Zinnia Blossoms

Part 1: Great Dane,

I think I'm going mad. But that's not the worst thing.

I don't know how it got to this point. One moment everything was normal and then... I don't know. I feel like someone's reached into my life, twisted around everything I thought was normal and said, "There you go, deal with that." Nothing makes sense any more and I don't know how to get back to what I thought was normal.

But that's not the worst thing.

There's no doubt that my life - as I know it, anyway - will be over if anyone finds out about this. I shouldn't even be writing any of this down. I'm going to keep as much of this anonymous as I can without ruining the story but if someone traces this back to me then that's it, it's all over.

That's not the worst thing, either.

The worst thing, the absolute worst, is that I know I'm probably going mad... and I just don't care.

*****

Back in the days when I was normal I was -

Well. Like I said I have to hide some details. You can call me Zinnia; it's a flower I've always loved. I wanted them planted in my front garden but to be honest I've never gotten around to it. It's not my real name, of course, but sometimes I secretly wish it were. My real name is so dull, just like my life used to be. Just like I used to be - or thought I was.

I'm not that old. I just turned forty-one, actually. That's not even half a life. People seem to think a woman's over the hill as soon as she's past thirty-five but it's not true.

I'm not going to tell you what country this story - my story - happens in, either. But I will tell you that it isn't the United States. If you're in the United States and you're reading this, feel free to imagine some smoky, hot accent to go with the words. I think my voice is a bit boring but I've been told that I should be working on a phone sex line.

Maybe I will...

I used to be married. I'm tempted to give him the pseudonym 'Fuckface' but that wouldn't really be fair. Our breakup was as much my fault as it was his. Probably more mine, really. We don't talk about it so I can't tell. We'll call him Luke (not the Skywalker kind).

Luke and I met in university. We fell in love and it was an intense sort of time. I remember there was a lot of sex back then; he popped my cherry before we were even dating. We both played around a bit with other people but always gravitated back to each other. When he got me pregnant I decided to drop out and he decided to propose. It wasn't exactly fairytale romance material but it was love. It was real.

My son was born and we both got jobs. Everyone told us it was a stupid thing we'd done - I mean, they were happy things were working out (I think) but they all thought, you know, university romance, unexpected pregnancy, hasty marriage. No way was that going to work out, right?

A few years later we had twin girls and that shut everyone up. Not only that but we renewed our vows. It seems silly to get upset over that now but I miss him. Whoever was at fault I miss him. Maybe I just got used to him. I don't know. But even when my bed's not empty at night...

It doesn't matter now. This isn't about him except in as much as he left and there was a man-shaped hole where he used to be.

Luke vanished. I don't mean he went with no provocation; there were months of arguments, years of tension, beforehand. We kept it hidden from the kids as best we could but our marriage was in trouble. He said some stupid stuff, I said some stupid stuff and suddenly the gap between us got really wide, really fast. One day after work I got home to find the twins crying over a note they'd found. Luke had gone and had taken most of his personal things. He wasn't coming back. My marriage was over.

Seems such a stupid way to start the story but it's how things went. He left, my girls cried, my son punched a hole in the hallway wall. I kept it together for them and cried myself to sleep where they couldn't see... but I suppose they could hear.

He really never did come back. The next and last time I saw him was at the divorce hearing. He said he wanted joint custody of the kids; his own children told him (in court, mind you) to 'fuck off and die.' He hasn't seen them since. I wish I could say I've done my best to try and convince them to see their father but I haven't. I've told them a couple of times they should see him but I don't push back when they refuse to. I probably would if Luke bothered to try to keep in touch with them more.

So that's the stupid story of my stupid marriage and how it ended. Stupidly.

The rest of it... I'll warn you, it gets a bit weird.

*****

I don't like television much. I love books and I play on my computer way too much. I read things online and follow some blogs but television really hasn't ever thrilled me. So the story really starts on my birthday, my fortieth birthday, three years after my divorce.

Let me tell you this much: when I was in high school I was a terrible flirt. I was young and gorgeous and I knew that flirting with the boys got my parents riled so I did it a lot. My first sexual experience was with my older brother's best friend - we didn't get too far but he felt my boobs and I sucked him off. He came way too quickly. We were both virgins, you see. When I was in university I was a much, much worse flirt but it wasn't until Luke and I fucked in the back seat of his car that I really got going. That was terrible, let me tell you. Nothing magical about it. We were both drunk and he could barely keep it up. But he got me off with his tongue and boy! Did that open the floodgates!

Sex in university was fun. I had an awful lot of it. It didn't bother me too much if it was a cock I was sucking or a clit under my tongue, I was bisexual and I knew it. Even the pregnancy scares didn't stop me. It wasn't until Luke and I really started actually dating that I slowed down. It's probably a good thing I dropped out of uni because I'd completely fucked up my studies. I'd have had to screw my lecturers just to pass – and to be honest I don't think that would have bothered me in the slightest.

Our sex life after we married slowed down a lot. I was as horny as anything when I was pregnant with my son and Luke got a real pregnancy kink going on for a while but it was totally different with my girls. My libido dropped right off. A typical morning during my first pregnancy saw me bent over a kitchen bench with my belly hanging down, Luke's cock pounding in and out of me like a piston while I shrieked at him to go harder, faster. During my second, though, I was lucky if I could summon the desire to swallow a load of Luke's juice before he left for the office. Work was bad for Luke around then, too, so we didn't fuck at all when I was carrying the twins. And after that, I don't know, we just never got back to our usual steam.

But with the exception of my second pregnancy I'd never gone more than a few months without Luke in me. Not since we met at uni; even when we weren't dating we were fucking on the side. I wish I could honestly say everyone we were dating knew about it, too, but I can't.

Three years without sex was maddening. The very day after the divorce I spent about sixty percent of it, I think, masturbating and crying at the same time - I've got no idea what I was thinking, so seriously, don't ask - and then bam, no libido for six months. My best friend told me I was 'licking my wounds'. Licking was the furthest thing from my mind but I sure as hell felt wounded. After that it took another six just to get comfortable enough to masturbate again at all. All three of my kids live with me. The twins are just starting university themselves and my son helps with the rent, mostly because if he didn't I'd have to move out and he's got this thing where he doesn't want anyone outside the family having the home he grew up in. Fingering yourself when your kids might hear - adult kids who know what masturbation sounds like - is intimidating. At least it is for me. Was for me.

I started masturbating, really, when I started playing MMOs. You can meet some seriously horny people on those games. That was a really fun time - I met a bunch of people and joined a guild who were all into the same sorts of things as me. Hell, we were role-playing orgies just as often as we were raiding or anything else. At one point the guild leader - she was so hot - even built a secure room in our Ventrilo server and started fucking herself so we could hear. She was a hell of a screamer so it was a mess of shrieking, buzzing and wet, sexy noises, punctuated by the men and women of the guild frigging themselves and accidentally hitting their push-to-talk buttons now and then.

And yeah, I have to admit - I joined in. I hadn't been so damn wet since... I don't know how long, really.

But then things went wrong and people got angry. Arguments broke out, people got jealous, girls got bitchy, guys butted heads and before you knew it the whole guild just... imploded. I stopped playing MMOs after that. I was a bit heartbroken, to be honest. They tell me that kind of thing happens all the time but that didn't make it hurt any less.

So my attention switched to Tumblr. A friend suggested I start a blog there. I've no real idea why but it certainly gave me things to, um, think about. There's one dirty mother in particular I found early on when I first joined and her posts are really fun. Most days I spend a good while in my room with a towel on the chair under me and my fingers working hard, the other hand on the scroll wheel of my mouse.

When I get going really hard I put a foot up on the desk, too, to kind of brace myself and open myself wide for some deep fingering or a toy. I don't squirt - I wish I did - but I get really wet so the towel's important.

*****

I've gone this far through the story - well, the backstory, I guess - and I've only just realised I haven't described myself. I bet you're wondering. I'll warn you, though - I'm going to be honest.

Once I had really long hair. It brushed the top of my backside it was so long. I had to braid it or risk sitting on it. That's all gone, though. Not long after my divorce I went a bit... crazy, I guess. The stress of the situation, I suppose. So I shaved my head. No, really, I mean off completely. I even took my leg razor to it. Not even fuzz left, completely bald. Then I let it grow back and when it got to the right length I had it done in a cute pixie cut and I've kept it that way since. My hair's a really rich red. Most people think I've dyed it but it's all-natural. When I let my bush grow it's like a tangle of brass wire but I usually keep that shaved as smooth as I can.

Don't let anyone fool you, guys; it's a pain in the arse for girls to keep ourselves this hairless and neat so if your girl's hairless you'd better fucking appreciate it. And if she's not hairless you'd better fucking appreciate that too.

I've got long legs. I used to be a model, actually, between my son's and my twins' births. Not a big flashy model, no runways or anything, just clothing catalogues. But I've got the legs still. I'm lucky that they've stayed shapely. They lead up to an arse that's nice and rounded but, I don't know, maybe a bit big? I've always struggled with my weight and I've got a few extra kilos on me. I'm not fat but I'm definitely curvy. No wire-thin girl, me. My twins have the same shape, too - rounded boobs, rounded arse, good waist, long legs. We're hourglass ladies. Our waists aren't wasp-thin or anything but we can turn heads and seriously, get us in corsets and we've got all the eyes on our curves.

I have a lot of freckles and really fine skin. It probably sounds lovely but it means I have to stay indoors a lot because I sunburn way too easily. Just a bit of sun makes me freckle all the more, too. My shoulders and back particularly. I got teased for it a lot when I was younger and then, surprise surprise, after my peers passed puberty I was suddenly getting attention of a different sort.

My face is pretty but it'd be prettier if I had green eyes. I don't. I've got kind of steel blue eyes. My face would probably be a lovely heart shape if it weren't round - that's the extra weight talking, you see. I like my lips, though. Cupid's bow lips, maybe a touch on the thin side, but when I gloss them up they still look luscious and young.

And I have really nice boobs, too, a lot like my twins do. Mine, however, aren't entirely naturally so. I mean, I am in my forties and I have breastfed three kids. I started to sag after thirty, just like my mother did, and the extra weight didn't help. Then when my marriage started getting really rocky I took some of my savings and got a boob job. You know, to try and keep his interest. Seems silly and co-dependent now but even though I still lost Luke I did get to keep a nice pair of tits so I figure – a bit spitefully, I admit – that it was a net gain. I only really got a breast lift, I didn't get implants or anything, but it was enough. They're the sort of breasts that people want to grab and hold. My best friend's always got her hands on them when she's a bit drunk. Her husband doesn't seem to mind. Actually he seems to really like it.

Before you ask, no, I haven't fucked either of them. She's seen me naked but in different context; he hasn't so much as seen a nipple. He gets all red when he's watching the two of us flirt, though, and his pants get very... bulgy. So I know he's interested. I guess it might even be a possibility. It's just never really come up as a topic of serious conversation. Not even when we're drunk.

When I get up I have a shower. I usually play with myself just enough to get really hot - I can rarely cum when I'm not sitting or lying down - and then I put on my robe and go online in my room for a while to finish myself off. On a good day I've got my leg up, propped against the edge of the desk, and I'm going at it really hard with a dildo or my fingers, trying to cum as hard as I can but trying to keep my voice down. When I'm really close I start making little squeaking noises and I have to bite my lip hard, my nipples go very solid and I start sweating all over. My skin goes red, too, starting in the cheeks and going down until my whole chest is a bright rosy colour in a kind of bib between my breasts.

That's the hot mess I was in when my son walked in one day.

*****

Falling over backwards off your chair isn't a fun thing to do and it's really not conducive to a good hard orgasm. Watching your dildo bounce across the floor leaving a trail of your own juices, that can be fun, but not under those circumstances.

Poor Dane. He had no idea what to do. His mother had just hit the floor with a loud bang. Her head had just smacked against the floorboards with a worrying thump. His first instinct was to come forward and help.

I, of course, was mortified. I covered my face with one hand and yelled at him to get out; it took a second yell for him to actually go, blushing redder than my hair and stuttering apologies. I heard him go back downstairs at a pretty high speed. It was only then that I actually put a hand back to check how much damage I'd done the back of my head. It hurt. I'd have a lump for a while.

What? What were you expecting, "Oooh Dane, Mummy's got a problem you can help her with"? Life doesn't work that way.

I went downstairs some time later, after I'd dressed and felt like facing my son wouldn't make me die of shame on the spot. No orgasm that morning.

*****

Dane was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. He never drinks coffee unless he's scared or stressed, otherwise it's tea. He wouldn't look at me as I went to the freezer and got a bag of frozen peas out to soothe the back of my head with. We were both red-cheeked. I sat down opposite him and we still didn't look at each other for a while. I knew he'd gotten a prime look at me. I'd been right on the edge of orgasm when he came in. There's no way I could pass off what I'd been doing as something else.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

"I'm sorry, honey," I said.

The look he gave me was outright disbelieving. "What? I walked in on you, not the other way around."

"Yes, but I should have... I don't know. Locked the door."

"There's no lock on your door."

"Well, I shouldn't have been... Doing that."

There was a long pause then. The door banged open and my twins came through, Sally and Sandy. Not their real names, any more than mine is Zinnia or Dane's is Dane, but they'll do. Sally and Sandy are identical twins and they look a hell of a lot like I did at their age. They barely paused to look at Dane's coffee and my expression; the bag of peas confused them but they passed on into the living room giggling about something that young people giggle about.

"I'm calling bullshit, Mum," Dane said quietly after the girls had left.

"Pardon?" My eyebrows rose; there's no way he'd have spoken to me like that when his father was around but now that Luke was gone things had changed. I'd insisted that since Dane was contributing to the house financially that he could speak to me as an equal breadwinner, but it was still a bit surprising when he actually did.

"You were -" He cut off and looked toward the lounge room. The sound of the television was on (that's something my daughters and I don't share). "You were getting yourself off. You weren't strangling puppies."

"Dane!"

He blushed. It's not the sort of thing he'd say and he knew it. There was a long awkward pause.

That pause was broken by the lounge room door banging violently open. Sandy was storming through and she had Sally right on her heels.

"If you hit Mum I'll cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you," she warned in a low, dangerous voice that made it clear she wasn't joking.

Dane and I stared at her.

"What?" he managed eventually.

Sandy looked uncomfortable, as if it weren't the reaction she was expecting. "Her head. She's got a hurt head. If you -"

"I fell out of bed, Sandy," I said, sounding a lot more tired than I felt. Sandy has, I hate to admit it, my temper - she jumps to conclusions without really working out the steps in the middle. "I fell out of bed and bumped my head."

"And couldn't get up in the mooorning!" Sally sang cheerily.

"Something like that," I admitted.

"I wouldn't hit Mum," Dane said softly. "I wouldn't ever hit her."

Dane is a big man. Luke isn't as big, he had the same sort of height - a little over six feet - but where Dane has filled his frame in with wiry muscle Luke's is softer due to years of office work. The way he said that, though, I thought he might burst into tears. He sounded so hurt. Sandy heard the tone too. She didn't apologise but she did retreat back into the lounge room, shame-faced. Sally shrugged at us and headed after her sister.

I stretched out and put my hand over Dane's. It was a carefully-washed hand. The fact is that if I hadn't washed it then it would have smelled like, well, me. That fact didn't escape me but I made sure not to take my hand away.

"It's not your fault, Mum," he insisted. "It's his fault for leaving you alone. And it's mine for barging in on you."

"Maybe," I began hesitantly, "maybe I should start looking at dating." It was a suggestion I wasn't overly excited about and I'd been cautious about voicing it around my children.

Dane's hand tensed up under mine. His eyes grew dark and troubled; he drank more of his coffee. But eventually he nodded.

"Yeah." He had his be-strong-for-Mum voice on. "Maybe."

*****

Dane works as a courier. It's good money, really, and it's only local for the most part so he's usually home. I had him when I was twenty so he's twenty-two now. My girls, on the other hand, don't work at all. They go to university and often aren't home for days at a time. They're both nineteen. I have no idea what Luke does and I don't care either, but I hope it involves bleeding. I, on the other hand, work at home.