By the time Peter got home for dinner, a barbecue in their back yard, Emma had pulled herself together from the puddle in which she'd been left following her overwhelming sexual experience of the morning.
Puddle was a literal term in this case: she'd nearly passed out from the intensity of her orgasm, floating for a good five minutes on a cloud of bliss, disoriented and not really caring. Flopping onto her side eventually in the cramped space, she realized the carpet beneath her was soaked.
Had that much lubrication flowed from inside her? That seemed impossible. Yes, she had been dripping wet, but not to the point where she could have drenched the carpet. Sticking her nose closer, she couldn't detect the usual smell of her arousal (something she found embarrassingly enjoyable). The water in her bedside glass hadn't been knocked over.
What had happened?
First, Emma needed to clean up. In the shower, her genitals were still throbbing enjoyably, so she brought herself off again, though it was quick, and to be truthful, not very satisfying -- now that she
knew.
She'd sprayed the wet carpet with stain remover just in case, then gotten the worst of the moisture dry by crawling around on her hands and knees with her hair drier. Yes, she could have fibbed and told Peter that she had spilled some water, but she couldn't be sure the liquid, whatever it was, might not begin to smell strange.
The afternoon was spent on the Internet, researching female orgasms, something that turned out to be quite fascinating. It dawned on Emma, that she really knew very little about her own body. For example, before today, she'd never given her genitals more than a cursory glance.
By mid-afternoon, she suspected that she'd "squirted", as they called it, something females who were very highly aroused could occasionally accomplish. It gave her a curious sense of pride to know that she was among these select few.
That led Emma to some video clips of other women squirting. Most of these were parts of rather cheesy or disturbing porno films and it made Emma uneasy to watch them. However one caught her attention and she couldn't help but watch it several times, her libido kicking up a notch each time through.
The video clip, all of 1 minute long showed a woman having a "squirting orgasm" and unlike most of the other videos she'd looked at, this one seemed very real. That was all very interesting, but what cranked up poor Emma was the fact that the woman was being
fucked
to her orgasm -- by a man with a very large cock.
Sometime during the day, the woman's sexual vocabulary had begun to expand. No longer was she using the correct medical terms for people's private parts and what they did with them. She realized it gave her an additional thrill to use forbidden words: cock, pussy, fuck, screw, even cunt, and she began to mentally relate them to what was going on in her imagination.
And that imaginary sexual world included Derek screwing her with his apparently large male member to the most mind-bending orgasms possible.
With her husband's arrival imminent, Emma didn't dare treat herself to the release her overheated libido was demanding, so it was with more than a little sexual frustration that she erased the trail of her research from the computer (how could she explain it to staid old Peter if he stumbled over it?) and got up to get the dinner preparations underway.
She'd bought some potatoes to bake on the gas grill and it was a matter of minutes to make a tossed salad. Peter was the master of the barbecue, so she left the steaks to him. With no sign of him and no phone call to say why he was delayed, Emma grabbed her book and headed out to their tiny backyard.
In the middle of inspecting her small border garden, someone called her name. Looking up, she saw Derek out on his balcony, hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. Dear Lord! He was even better looking than she remembered.
"Your garden looks very nice, especially from up here."
Emma was quite flustered and more than a little embarrassed to have to talk to him, let alone realizing that she was just a slipping towel away from seeing what had been occupying her mind the whole day.
"Um, thank you."
"Just a minute while I throw on some clothes. I have a question to ask you. Won't be a minute," he finished over his shoulder as he went back inside.
Derek was a man of his word, and barely a minute had passed before he appeared on his deck, a mirror image of the one at her back door. Only a bit of fencing again separated them and it made her think of what had happened the previous evening when she'd spied on him and his lady friend.
He walked down to where Emma stood and smiled at her. She'd managed to gather her wits, but her pulse was going a mile a minute.
"I saw you head out for a run today. Since I'm new around here, I was wondering if you could show me some good places. I hate running along the sidewalk, or out in the road."
Emma forced herself to concentrate, and at least she was on solid ground discussing this.
"There's a wooded place about three blocks over, sort of a conservation area. It's a great place to run, lots of interesting trails and not really crowded at all, as long as you stay away from the picnic areas on weekends."
"That sounds like just what I want. Would you show it to me sometime soon?"
"Ah, yes, certainly." Emma felt like she was going to pass out. "When?"
"How about tomorrow? I haven't run in over a week, what with the move east and all." He stretched out with his arms above his head. "Got to get these kinks out."
Emma hadn't been looking at his arms, though.
Just then, she heard Peter calling her name from the house.
"You'll have to excuse me. My husband has arrived home from his golf game."
"Would you introduce us? I think it's always good to know one's neighbors other than to wave and smile."
Peter appeared at the back door, and Emma could see from his lobster-red face that he hadn't remembered to put on sunscreen again. "Who are you talking to?"
"Our new neighbor. Come on out and meet him."
The two men reached around the privacy fence where it stopped at the end of the deck, making their own introductions.
"Why don't you join us?" Peter asked. "We have some beer, don't we, Emma?"
"I'll fetch it," she said as she watched Derek, easily swing his body around the privacy fence.
When she came out with the beer, Peter raised his eyebrows. "You usually don't drink beer, Emma."
She handed the men their mugs and sat down before answering. "I'm just trying to be sociable, Peter, dear."
The real reason was she felt something to steady her nerves was called for.
Peter and Derek hit it off like a house afire. Both liked the same football team (Patriots) and had actually grown up quite near each other, just outside of Providence, Rhode Island, so they were thick as thieves in no time.
Emma didn't say too much, just looking at Derek as much as she could without appearing to stare, and gleaning information about him.
He was 31, had just gotten a job with a mechanical engineering firm in town and was far away from everyone he knew.
