With all of this hullabaloo going on in the news of late about battered women, I have felt compelled to tell my story. My name is Marie.
I know I am probably in the minority, but I am a woman who doesn't mind being slapped around a bit if it leads to me getting a good screwing.
I have always been a woman who doesn't mind giving a man a little lip if it's in order. If I have been drinking a little bit I will get up in a man's face, the face of my two husbands, and give them what for. When they were I live, I would antagonize them to the point to where they would lift their hand to me, threatening like. All that did was make me more arrogant and mouthy, until I would get slapped around bit. As always was the case sex would come up and I would swear they would never get any my pussy, which usually got me threatened or beat a little more. I know it was the alcohol talking, cause I really wanted to screw, but at the time tempers flared. My mind was set on not giving it up, while theirs was set on getting it - pussy.
I'm 64 now and in my younger years there were very few women being taken up for like they are today. In my time you had three choices - except the occasional smack upside the head (in my case I usually deserved it), go home to mama for a while, which I have been known to do, or fight back. I chose to fight back, literally. But damn, the makeup sex was awesome!
You get a man thinking about taking what he thinks is his and his cock will feel like a steel shaft inside of you. You won't get a "Wham Bam thank you ma'am" screwing either. Both my men would screw my ass off, letting me know that they were more than willing to rape my ass if that's what it took. A few good orgasms and I would become a kitten and love them all the more for it.
But all good things come to an end and I have been alone for the last 10 years. My men are dead. But there is my 43-year-old son and that's why I'm here writing.
I was a good mother and rarely picked on my son for much of anything. The proverbial mother, my son could do no wrong. We were close and when he got married it bothered the hell out of me. I thought his wife domineering and he never seemed to want to do anything about it. She was continuously trying to get him to move out of the area. Who would take care of me if that happened.
I needed to keep him near - give him a reason to want to stay near - sex was the answer. But I was not capable of a subtle, loving seduction.
My combative nature took over and I began to harass his ass excessively, continuously accusing him of cheating on his wife with a woman in my apartment building, getting stains on his car's back seat with some slut etc. or looking at me in an inappropriate way. Of course I gave him reason to look at me, as I began to dress to attract the roaming eye of any man I passed. Nat, my son, took me often to a truck stop to have breakfast. Boy! I got the looks there. Used to drive him nuts! As I did with my husbands, I did everything I could do to make Nat angry, always with a sexual connotation fitted in broad thought where it would do the most good.
Then one day I told a welfare worker, a black male, that I had not had a man in 10 years. You're damn right, I was hoping! But, the son of a bitch told my son what I had said. We both had a fuming argument about it and when I got right up in his face, telling him it was none of his business who I screwed, I was certain he was going to slap me. I was disappointed when he didn't, plus the argument left me horny as hell as it usually did when I upset him and we argued. I was anxious for him to screw me.
I will tell you that at 64 I can still have two orgasms in short order and three if I want to work at it a while. I love to lay on my belly, putting my finger on my clit and flex my ass on my finger. It's good stuff, I tell you!
Now for the good stuff! I know you're are wondering if I succeeded.
Nat had taken me to the bank and I had mentally thought myself into a frenzy to sound sincere. Nearing my apartment building I spat across the car to him, "which one of those bitches at the bank are you screwing to get her to give you money out of my account!"
His face turned beet red and I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the steering wheel. "What the hell are you talking about!" He shot back at me.
I knew I had hit a nerve. He was in a bad mood, not getting any pussy at home, as he complained often, just this morningh, or whatever. In any case I knew I had my cat claws in him deep and I wasn't about to let go.
"It must be the blonde bitch." I accused. "You always did like a fat ass bitch. Does she screw you good?"
"You're bat crap crazy! You silly bitch! What do you do, wake up and go to bed horny. I know what you're trying to do. What you have been trying to do for a month or more. You want me to fuck you! Ever since you told that social worker you haven't had a man in 10 years."
"Don't you use that kind of damn language with me, young man! I'm knock the shit out of you!" I shot back at him, knowing I had his goat but I honestly really didn't like that word.
Pulling into the parking space, he opened his door and got out, slamming the door hard. I got out and followed close behind him as he headed for the entrance door.
As the elevator door closed, I reminded him I needed to give him some money for gas.
"Forget the gas money!" He snapped. "I'll just get my coat out of your dryer. Then, you can finger-fuck yourself silly if you want to."
How did he know? It infuriated me knowing that he knew that I did something like that. But maybe he was just pushing my buttons too!
"I don't need to finger myself. I can have any damn man in this apartment building that I want."
"So why don't you have one?"
I slapped him hard. I got the expected response and a bit more. He shoved be hard against the elevator wall and lifted his hand to return the smack, but he stopped short, reached down to lift my skirt and grab a handful of my crotch. His finger jab at my pussy.
