, I receive an almost interesting message. It is a little witty, a little charming, and isn't over the top at all. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.
I respond, laughingly, and send him my email address – anonymous one, mind you. And he sends me a message. It is cute, seemingly non sexual, and not threatening in the least, but he asks me why I am on the site, what I hope to find. As God is my witness, if I had it to do again, I would answer differently. But God does not appear to be my witness today, someone or something else is, and heaven help me I do believe I would let the events unfold the same way all over again.
Something about the request, the playfulness yet maturity and the non threatening nature of it caused me to be more open than I should be. I told the truth. I'm married and undersexed and can't take it anymore. I made no bones about it, I was wanting sex. Not necessarily with him, I didn't even really suggest that. I just made it clear that if I find the right guy, I'm going to fuck him silly. Then I asked him his story.
I expected him to blow it, to show his lack of tact and crudity and tell me how bad he wanted to fuck me silly. He didn't. Oh my, but he didn't. He told me instead how he was in an affectionless marriage, how he longed for physical and emotional closeness, to trace the nape of a woman's neck with his lips, drag his fingernails gently along the small of her back, trace her ankle, the back of her knee, the curve of her breast with the lightest touch of his finger tips. How he longed to raise goose bumps on her, feel her try to press her body, all of it, into his touch to make it firmer, and how he would like the dance to continue, to tantalize, to linger. It was all about her and the responses he could evoke from her, never once saying a word about a hard cock or a wet pussy. But when I was done reading all I could think about was getting his hard cock into my wet pussy.
I convinced myself I was calm, cool and collected. I politely congratulated him on understanding physical affection and let him know how refreshing that was. But, ooops, when I reread what I sent I realized I kind of added that my nipples were hard, "trying to bust through my bra and shirt" I believe I said. Uh oh, I also seem to have told him it made me wet to read what he wrote. And I wasn't lying. My nipples were uncomfortably begging for any attention they could find and every time I shifted in my seat I could feel myself squish. OMG! What was happening?
Of course, my response was chum in the ocean for a shark like him. He took it up a notch, but again, nothing crude, really, mostly just questions. He told me how much it turned him on that I was turned on. That his pants were becoming uncomfortable and he had to shift himself in his seat. He admitted it would be awkward if he left his office and walked past co-workers. Then he asked me if co-workers could see me, could they tell my nipples were hard, could they tell I was flushed, could they smell my arousal.
God, reading his questions, forcing me to look around the office to see if anyone could see me, getting me to inhale to recognize my arousal; it turned me on something awful. No one was particularly looking at me, thank God. Although, a little part of me wanted people to see how excited I was. A part of me wanted the world to know I was alive and sexual and very, very turned on.
I wrote him back. I told him what I wanted the world to know but no nerve to tell the world. I let him know my nipples were dying for attention, I and anyone near me could smell my arousal, and I could feel my sopping wet pussy squish every time I rubbed my legs together.
He wrote back. He asked me when I got off work and what side of town I was on. Then he told me to go the ladies room and take my panties off. I told him the area I worked in, that I was off work in 20 minutes, and then I got up and went to the ladies room and took my panties off. I stroked myself once, twice, and then slid a finger deep inside myself. I caught myself moaning and realized I am far too noisy when I cum to get myself off here. I sucked my juices off my finger. Some women like how they taste, I'm one of them!
