The Village Voice Ad

Riding the train home from a Manhattan business appointment one evening, I found a copy of The Village Voice that someone left behind. I skimmed through it and came eventually to the classified ads. I like reading Personals. There were the usual ads such as I’d seen in my local paper. You know, men seeking women, women seeking men, singles in search of relationships and marriage. But the Voice Personals included sections for men seeking men, women seeking women, couples, and fetishes. They were pretty explicit.

I’ve always been a bit of a voyeur. I had to assume these were real people. But, the ads were quite arousing, and under my dress, I felt my pants dampen.

When I was in college, I did a lot of sexual experimenting. I had sexual encounters with other girls, my roommate among them, and I totally enjoyed the freedom I felt with girls. I didn’t consider myself lesbian. I actively dated and had relations with guys. It was a sort of in thing to do at the time and fear of pregnancy or abuse was never an issue.

I was fascinated by the personals placed by experienced or curious bi women, many married. I had always felt that bi sex was safe sex, but I relegated it to fantasy after my marriage. As I read some of the ads, however, I realized that that it might be possible to experience that pleasure and intimacy again.

One particular ad was most interesting, it read:

“Bi Female, married, attractive, slim, sensuous. 32 y/o. Have been too long without. Seeks similarly inclined female friend, preferably attractive, intelligent, and married, for special friendship and intimacy. You be discreet, be experienced, be curious, but don’t be afraid to answer. Live in Westchester County. Available most weekdays. e-mail sara768@yahoo.com.”

I wondered about the woman who placed the ad. She was just a few years younger than me, not far away, and clearly available. Could I ever get up the nerve to answer her ad and meet her? What would it be like to sit with another attractive woman, perhaps for lunch or coffee, and know that there was mutual interest?

The train wasn’t crowded. There was no one in the rows near me. I put the paper in my lap and closed my eyes. My long coat wrapped around me. I discreetly placed my right hand under its flap.

It was warm under my coat. I gently caressed myself through my dress, pressing the fabric against the vee of my legs. I had to keep my face straight, and my movement to a minimum, but I pulled at the dress, gathering the material up until I could reach the crotch of my pantyhose. Through half open eyes, I confirmed that I was still alone, and the activity of my hand barely visible under the coat.

My thoughts focused on the woman who placed the ad. I imagined how I would respond, and what might ensue if I did! It would be best to meet her in a public place, like a busy restaurant, I thought, maybe in Manhattan.

Whenever I found myself fantasizing about another woman, I got hung up on the issue of breaking the ice, opening up, making a pass. I could never make a pass at another woman! But I knew that meeting “Sara768” would be different. It would just be the matter of seeing if chemistry develops.

I resolved to do it and already I could imagine the chemistry! I longed to be in a woman’s arms, and I was going to give myself a chance to see what would happen. I could anticipate our first meeting. I got wetter.

I pressed my fingers hard between my legs. I found my clit through the wet cotton panel of my hose and satin panties, and I put two fingers on it. The sensitive tip rolled between my fingers, my thighs clenched together rhythmically. I was masturbating on the train! I couldn't stop. Past the point where I could stop, I rushed to my orgasm, and craved its release. When it finally came, I slumped in the seat, and rocked my hips gently. A few minutes later, the conductor walked past me on his way down the aisle and called my stop. I was relieved that it wasn’t sooner.

I knew that was nasty. Not that I don’t masturbate, I have no problem with solo sex. Hubby knows and is never jealous of my fingers. In fact, I think it turns him on. One time I related to him how a girl in the office told me she was having an affair with this married guy who worked in another department, and how they made it in his office the previous evening after everyone left. Later that afternoon, I had to get some files from him and I couldn’t help but imagine her kneeling between his legs, with his cock in her mouth, then sitting on his lap with her skirt raised and panties pulled aside

Being with him in the office after her confession was such a voyeuristic pleasure that I had my first workplace sex later that afternoon. I went to the ladies room and did something I hadn’t done in ages, fingered myself on the toilet. In bed that night, I told my husband the whole story and it made him incredibly horny.

When I got home I found a note from my husband. He was helping a friend move some stuff into storage and would be home around seven. I booted up my laptop and opened a blank e-mail. I discarded the newspaper when I left the train. But I cut out the ad. I thought for a few minutes and composed a message:

"Hi Sara786,

I saw your ad in the Village Voice. We both live in Westchester County. I'm 36 years old, married, 5'5", red hair and green eyes, 34C-24-34.

I have been with girls, but not recently. I have not told anyone or acted on the desire since I’ve been married.

I read your ad in a paper that I found on a train and I am writing, impulsively, not knowing where my words will lead. I work in sales, and can be free during the day. Maybe we could just meet for lunch.

Carol”

I looked at the message a long time, hesitating, and then clicked send. The deed was done, a circuit completed, events set in motion. The thrill was sexual, and I wanted sex. Shortly, my husband returned.

Greg and I enjoy a good times in bed together. I love feeling him penetrate and connect with me. He has a tall, slim, athletic body. We have a good life. We both want a child, but somehow acting on that has been deferred by working toward financial security.

I thought about sara786, and wondered about her life. I always thought I would never cheat on my husband. Men flirted with me, and it felt good sometimes, but I would never go further. But would I with sara786? I wanted a woman friend. Someone not part of my “normal” life, who doesn’t know me or my friends. I wanted to be intimate with her, and I wanted it to be physical.

I hadn’t changed my clothes since I got home, so I was still in my business clothes. My husband complimented me on the dress; it was one I knew he liked. He was in a sweatshirt and jeans, and I wanted him to fuck me. I decided to seduce him.

I made up a story I knew he’d like. I told him that I saw a young couple kissing on the train a few seats away from me. I described how he had his arm around her, and they were being very lovey-dovey, and talking quietly, and kissing intermittently. I told him that it turned me on a lot, and I was certain they were aware of my presence, but didn’t care.

I was getting a reaction. He took me in his arms and said, “Oh really”

I said, “It turned me on, Greg, I got wet.”

“You got wet! And what did you do?”

Then I told him the part that was real. I told him how I fingered myself through my clothes, and he soon had my dress up and his hand between my legs. It felt so good. I grabbed the bulge in the front of his jeans and said, “The sofa, come here, I want you to lie down”.

He sat, with his legs straight out. Straddling his body, I lifted my dress and let my stockings caress his jeans. My juices once more flowed. I rubbed my freshly wet pantyhose over his bulge, leaving a spot on his jeans. He begged, as I knew he would, "Carol, please, honey, I need to be inside you."

I wanted that too. I love feeling him inside me. I opened his zipper and his hard cock sprang free. My hands slid up and down, lubricating him with his own juices, feeling the blood course through the erect member. I didn’t want to undress. So I used a sharp fingernail to pierce the crotch of my pantyhose, pulled the sopping panties aside, and eased his tip between my swollen lips, feeding it in slowly, until I was sitting flush against him. Totally filled, I mashed my clit on his pubic bone.

He pulled me to him and reached around to release the hook on the back of my dress, then slid the zipper down. The bodice of the dress slipped from my shoulders, baring my lacy bra. He watched me caress my breasts. His cock swelled and throbbed.

My breasts are incredibly sensitive when I’m aroused, and there is a neural connection between my nipples and my clit. My husband is no stranger to the phenomenon. He rolled and squeezed my erect nipples between his fingertips, and it was like lighting a fuse.

I held his shoulder with my left hand and flicked two fingers of my right over across my clit. I bounced up and down on his cock, and we approached our climax together. He arched his back, matching my rhythm, the juices running from me and darkening his jeans. “Fuck me, Greg, fill me with your cum, I need it baby!”

He cried out, “Oooooooooo!” convulsed, and suddenly hot liquid flooded my pussy. It flooded the deepest parts of me. I coated my fingers with our combined juices and worked on my clit in earnest. “Fuck yourself, Carol, oh yeah, I love to see those fingers in your wet cunt!”

Dirty talk, nasty talk, masturbating for him, the way I got most of my satisfaction. In moments, I peaked. My body was wracked with shivering lust. I took my wet fingers and rubbed the tangy juices over my face and lips, then collapsed onto his body and kissed him, tasting my juices all over his face, as I might from a woman that ate me!

Later that night, I went to sleep thinking about the woman who would receive my e-mail. Surprisingly, two days passed by before I received a reply.

In her message, she apologized for the delay and explained that she was really busy and hadn’t checked her Yahoo account. She said that her real name was Lynn and she described herself as 5'9", 140 pounds, black hair, 35C-25-35. Lynn did not work, she had two young children. They were in school and she often had free time in the mornings or afternoons. Her husband recently moved his office to Westchester from Virginia, where they had lived for many years. Lynn explained that she went to night school before they moved here, working on her Masters in child psychology. It was a degree she never had to use because her husband’s business was acquired, and they became richer than she dreamed. Her husband’s career left him too distracted and busy to pay the kind of attention to her she needed, and it frustrated her. Her child development professor, however, took a great deal of interest in her. It was common knowledge the professor was a lesbian, and Lynn secretly wondered if the interest was more than academic.

The professor introduced her to the world of girl-girl love, a story I hoped to hear more of in person. The affair was secret, her husband was unaware. After relocating, she found herself once again frustrated. Because it had been so satisfying, and comfortable, and easy to be discreet, she determined to find a woman for intimacy, and explored the options. She read the Voice for weeks before she gathered the nerve to place an ad.

The message was a pretty thorough introduction. She added that she received few replies to her ad, among them men who wanted to meet her. I was, it seemed, her prime prospect, and she proposed to follow my suggestion that we meet for lunch. In a second exchange of messages, the details of our tête-à-tête were confirmed. Lunch on Thursday, the restaurant in the lobby of the Parker-Meridien Hotel in Manhattan.

I arranged to have an appointment in Manhattan Thursday morning and took the train in. I wore a straight, red skirt that came just below my knees, slit on the same side as the zipper, and a white blouse. Underneath I wore a matching white set of bra and bikini pants, and sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. It was as daring as I could be for work without provoking questions.

Lynn told me she would be conspicuously holding a copy of the Village Voice. That was an appropriate clue to recognizing her. She wore a pair of fashionable jeans, a blue cashmere sweater, tweed blazer, and suede loafers. Her soft black hair dropped below her shoulders. She looked like the perfect suburban Westchester housewife meeting a friend in the city, and she looked beautiful!

She lowered the newspaper as I approached. I introduced myself, and extended my hand. She took it in hers, and I felt a tingle in my fingers from the contact. In a few minutes we were seated at a small, round table, and I suggested that we share a platter of fruit and cheese, with a bottle of chardonnay. I was positively in heaven; there was no other way to describe it.

The table was covered with a long, white cloth, and there was a vase of lilacs in the center, headily romantic. Lynn told me about her two children, in a private elementary school, her marriage, and her affair with the older professor. It was a risk, she knew, but she felt that without taking it, her marriage might be in jeopardy in other ways.

I told her about my career, and how my husband I deferred children. As the wine flowed, we shared intimate secrets. I spoke about my experimentation with girls in college. We each understood the others’ desires. I knew she could satisfy mine. I hoped she felt the same way.

Strange yet how natural, it felt good to be flirting with another attractive woman. We touched each other innocently as we chatted, yet the contact conveyed more meaning than a casual observer would suspect. I escalated the connection by putting my left hand under the tablecloth, and caressing her knee. She smiled. I became bolder, sliding my fingers over the soft denim and into the warm space between her legs. I felt it welcomed. Her eyes told me more than her voice.

Lynn asked for the check and insisted on paying. She was obviously well heeled, I didn’t object. That done, she said she needed to use the ladies room, and invited me to join her.

There was no one else in there. The wine has a way of going through me, so we both did our business privately. There was an intimacy to the act, sitting near Lynn in adjacent cubicles that I’d never felt before.

Afterwards, we washed and fixed our makeup and clothes in the mirror. I felt that everything was in the open between us, but nothing was resolved. Lynn turned to me and took both my hands in hers and said, “Carol, this is so wonderful, I’m thankful you answered my ad. You are everything I hoped to find. May I kiss you? I’ve never done this and I’m very nervous and I will be until we have done something together!”

I answered by placing her hands on my hips and drawing me to her. "Yes, Lynn, kiss me.” Before I could say more, she put her arms around me and moved her face toward mine. The scent of her hair and perfume filled my nostrils. She kissed me full on the lips. Gently at first, then more urgently. Our tongues searched in each other's mouths, her hands caressed my shoulders, my neck, and then the tender flesh of my breasts, through my blouse. She ran her hands over my hips and around to my ass, pressing the fabric of my skirt into the space between my cheeks, and further below. She pressed me between her body and the vanity counter.

It was 2:00, and we were going at it like horny dykes. She broke the kiss. “Are you free for the afternoon?”

I said, “Yes.”

She made a quick call on her cell phone and arranged for her kids to go to a friend’s house after school. A friend whose mother would watch them while Lynn shopped in the city. Her husband wouldn’t be home until later.

Lynn told me to wait. She said she would get a room. I was flabbergasted, but so excited. I did not expect to be going to bed with her so soon, but she was insistent. I was flattered by her urgency.

She left me in a corner of the lobby while she took a room, explaining to the clerk that her bag would be arriving later. I waited until she turned a corner near the elevators and beckoned me to follow.

Once inside the room, we came together again in a hot embrace. In private now, hands explored bodies, reveling in the thrill of a new lover. Our lips slid sensuously over one another, lipstick smudged, tongues dueled, and we embraced in such a way that our breasts and hips were in constant contact. I felt Lynn's need increase at the same pace as my own. “Whoa girl,” she said, “We don’t have to do this standing up!”

We both laughed. The king-sized bed looked very inviting. We each took a side and turned down the covers.

I kicked off my heels and reclined on the bed. Lynn stepped out of her loafers and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. We both caught our breath. She sat on the edge of the bed, and then stretched next to me, exploring the new territory of my body with her eyes and hands. Through my blouse, she fondled my breasts. My nipples became hard; she rolled them in her fingers. Her hands trailed lightly down to my skirt, and teased my thighs with gentle touches. I watched her bring her hands over the juncture of my thighs, and touch my pussy through the fabric of the skirt. I arched and writhed under her skillful manipulation, repeating her name softly, “Lynn... Lynn... Lynn.” I lifted my hips and helped her hike my skirt. Then her hands were under my slip feeling for the top of my pantyhose. She carefully pulled them down and off my legs.

She rubbed my soaked panties and searched out the swollen lips behind them. Fresh juices flowed, running down my ass, and she remarked, “We’d best get this skirt off before it stains!” The zipper was right there on the side facing her. She released the hook and dropped the zipper, pulling my skirt and slip off my legs. My panties followed, then she unbuttoned the blouse and unclasped the bra. Bare before a woman, something I had doubted would happen again!

First two fingers, then three, entered my throbbing cunt and fucked gently in and out. She did not resist when I pulled her to me. I pushed up her sweater and freed her breasts by releasing her bra. Dark aureoles surrounded her hard nipples. I sucked first one, then the other, into my mouth, discovering her hot buttons. She arched her back, forcing her breasts further into my mouth, and I sucked and bit on her nipples. She begged for more.

She gazed at me, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths. I moved my fingers over her jeans, and I was thrilled to find her wet right through the soft denim. I slid down on the bed to put my nose between her legs and savor the aroma.

It was intoxicating. I unzipped Lynn's jeans and pulled them down her long legs, taking her knee-highs with them. I pulled the sweater over her head, and tossed the bra aside, leaving her in a pair of black bikini pants.

We lay together in bed, face-to-face, as close as we could get. We kissed again, and I pulled the crotch of Lynn's bikinis to one side to allow access to my probing fingers. Lynn parted her legs for me. I rubbed the fingers of my right hand into the swamp of her pussy, lubricating her from clit to ass with her own sweet juices. My left hand was around her neck, holding her face against mine. She said, "Fuck me Carol, your fingers feel soooo good!" I fucked with my fingers, and threw my right leg over her left thigh, to fuck her with my pussy as well. The kiss prevented words and we climbed the mountain of arousal together. My hand masturbated her continuously and she pressed her thigh against my humping cunt! The urgency to our lovemaking came from being so long without a woman’s touch.

She came first. I needed to feel my power to satisfy her. Then I concentrated on the sensation between my legs and got on top of her, continuing to kiss and rub myself off against her until I came.