Anne Cleaves collected her daughter's dance mat and stored it in the trunk at the foot of the bed. She hummed along to the radio as she tidied up on a grey, overcast Wednesday morning. Anne's eleven-year-old twins, Charlotte and Jeremy, were at school, and her husband, Andrew, was toiling away at a medium-sized brokerage company based in London.
She blew a strand of hair from her face and wondered about lunch, then after, maybe a start on the garage? Despite her pleas or nagging, depending on your POV, Andrew kept putting off the promised clear-out.
Janet, her friend and neighbour across the street, had a half-sized skip in situ and said Anne could dump a few things in it, 'but not go mad!'
Anne was thirty-six and married for thirteen years, with friends and family close by. She would never have classed herself as a looker. Shoulder-length brown hair framed an attractive but largely unremarkable face save a wide and generous mouth--Anne secretly imagined it made her look like Angelina Jolie. She stood 5'6" with a trim figure despite two children. Yes, her breasts had lost some bounce, and her hips were a tad on the wide side these days, but she did aerobics twice a week and looking after two children--three if you counted Andrew--kept her active and busy.
She and Andrew rubbed along; neither was especially romantic or passionate. Their sex life was as any married couple of thirteen years and two children in tow. Perfunctory at worst and on holiday, at least mildly spicy.
Anne entered the garage, flicked on the dim light and set to work with determination. Boxes of junk, old magazines, brochures, a six-week subscription to 'model railways of Britain', even a few old girlie magazines from a decade ago--who buys magazines these days, she wondered with a smile. It was like a bygone age. Most ended up in Janet's skip. After an hour, she had made a satisfactory dent and left to freshen up and collect the kids from school.
That evening she made a point of telling Andrew she had made a start on the garage. Andrew berated himself for 'letting the side down' and her initiative in using Janet's skip.
"And I found your smut," added Anne.
Andrew looked blank. He was sandy-haired, cultivating an expanding waistline and two years older than his wife. "Smut?"
"Yes, smut. Young ladies with no clothes on and bearing all for the world to see. Rattle, no Razzle magazine."
"Good God, yes, I did have a few. Don't tell me you threw them out!"
"Of course--not. Didn't think Janet would welcome porn in her skip. What if the bag split open! She would die of embarrassment!"
Andrew chucked. "Good. They are a nostalgic reminder of your pregnancy. They kept me company while you were--" He stopped and sighed.
Me and my big mouth!
"So, just to clarify. While I was waddling around the size of a house, you thought it would be a good idea to buy a few porn magazines to entertain yourself with nubile naked girls?"
"I wouldn't call it porn, dear. Harmless smut."
"Oh, silly me! That's all right then!" Anne detached herself from the sofa. "I'm going to get a bath. And if you think you were getting lucky tonight, then think again!"
Andrew kept his head down. Never argue with a lady when she is mad at you. It will only make things worse. It was a motto that Andrew lived his life by and stood him in good stead. He would buy some flowers tomorrow That will do the trick.
Chapter Two
Flowers were not necessary. Anne wasn't especially mad at Andrew. Her pregnancy had been difficult, given she was carrying twins, but her husband distracting himself with pictures of nude girls in cheesy poses was not the worst crime. She was mildly irked but wasn't going to make a big deal of it.
Pausing for a break from the garage clear-out, Anne peeled off her rubber gloves and planted herself in the rickety garden chair that she was debating to put in the skip. The magazines were still sitting on the shelf where she left them. She picked one up and leafed through it.
I wonder what possesses a girl to display themselves like that? Money, I guess.
The readers' wives' section was more titillating. At least they looked real. And they got a whole £10! Money was clearly not a motivation for Mandy from Bristol. She was a plump lass and seemed to be enjoying the attention.
She picked up another. This issue ran a 'one for the ladies' section, and my god, the ladies of Britain were being short-changed! Andrew was hardly an adonis, but he didn't compare unfavourably -- oh my! Anne's eyes widened. Ken from London certainly bumped up the quality! A cheeky grin, buff and mid-thirties, maybe older, and the man was packing! None of the men were erect, but Ken was still impressive. He was also very black, which, for Anne, added to the exotic allure.
Anne hadn't seen many naked men in her adult life. Two exes, her husband and the occasional hook-up in her college days. Physically, they were all much of a muchness. Anne enjoyed sex, but more as a recreational activity than a consuming need, yet Ken lit a tiny spark of curiosity.
It was a spark that grew over the next few weeks until one Tuesday morning, with nothing much better to do, Anne decided to satisfy her curiosity. Pulling out her tablet, she debated what to put and then, rather self-consciously, typed in 'black men and big dicks'.
A minute or so later, Anne wandered dazed and confused in a world of big black cocks. Forty minutes later, she closed the browser, made a cup of strong tea, and tried to process what she had just seen and read.
Anne's emotional response to the images and the testimonies from women, white middle-aged women just like her was wonder and fascination. Could these women be that aroused through relations with a black man? One video clip caught her imagination--a compilation of white women orgasming with black men. The muscle-clenching spasms of the women were shocking, arousing and disturbing. It was as if they were having a fit and babbling in tongues. Could a man induce that reaction? Anne was sceptical.
Anne put the matter aside and began to prep the evening meal. Once done, she picked up an old favourite of hers, a romance. For once, the familiar scenes did not hit the spot. It seemed tame in comparison to what was out there in the real world. How could she find out about this world, and should she? Like any woman, she was aware of the allure of the forbidden, but she was a practical woman with no experience at dabbling in sexual affairs outside of her marriage. She sat there mulling things over, then noticed the time.
Oh God! Hurriedly, Anne grabbed her car keys and went to pick the children up from school. Parked up, she smiled as she saw her daughter and then her son laughing. They climbed into the back seat, Charlotte leaning over for a kiss.
I'm a mother above all else. And I have a good man as a husband. Enough of these flights of fancy. This is the real world. My world.
Chapter Three
A month passed, and aside from two minor lapses, Anne had pushed her 'flights of fancy' to the back of her mind. A brief and forgettable bout of lovemaking brought the issue to the fore. Andrew had clambered on top and pleasured her with an absence of zeal and attention that lowered the bar to new depths. A two-minute snack pot would have still been cooking by the time Andrew climaxed inside her. Seriously, what was the point?
"You could go down on me, you know," Anne muttered as he turned over.
"What?"
"Well, you've got off! Ever thought about me?"
"Yes, but you're all sort of sticky down there."
"Well, it's your sticky stuff, and I can wipe--oh, never mind."
To his credit, Andrew could hear the frustration and dissatisfaction in his wife's voice. "I hear you," he said and waited.
Anne sat up, her annoyance dissipating. "I don't mean to bitch, it's just a bit more va-va-voom wouldn't go amiss. I mean, did you enjoy it? Or was it like having a quick wank--and why are you smiling?"
"I love it when you talk dirty."
"That's your response. A joke?"
"No. I hear you. And yes, I do enjoy it, but I accept it was a bit by the numbers. On the other hand, we've been together thirteen years, longer really, and I guess we have lost our mojo."
Anne took his hand. "Not just me thinking it then," she smiled.
"Of course not. We're a middle-aged married couple. A faithful married couple at that. Maybe us still wanting to make love is the point to start from and look to improve it from there. Take the positive."
"Yes, yes!" Anne kissed him. "How?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea. I'm not the most adventurous man, role-playing makes me giggle, and we are not swinging. It's embarrassing."
"Pretty sure our friends are not the type!"
"They are not! And strangers? Ewww."
A thought occurred to Anne. "Do you ever talk about this with your mates? At work, down the pub?"
"What? Sex?"
"Yes, and your wives."
"No, not really."
"Not really?"
"No, okay, remember Ken and Julie on holiday last year? Julie on the beach, topless. Ken did show me and Gary some pics." Andrew reddened.
"Of Julie topless?"
"Yes."
"She has great boobs. Big boobs."
