Julias Reawakening

My name is Julia Branson. I am married to a successful dentist and have two children, eight and ten. I'm going to tell you about a certain afternoon in my life, an afternoon that was like no other before it. It is the story of my reawakening after a long zombie-like sojourn in a land devoid of color, sensation or, most especially, of passion. But to understand just what happened on that day, you will need to know how I got to the colorless land from which I escaped.

All through high school, I had been the typical grade grubber. Straight A's and a raft of awards for extracurricular activities had brought pride to my parents and a smug form of self-satisfaction to me. I graduated as valedictorian.

Then, during the summer after graduation, I worked at a local restaurant, the flagship of a three-state franchise, waiting on tables and helping out in the kitchen. It was hard, boring work and soon enough I tired of it, longing fore the end of my shift almost as soon as it had started. I saved as I slaved, denying myself all but the smallest pleasures, setting aside a pretty good sum to provide pocket money for my freshman year at the university. One other good thing came of that job: That's where I met Bobby.

Bobby was the owner's son, a senior at a famous private university in the east. He was handsome and sophisticated (I thought) and had a gorgeous convertible to go with his gorgeous smile. And, of course, he had money. His father's restaurants were highly successful and he was indulged as the only son. He was around a lot that summer, came every evening to supervise the checkout and examine the receipts --- tasks that his father thought would help teach him the business.

I was naturally flattered when he began paying attention to me. Dates in high school had been few and mostly platonic. I had experimented with kissing and a little unsatisfying groping in parked cars. But, in spite of a growing and urgent curiosity about "the sex thing," I was known as the school virgin. It fell to Bobby to change that.

It happened one night after we closed the restaurant. Bobby mentioned that he was going out to a party with some friends and invited me to go with him. I accepted almost without thought. The steady routine of work with little or no recreation had worn me down and I was eager to have a little fun.

The party was large, loud and opulent. It was a celebration of some lawyer's big win in a corporate case, or so I was told. Bobby and I had been there for a mere hour, enough to get me high on too much champagne, when he said he was bored. The next thing I knew, we were flying along a mountain highway with the top down and the wind in my hair. The cool night air did nothing to clear my head and when he parked beneath some pines and pulled me to him I melted --- again without thought.

The next several minutes are hazy. I remember being kissed several times and a warm rush spreading from my center down my thighs. I remember thinking how pleasant it felt. Then there was the strange feel of a cool breeze on my naked breasts. From somewhere far in the back of my mind I registered the thought that I shouldn't be doing this but the front of my mind told me that it didn't matter in the least. My clothes seemed to fall away piece by piece and a few minutes later, I was no longer a virgin.

I wish I could remember more of what happened that night. It must have been relatively pleasant because I was neither bruised nor sore the next day. All I remember, though, is riding home in Bobby's convertible, my head on his shoulder and his tee shirt between my legs to keep the blood from his upholstery.

I'll say this for Bobby: he was more considerate than most guys like him. He continued to take me out for the rest of the summer and we had some very good times together. We had sex almost every time and it was Bobby who initiated me into oral sex. It was on our third date parked again under the pines on that mountain highway. I had freed him from his trousers and fondled and squeezed him till I was as hot as I had ever been in my brief sexual life to date. He urged my head down toward his lap where his erection waited for me. I had heard about oral sex from girlfriends and from the older, more experienced waitresses at work. I had also read about it in popular magazines and I admit that I was eager to try it. I closed my eyes and began to kiss the head of his cock. The rank, man smell of him was intoxicating and soon I was licking up and down his shaft. I felt him shift a little and then his hand rested on the back of my head. With his other hand he forced the tip of his now-rigid cock against my lips.

"Take it, Julia," he said softly but insistently.

I took it. I felt it slide over my wet lips and enter my mouth, a big slick mushroom cap that exuded heat and urgency. Instinctively my hand found his testicles in their velvety sack and squeezed lightly. Bobby began to move his hips up and down in time with my head bobbing and before I could even anticipate it a spurt of hot salty semen hit the back of my throat. I hadn't even thought of how to handle it if he came but my mind instantly fastened on the necessity to keep my cool and not let him see how flustered I really was. I gulped and swallowed, then let most of his cum run out across my lips and onto my chin. He pulled his cock from my mouth and the last of his cum fell in a warm streak onto my face from my right eye across my nose to my left cheek. Bobby trembled in the ecstasy of release. He rolled his cock across my face and lips; I licked and sucked him gently to ease him down.

When it was over, he relaxed and held my cum-streaked face between his hands in a shaft of moonlight, gazing at what I now know is an erotic sight for most men. Finally I wiped my face clean and later Bobby slid over to the passenger's seat and pulled me down on his lap. He teased me a little with the head of his cock but then helped me to settle my drenched pussy slowly down onto his long, thick prick. I was treated to another revelation in a summer of discovery: being on top and riding his hard-again cock felt better than anything else I had felt before!

But it was the oral sex that I remembered, that stayed vivid in my mind to the point of distraction as I went about my duties in the restaurant. For the next two weeks before time to head for the campus, I gave Bobby a blowjob almost every night. I was captivated, stricken with the sensation of his iron-hard cock in my mouth. Nothing gave me the hot thrill that sliding my wet lips over and around his big, fleshy knob did. On one notable occasion I begged him to let me suck him off a second time instead of fucking. He laughed and gave in and shot his cum all over my face.

In the end, I knew Bobby wasn't "steady boyfriend" material so when it was time to leave for our respective universities, we parted with no promises of keeping in touch. I've never seen Bobby since that summer, but I'll always be grateful to him for launching me so gently and so well into my sexual life.

College was a new world for me. I was away from my parents for the first time in my life. I knew no one and for a while I returned to the studious ways I had adopted in high school. It wasn't long, however, before I began dating. I had begun to cultivate a sexier image, paying more attention to my clothes, hair and makeup than I had before. I played a cautious game, behaving in a demure and proper fashion till I worked my way up the social ladder. Once I was dating the more desirable men on campus, I loosened up and allowed them a few intimate privileges.

The strategy worked better than I could have hoped. More and better dates came my way. I dined in the best restaurants, went to the most prestigious parties and even got taken on football weekends to other colleges. Instead of the back seats of cars, we went to hotels and motels and even to the homes of permissive older friends. I became known among an exclusive circle of desirable men for my expertise at felatio. I always satisfied, never quit before they did, and allowed them to leave their cum in my mouth or on my face or tits --- whatever pleased them. I was introduced from one guy to another and soon had a string of followers, all wealthy or relatively so, and all of whom I had gone down on. Only a very few were afforded the privilege of fucking me and then only with the safest precautions. Then, during my sophomore year, I met Quint.

Quint was a biker and a part-time student. He took a course or two each semester and avoided talking about what he did the rest of the time. I fell for his rough and ready manner in a big way. He turned out to be my "bad boy" adventure. He never took me to any of the nice places that I frequented with other dates. In fact, he rarely took me out at all. But he often took me to the house on the edge of town where he lived with two or three other bikers --- the number varied from time to time --- where we would spend an evening or a weekend in his room in glorious sexual indulgence. Once, I was naked for two full days. We phoned out for food and beer and watched TV between bouts of love making and raunchy sex. I must have blown Quint a dozen times that weekend, often because my labia were too sore to accommodate him again.

Quint was rough; most of the sex we had left me bruised from his rough fondling and stinging from his slaps on my bottom. My tits often hurt from his strong sucking and pinching but I was sexually satisfied in a way that I hadn't been before. He loved the illusion of forcing me to go down on my knees and take him in my mouth so I played the role for him, turning my face away and making him force his cock between my lips. His favorite position for fucking was with me on my knees and elbows and him on his knees behind me. I didn't mind; I found it extremely satisfying.

When I was at the biker house, I was "his girl," never expected to cozy up to the other guys although I gave a quick blowjob to one of them once when Quint went out to buy beer and pizza. It was a gamble and I spent the next two days terrified that Quint would find out. But the guy was so charming and had such a thick, satisfying cock that I just went down on him and got a mouthful of hot thick cum before I even thought about consequences.

When I wasn't at the house with Quint I resumed my on-campus dating; it didn't seem to bother him at all that I saw other guys and he never asked what I did for them. It was confusing. Quint seemed jealous when it came to the other bikers but completely unconcerned about the guys on campus.

The whole episode with Quint ended one cold March night when he and a biker buddy were arrested only an hour after they held up a liquor store. He got ten years and I never saw him again but my time with him had changed me more than perhaps I realized at the time.

I became less discriminating in whom I dated and, although I kept up appearances and the BMOC's never really went away, I began having other adventures. I picked up guys in the library, classes, the student union, just anywhere at all really and coming on to them outrageously until they took me back to their rooms or out in their cars for sex. I usually limited it to oral sex; I didn't really want anything from them. The satisfaction for me lay in seducing them. In a word, I was becoming a slut.

I continued this behavior with some modification through my junior year. At the end of that year I was enjoying a rare afternoon with my women acquaintances when one of them introduced me to her cousin Harold Branson, a dentistry student from the medical school across town. He was tall, lanky, quiet and had an endearing boyish shyness about him that I found irresistible. We dated through the summer and my senior year and married after my graduation the next spring.

We spent our brief honeymoon in Florida, then zipped back for Harold's last year of dental school. Harold was a gentle and considerate lover. We had gone to bed a few weeks after we met and kept up a lively sex life right up until the wedding. He was very conventional, and seemed thrilled with the enthusiastic way that I participated. One night, after several drinks and dancing, we got naked and turned on in Harold's apartment and I went down on my knees. I gave him my best effort: a blowjob that would have had any of my former dates --- or Quint for that matter --- rocketing into orbit. But I got only a lukewarm reaction from Harold. I wondered about it but shrugged it off. After all, his enthusiasm for coital sex was not in doubt.

If I missed the excitement of lovers like Quint and some of the others, Harold made up for it with a confidence in the future that I found comforting and peaceful. I began to have thoughts of settling down. After all, I had had almost four years of wild and riotous sex with countless lovers and the domestic urges that catch up with most women sooner or later were making themselves felt in me.

Harold had done two hitches in the army before spending a couple of years at the same college I had attended, then beginning dental school and so was about ten years older than I. He had another year to go before he could begin practice so I went to work and supported him while he finished. I had no cause to regret the decision. Once established, Harold's natural charm won over patients and the practice became rapidly successful. And he was never stingy with the money; I had everything I needed and a lot of what I wanted.

And so it went. Two children appeared on the scene. We moved to an exclusive suburb. We traded in one of our cars every other year. We joined a country club. I joined the Junior League. Life became very comfortable, very predictable and for a long time I found no reason to complain.

Sex had become as predictable and routine as the rest of our lives but I felt no deprivation. Harold let me know in a considerate way that he preferred the conventional to the exotic so we grew accustomed to a twice a week ritual of missionary position coupling with an occasional departure for the woman superior.

And I was happy with that until that fateful Monday morning. We had been to a party at the country club the evening before and I had danced with several men. Two or three of them gave me a breathless feeling as they held me in their arms and that old time tingle began in my thighs. Maybe that was the spark that ignited the fire. At any rate, Harold and I made perfunctory love that night when we got home and he was soon asleep, pushed under by a heavier than usual week at the office, a strenuous eighteen holes of golf on Saturday and too much alcohol Sunday night. I lay awake, mildly frustrated, for an hour or two, then drifted off with no more thought of it.

I began the next day in a sexually aroused state; my nipples were hard and heat radiated through my veins, not my usual morning condition. Harold left for his practice, I got the kids off to school and was left alone to wonder why I was so horny. Best thing to do, I reasoned, was to get out of the house so I dressed and drove across town to an up-scale shopping center.

I browsed boutiques for about an hour, then went into Barnes and Noble. Without planning it, I found myself in front of the shelf devoted to sexuality. I picked up a book entitled "Women's Sexual Fantasies" and thumbed through it stopping to read here and there. I was immediately turned on! Blood rushed to my face in embarrassment as I felt moisture seeping from my labia. I took the book, grabbed a couple of women's magazines from the display and checked out.

I crossed to the Starbucks entrance and ordered an iced latte to cool off. I plopped down at the only table available, one intended for four, and thumbed through one of the magazines with trembling fingers, breathing deeply to get control over my racing libido.

Why was this happening to me?

"Excuse me. Do you mind if we share your table?"

Two young guys stood looking down at me, cups in hand. I said yes and tried to concentrate on my magazine and latte. They were both good looking and energetic, probably students at the near-by university --- just what I didn't need in my present state! They sat and opened a large coffee table book and began animatedly discussing some of the pictures. Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "What's so interesting, guys?"

"Oh, This is a book on ancient Greece. It has some terrific photos of the Theater at Ephesus. We're constructing a model as a project for a theater history class." The taller one moved closer to the corner of the table and showed me the photo. Our knees accidentally touched and a thrill shot through me.

My God!

I thought,

Get a grip! You're out of control!

They explained to me about the structure of the ancient theater, the scene building, the seating, and the orchestra, which I learned meant "dancing circle." It was wasted on me but I could see that they enjoyed exercising their knowledge. I could also see that they were interested in me. I've been picked up dozens of times in my younger days and I've picked up guys. I know the signs. The question was, would I allow myself to be picked up or not?

The taller one, whose name was David, kept looking into my eyes as he explained about Greek theater tradition. His light gray eyes looked much deeper and held mine a few seconds longer than would have been expected. Brad, the other one, let his arm fall casually against mine. I didn't withdraw. The conversation went on and I felt David's knee press against mine with an unmistakable question. The moment was here! What I did in the next split second would determine the direction I would go. I thought of Harold, the kids, my position and a dozen other reason to flee in that split second. Then I took a shuddering breath and started to pull my knee away. But I could not! With an impulse all its own, my body betrayed my good intentions and I felt my knee returning David's pressure, answering his inquiry with one of my own.

His smile was hypnotic. I felt Brad's fingers brush across the back of my hand and almost before I was aware of it I found myself accepting an invitation to come to their apartment and see their model of the theater they were trying so hard to explain to me. I had been picked up! And I was not only willing but growing more eager by the moment! As I slid into a seat in their Mustang I made a last attempt at propriety. "I can't stay but just a minute, have to get home for the kids." It was eleven o'clock in the morning. The kids wouldn't be home till three-thirty.

At their apartment, I made a polite show of being impressed with the half-finished model although I had no idea what I was looking at. David asked if I wanted a drink.

"We have sodas, store-bought iced tea, fruit juice and some white wine from last week's party."

Before I could stop myself I said, "Wine would be nice, thanks."

I sat on the sofa and listened as they told me of their work as theater technicians. David came and sat very close to me. He had a great wit and made me laugh which, together with the wine, went a long way toward relaxing me. When I felt his hand caress my bottom I quickly downed the rest of the wine. He squeezed and I took his wrist, gently pulled his hand away, and said in a half-hearted voice, "No, you mustn't . . ." but his lips captured mine in a soft but insistent kiss and I felt myself begin to melt. He pulled me tight against him and the kiss went on. I felt Brad squeeze in on my other side and begin kissing my neck; his hand slid up my thigh and squeezed. I tore my lips from David's and turned to face Brad; a protest formed in my mind but it died as his lips pressed against mine. David's hand covered my left breast and squeezed. My nerves jangled with fear and with something else, a thrill that I hadn't known since those nights in Bobby's car under the pines. Again, I teetered on the edge of decision and finally fell down on the side of surrender. The wine glass was taken from my hand and I dropped it to David's thigh, squeezing his hard muscle through his jeans. Brad began working my pantyhose down my legs and I cooperated as best I could. David continued fondling my tits through my dress and giving me long, wet kisses. His tongue was hot in my mouth and I gave him mine willingly. My pantyhose were off and Brad's hands stroked up and down my bare thighs, then I felt his hand cover my mound and squeeze. God, I was hot and ready! I wanted nothing so much as to be fucked by one or both of these bold young men. I moaned softly as Brad's fingers slipped between my wet labia.