It was the trip to Mexico with my sister and her family that changed my life—my sex life I mean. Oh yes, there was more afterwards, lots more. It's not like I was struck by a bolt of lightening that instantaneously changed me from a somewhat prudish (well okay, maybe a good deal more than
somewhat
prudish) 28-year-old into a mature (not as in the "old" sense, but as in the "grown up" sense) woman who appreciated sex as an important and desirable part of her life, as opposed to something everyone expected you to like but you were never sure why. But the trip to Mexico with my sister Jolene's oversexed husband, Larry, started me down a road that radically changed my life, or at least my sex life, all for the better, at least as I see it today.
Before I describe what happened, you need a little background on me and on my sister and her husband.
First the basics: I'm Amanda, Amanda Tolefson. When this story starts I was a 28-year-old assistant credit manager for a mid-western distribution firm. Been working there ever since I got out of Northwestern at 22 with a business degree. Not a very exciting job, but it pays well, and the company treats its people well.
I have pale blue eyes and kind of dishwater blonde hair that's very thick and hangs down to my shoulders. Running and workouts at a gym near my home are a regular part of my life, so I'm still pretty close to my college weight. I'm reasonably tall, long in the legs, and, I always thought, a little flat chested, but a fair number of men have expressed a different opinion of my breasts, especially now that I'm willing to show them off a bit more than I did before Mexico. Yes, that's how I think of my life—before Mexico and after Mexico.
Aside from the sex part, which we'll get to later, that's pretty much me. Oh, and my taste in clothes has always run to conservative (my sister would say frumpy), or at least it did before Mexico. Dresses and skirts were long and not particularly tight, same with blouses and sweaters, underwear was best described as
serviceable
, certainly not racy, and makeup, if worn at all, was light, barely there. A lot of that has changed a bit since Mexico, but more about that later.
My older sister Jolene is different from me in more ways than I can count. She has dark brown hair and these sparkling blue eyes that drive men wild. And if her eyes aren't driving them wild, her body is. She is short and, well, I would describe her as voluptuous, with big breasts, a tiny little waist, and nice round hips that set atop shapely legs. Jolene is beautiful, and she knows it—has known it ever since she was twelve or thirteen, and she dresses to flaunt it. She doesn't dress slutty, mind you, but no man ever passes her by without a second look. A few have been known to step off curbs or walk into lampposts they didn't see because they were looking back over their shoulder at Jolene as she walked away.
As for college, well that was never for her. She started working as an exotic dancer as soon as she was old enough to be legal. The job was a perfect fit. When you've got a great body and you love to flaunt it, what could be better? Unlike a lot of girls in that business, she was smart about it. She saved the money (and the money was good), stayed away from the drugs, and didn't date anyone she met through work (customers or co-workers).
That's not to say she was celibate during her years as a stripper. Far from it! She seemed to be able to find a never-ending supply of men of all ages (and a few women) who were happy to fuck her brains out. Jolene recruited most of her sex partners from our church, which always amazed me. Unfortunately, discretion never was one of Jolene's skills (unlike cock sucking). It got so bad that our parents eventually moved to another church where they wouldn't be known as "that girl's parents." They still aren't on speaking terms with Jolene.
When she was twenty-five she took her savings and bought a small flower business that she still runs today. I know, I know—going from stripper to selling floral arrangements sounds crazy, but it has worked for Jolene. She likes working with the flowers and her looks don't hurt at all on the sales side of the business. She can talk any man who walks in the door into buying a bigger arrangement than he planned on, and the hours are much better than working the strip joints. She loves it.
Jolene's husband, Larry, is a piece of work. To start with, he is big—tall (about 6-4) and rangy. He doesn't look like he is as heavy as he is, but there is a lot of muscle packed onto that lean frame. He played tight end at Northwestern. Now he sells corrugated boxes, and his sales skills are legendary. He is good looking and charming. Some would say charismatic. People just can't say no to him. In college people used to say he could charm a nun out of her habit, and would. I could see that in him as soon as I met him.
Okay, okay. I know I promised you some background on our sex lives. Fair enough. After all this is a sex story.
Jolene was what you might call an
early adopter
. I won't go into all the juicy details, but once she figured out just how attractive her increasingly voluptuous figure made her to the opposite sex (and even to other girls in some cases), she took full advantage of it, so that even before she went to work as a stripper she knew a lot more about sex than I knew by the time I got out of college. I won't say she was a slut, but she wasn't inclined to say no, and she wasn't reluctant to do the propositioning herself, if she found the man (or woman) attractive.
With Jolene there was never any sense of guilt about sex. She reveled in it. And she has always loved to tell me about it. The first few times she tried telling me about what she was doing, I totally freaked out and ran away from her. Knowing what I know now, I wish I had hung around and listened. I would have learned a lot and would have saved myself a lot of grief that came with my marriage.
Now Larry's sex history I don't know quite so much about, since I didn't grow up with him like I did Jolene. I first knew him in college, and by the time I met him he had the reputation of a guy who could and would talk any woman he met out of her pants and into his bed. That is why I introduced him to Jolene. I was confident that he would badger me until I did something that I considered morally wrong—which as it turned out was eventually true (more to come). I thought he was dangerous, but I knew he was just the kind of guy she liked, and he was ecstatic that I would introduce him to a stripper. How good could life get? He didn't have to say a word to get Jolene out of her clothes. She was actually naked the day I took him down to her club and introduced them. Funny thing though—after they got married, it was Larry who convinced Jolene to give up stripping and buy the flower business.
Larry and Jolene made a perfect pair. First, they both dearly loved sex in any form or fashion they could dream up, but they were both prepared to be reasonably tolerant of dalliances by the other, so long as they remained fully informed. That is, Larry had to disclose all the lurid details of his extramarital seductions to Jolene and vice versa.
Oh and me? Yes I understand you want a bit on my pre- and post-Mexico outlook on sex. Fair enough. First, you should understand that I didn't think I was a sexual prude. I had fooled around in high school and college enough so that I knew what went where and why, but as I now look back on it, while I was not a virgin when I married (three years before Mexico), I really didn't know much of anything about the things that make sexual relations between men and women (or between the same sexes) such a major and frequently nearly obsessive part of many peoples' lives. My experiences on the trip to Mexico were the beginning of a delicious learning process on the subject. Looking back on it, I guess I really was a prude before I went to Mexico, or at least very boring.
My husband was probably even more ignorant than me when we got married, and we did very little to educate each other during the year and a half we remained married. I didn't keep score, but I doubt if I had more than a dozen orgasms with him during the time we were married. It was pathetic.
He did discover a real interest in sex about a year after we married, but unfortunately (for me) it was focused on a gay legal assistant in his law office. It is virtually impossible to put into words the devastating effect of your husband telling you he would rather fuck his male legal assistant than you, and could he please have a divorce, thank you very much.
After my divorce, my sister decided to take me under her wing. I became her project. Before the divorce she had refrained from sharing the lurid details of her sex life with me because of my prudish objections. Now she insisted that I tell her about my sex life (what there was of it) and listen to her detailed descriptions of what she and Larry were doing and what she had done before Larry. What an education that was. But pre-Mexico none of it convinced me to become a slut or otherwise change my limited approach to sex. It simply made me realize that there was another way of looking at sex beyond the rather Puritan outlook I had received from my mother.
There was one thing that changed. Prior to my divorce I had always masturbated occasionally. Not very effectively I admit, and always with a good dose of guilt, but I just couldn't seem to resist getting some relief from my non-sex life every month or two. After hearing Jolene's lurid stories I found myself escalating from monthly to weekly and eventually to daily or maybe even twice a day. And while I didn't go out and buy any sex toys, I got much better at using my fingers. Instead of quickly rubbing one off as I had in the past, I now found myself spending an hour or more bringing myself to the edge of a climax as I fantasized about Jolene's lurid stories. I could spend half an hour just dreaming about what Larry's erect cock must look like while two of my fingers sawed in and out of my dripping cunt (yes,
cunt
—a word I would never have used pre-Mexico).
When Jolene first suggested I join them on their trip to Mexico I declined, fearing that I would be nothing but a third wheel to her and Larry. Her answer to that was that Larry's brother, Art, his wife, Linda, their three kids, and his parents were all going on the trip, so the whole concept of a third wheel was irrelevant. This was to be a real family adventure, complete with in-laws of varying degrees of likeability, screaming kids, and all the other joys and conflicts that come with a large family vacation. My challenge, Jolene suggested, would be to not be so reticent that I became invisible. "Come on along," she said. "We'll put you in charge of wrangling kids."
I reluctantly agreed to go along, and a week later found myself lying on a nearly empty beach in front of a little town on the west coast of Baja. I was wearing my frumpy old one-piece swimsuit, and my sister, lying next to me was, as I expected, wearing a minimalist two-piece. She had grumbled about wearing even that, but apparently the locals frowned upon nudity on the beaches adjacent to the little town we were staying in. If we went a few miles up the coast, no one cared, but here in their town, nudity was not permitted. The problem of course was that the beaches where Jolene could get away with her exhibitionism were wild places with crashing Pacific surf that would grab you and drag you out to sea if you stuck your toe in the water. The beach by the town was in a protected cove.
Art and Linda's kids, aged 6, 8, and 10, had been frolicking in modest surf in the sheltered cove for most of the day. My assignment was to make sure they refreshed their sun block every few hours, didn't swim too far from shore, or get too carried away with their horseplay in the surf. The sun was fierce. I had been thrashing about in the water with the kids for a good part of the day, but now I was stretched out in the shade of a pair of beach umbrellas next to Jolene and Linda. The kids were building and destroying sandcastles under their own beach umbrella. They had had enough sun too.
Jolene and Linda had spent the day alternating between the sun and the shade of the beach umbrellas and reading a couple of trashy bodice rippers they had brought along. Based on their descriptions of the books, I thought they might have been a bit beyond the bodice-ripper category, but no one could tell that from the covers.
About that time the guys showed up. They had been deep-sea fishing. No luck, but they had consumed a good deal of beer, so the day was far from a total loss. Art said he was going to go in and nap and Larry went into the water for a swim. Linda and Jolene said they needed to go in and work on dinner, so they gathered up the kids and most of our gear and headed back to the big house we were renting, leaving me with my things, a single umbrella, and one of Jolene's trashy novels that I found beneath my bag shortly after they left. Jolene's parting comment was, "Don't let Larry drown."
"Yeah right," I said to myself. "How am I supposed to pull that big lug out if he gets in trouble?"
But he didn't get in trouble. He swam back and forth about thirty yards from the water's edge. When I found Jolene's abandoned book I began to idly leaf through it. "Wow," I said to no one in particular (I now had the beach to myself). "This stuff really is lurid." The art of the bodice ripper had apparently changed since I read a couple of them in college. "No wonder they call it
mommy porn
