Women are stunning. Their ample breasts and gentle curves, soft skin and shining hair are the epitome of beauty. They inspired Da Vinci to paint and Alexandros of Antioch to sculpt. They can uplift the most down trodden spirit and lure even the purest soul to sin. Women are simple yet complex, innocent yet dangerous.
I've always thought of women this way. Never had I really been sexually attracted to them, I wanted a husband not a wife, but I had always been completely entranced by the magnificence of the female form. In college I would leave the dorm when my roommate changed, knowing I would be unable to avert my eyes. I trained myself to look at women's necks when speaking, so as not to fixate on their cleavage. I say again, I didn't want to sleep with these women, I just wanted to bask in their radiance.
After we married I mentioned my feelings to my husband. He would talk about it during sex, me making love to a woman: kissing her, sharing her, loving her. He once pinned me to the bed, nothing between our skin but the moonlight, "Say it!" He demanded, "Say you're bisexual." After several minutes I relented, eager to feel him inside of me, willing to lie for the heat of the moment.
But I never believed it. I never believed I would desire a woman the same way I desired my husband. I never imagined I'd long to taste sweet female nectar, to caress someone else's round breasts, to bury my face in a body and breathe in her scent. And then my world changed.
I was a nanny. It was a difficult job, 12 to 14 hour days, loving someone else's children knowing you would never be loved back, but it helped to satiate my maternal instincts. I did everything with those children, packed lunches, school field trips, ballet class, soccer practice and, on this night, swimming lessons.
Their youngest daughter was still a toddler. Unable yet to participate in most extra-curricular activities, we enrolled her in a parent tot swim class. Sessions were held twice a week at the local hospital. Their therapy pool was a perfect 80 degrees year round and walking down the steps in my pink Marilyn Monroe-esque bathing suit into the warm water was the closest I could come to a spa day.
The entire class was rather typical: singing songs, playing games, jumping off the side. I pulled my charge out of the pool, wrapped us both in an over sized towel and crept to the women's locker room, careful not to slip on the slick tile. My boss had asked I shower and change her little girl before bringing her home. This would enable the parents to toss her right into bed without any prep work.
I gently pushed open the door, expecting to see a sea of naked toddlers getting changed out of swim diapers and into footie pajamas. I rounded the corner, holding my friend tight, both of us freezing outside of the pool, when my jaw dropped to the floor.
Every mother in the locker room was completely nude. Some were runners, with long nipples, tiny breasts and the bodies of twelve year old boys. Others were quite average looking: 5'4", B cups, tan lines, hairy pubic regions and trying to dress quickly without completely dropping their towels. And then I saw her and was immediately turned on.
My eyes widened at the sight before me and I tried to hide my gaze. Every one of them was beautiful, but the loud blonde standing near the sink was absolutely sexy. She stood with one leg propped on the bench, exposing her bald pussy as she rubbed herself vigorously with terrycloth.