I post this in the this category because I suppose I now am one of those kind of females. Perhaps it actually is a fetish? I don't know. I also do not know why I am writing this, I just am.
I also want to offer a special thanks to one of the finest writers here, he asked me to not name him and I do not know the why of that, either.
I suspect the change in the writing style might be a giveaway? Take your best guess on that.
The nice man did email to tell me he loved the photos I sent him. I had my husband Mark take those, that was fun.
Some you have asked if these stories are true? You decide. Certainly not believable, yet the truth seldom is when dealing with sexuality and relationships. That is something I happen to know about very well.
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Fuck!
Think of that word, we all know what it can mean.
Sexual activity, intercourse between two people, of course.
For breeding, or simply for pleasure.
Yet the very word, the way it is formed is not pleasant. The lips roll inward to form that sound, to capture the small burst of air that then blasts outward in almost the same fashion as a release of spittle?
The word is also used to describe dislike, sometimes even as hatred, the meaning completely lost in the context of those surrounding.
It can mean something is broken, something is wrong, someone is angry, someone is happy, or even someone feels or desires pleasure.
"Fuck you!" most certainly does not mean a person wants to.
Yet, "I want to fuck you." whispered gently does.
Then add the word "up." and it suggests anger, even a threat.
Usually it does not mean love but performing the act that it describes can mean that.
Such an odd word.
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My name is Meridith, you would need to read my earlier stories to find out how I came to be this person.
For new readers, assuming any bother, I will tell some of it.
I was born as Michelle. A soft, naive, quiet and vulnerable young woman, who lived her life mostly uneventful until marriage.
But Michelle died.
So I was not born with my current name, and nothing today of the girl and then young woman I was even exists.
What happened to Michelle is something that happened to someone else entirely in my own mind.
Michelle was beaten to the point of near death by the man she loved completely. So badly that not a single shred of the life before remained.
Life. What is that exactly? A heartbeat, the flow of blood? Thought? It's more than that, inside there can be something stubborn, a refusal to just give in.
"Not going to make it." I remember those exact words, aware only barely of activity surrounding as I fought for that life.
Someone, I have no idea of who.
So easy, so much easier to just give up and let go and the pain would then be over.
I just refused to give in.
Modern medicine is magic, Meridith will always be about 30, and very close to perfection.
Even today, years later, I think of Michelle as someone else and Meridith as myself only after a moment of thought.
The reflection I see in a mirror is not anyone I know, that always comes as a start.
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The team of Doctors looked at her and saw opportunity, a canvas nearly blank to begin again, demonstrate their artistry.
I did see the photograph they took of me the day I first stepped from the wheelchair. I looked at that just one time, I never looked at it again, or even in a mirror for a very long time.
There was an insurance policy they called an umbrella, a million dollars. All of that was spent and more, but they never bothered to give me a bill.
There is no point in repeating the why of that, I am sure most of you know.
Let's just say the physician in charge liked the results of his team's efforts very much.
I am not proud of that, but I also do not care about that.
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Now I am married with a young daughter, my husband is Mark. Even that would seem to be extremely unlikely, considering all I have done, all that has been done to me.
How did I meet the man who became my husband?
If I do mention that truthfully to someone who asks, I get a blank look in return without fail.
So when someone does ask, I instead explain that we met at a shopping mall.
Uneventful, boring even, and somehow partially truth. Our real first meeting was not something I can tell to a person I do not know intimately, in fact our friends Walt and Marty are the only other people who do know that truth, other than my physicians, and those who employed me for a time.
Plus my clients.
You see, Mark was there that day for just one reason.
To see if he could fuck me.
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I was serving as a sexual surrogate at the time, Mark was simply one of a long string of clients that I did exactly the same thing with, not always with success but as often as not.
It takes a certain kind of female to do the job that I was doing, and do it well.
I can demonstrate an innocent sexuality convincingly with no more emotion than if I were heating water on my stove.
There is no way for anyone to see that, though.
Instead they see a woman with the same air brushed perfection of any that grace a magazine cover.
My clients never had any idea at all that I was nothing more than a tool. Inside, somewhere in those depths they knew, of course. But the vision, the words, the actions belied the facts.
Every single movement, every single act, each touch is designed and intended to stimulate while at the very same time creating a feeling of no pressures, no real need to perform on the part of the client.
I become naive, vulnerable, the patient is allowed the power between us.
When there is success, we fuck.
All while deep inside, in that portion of me that is separate from the flesh I am feeling nothing.
I do feel pleasure, sensation.
Pleasure without love is nothing.
Nothing at all.
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Mark was, is different. What is it? I have no answer to that, I do know that as I allowed him to service me that day, or rather, fuck me?
I climaxed very strongly, something that I simply had not done easily during the act of sex with anyone since way back when I was married to my first husband.
I will say that confused me. It was every bit as powerful as the other method I use to reach my own peak, perhaps even more so.
I do not, or I should say did not like males at all at that stage of my life.
In fact, I feared men but none could ever tell.
Yet I did not fear Mark?
I knew very well after that I could never again do what I was doing for a living, I just could not, so I quit.
Meeting Mark again much later caused a strange feeling inside of me, a "longing" is almost the word that fits.
It was far more than the need of sex, to do what the word I just described indicated.
Then I was lucky in that he felt the very same way.
Marriage followed, and Julia, our daughter.
Friends, a life, something...normal? Things that for a very long time I had given up on as being out of my grasp.
I quit the job of course right after that day with Mark, much to the chagrin of the people I worked for. They offered me more money, a lot more money. I cared absolutely not one whit about that.
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That word I spoke of. It actually is not one I use myself although I can and do swear mildly from time to time.
"Crap!" Might pop out of me when I draw a deuce to my kings over queens, "Shit!" Covers my having burnt the mashed potatoes.
I only very rarely say that other word.
My friend Marty and her husband Walt are Mark and my closest companions, we see each other almost daily.
Walt is older, around 50 and Marty is about a decade younger. Odd also that I do not know for sure, I never asked.
The age of 40 is not that far in my own future, but it will not matter. I will never appear old.
We all became relaxed with each other, so many things became normal. Nudity in front of our friends over time became nothing, we all enjoyed the freedom on those warm and balmy days.
There was nothing deliberate about that, it began with me nursing Julia and I have no inhibitions about my body. Opening my blouse to bare my breasts so my child could nurse was a natural act, the fact that someone could see caused me no shame.
Rather the opposite.
Walt watched me do that with an obvious look of pleasure on his face, Marty noticed. I did not mind Walt seeing me like that, in fact I enjoyed it.
One day as I was busy Marty pressed my fussing child to her own bare breast, right in front of our men.
I had done the same so many times.
I saw that Walt enjoyed that also, even Mark looked. Marty was a bit careful the first few times, she sat on a lawn chair as Julia cooed with pleasure enjoying a new breast to suckle.
Then that became more frequent and Marty lost her initial shyness.
One day she asked me if Mark would mind if she sunbathed nude, we were lying on blankets in the grass in our yard and it was very warm that day.
"Of course not." I told her, reaching down to slip my own bottoms off. Walt's eyes opened widely and he grinned as I lay back. Marty smiled and followed suit quickly.
That must have been quite a contrast, my completely hairless body right next to Marty's full and unkempt bush.
One thing leads to another I suppose. I discovered that Marty had certain tendencies just like I do, we both simply accepted that.
In short order all four of us were nude. Mark did not hesitate, something that caused me to smile inwardly. He showed no obvious signs of excitement at all.
Walt on the other hand was hesitant, since he was completely erect. I grinned as Marty stifled a giggle.
"Is he always like that?" I whispered to Marty.
"No, not really but I don't mind one bit!" She whispered back.
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Marty and I still often delight in teasing the big men working out at our gym with no mercy, she quickly understood that things like that made her hot and Walt appeared to enjoy the hell out of her coming home excited.
