Jade's Awakening

[BDJ]

My wife has always been beautiful to me, more so now in our later years…even in the face of a multitude of health issues that’s slowly turning her once-lustrous black hair grey. We’ve been married 52 years, and it was only four months after our wedding that I convinced her to screw my best man.

Marriage is a contract—a promise to each other to be there whatever happens. Ours has been sorely tested but we’ve survived, even through strains the swinging lifestyle had put on us. It is the story of that beginning: of her emergence as a shared wife, that I am going to tell.

I’m the writer in the family, and after a health issue which left me permanently impotent, I found it cathartic to write about our sex life. Initially, when I proposed posting it here, she objected to a factual account, fearing discovery. So I’ve written a narrative that fictionalized our life: Jade: My Story. It can be found in the Library.

Recently she gave me permission to tell of our beginnings. I need to make it clear: it is in her words; her memories being recounted, but I am writing it.

I’m putting it in the Hotwife section because it's true. And since it describes our early years it might not be as titillating as other stories told here.

Anyway, I hope you find this novel approach enjoyable. Comments, as always, are welcome.

[BDJ]

Jade’s Awakening

1: Ex situ

I wiggled a little on his lap, an action so unlike me, but I couldn’t help it, the unexpected feelings emulating from my pussy prompted me after I’d settled atop his lanky frame. I wondered if it would get bigger. Another wiggle. Umm, I felt it twitch, then push up harder against my butt. I tittered quietly, delighted at that response. He tried to act cool, but the look on his face gave him away. It almost shocked me; he was embarrassed! To cover my confusion I put one arm around his neck, wondering about that reaction. I mean, wasn’t having a girl do that supposed to signal she liked feeling his cock? Still, I couldn’t help it, I wanted to get a reaction. I wiggled again, my way of asking if he wanted it to continue. He just put his hand around my waist and smiled shyly, seemingly helpless about how to respond. I quit after that, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable.

His reaction surprised me but also made me wonder at my behavior—at being so willing to do it. He didn’t know I was as innocent as he seemed to be: an ingénue, tentatively taking my first real step into exploring my sexuality. Deliberately sitting on a man’s lap and trying to see if I could get him hard—I’d never done that. Later I found out this had been a first for him too. He’d never responded that way before; in fact it had been an embarrassment when he was with girls. He’d been told a guy’s cock was supposed to get hard when a female touched him: his never did.

It wasn’t like I was a tease—or even experienced. Yes, I was older than him by three years, but that didn’t mean anything. Unlike most girls who’d gone to college by 1967, my upbringing had prevented me from experimenting with sex. My parents were very religious and expected me to be a good girl around boys; to wait for marriage like they’d obviously done. But I was allowed to date; them seeing it as a way to keep me at home. They’d been too strict with my older sister and she’d run off and gotten married to someone they weren’t sure about. It was nice to have a social life, even though most of my dates were with neighborhood boys; ones they thought safe. And I was good with that. The raging hormones that had briefly overwhelmed me when I’d gone through puberty had ceased to control my thoughts. Art was my consuming passion: learning about it and making it. So when I dated I fought off wandering hands rather than give in like my sister had.

I was an innocent all through school, so much so that by the time I left home I’d only seen a male appendage twice. The first was my brother’s soft cock when I was fourteen. It had sent my libido into overdrive and I think I’d have let him fuck me if he’d tried. The other time was when I was eighteen and had stayed over at my sister’s tiny rental house. My brother-in-law had purposely made sure I saw his stiff dick one morning as I’d passed their bedroom returning from a pee. I wasn’t surprised he’d done it, knowing he’d been peeping at me through a crack in the poorly constructed porch bath. It pricked my curiosity of what a stiff cock would feel like—but not his, the jerk.

It wasn’t until I’d transferred to a small liberal arts college far from home that I rethought my attitude toward sex; initiated by a book about relationships assigned in a psychology class. The book was boring—except the chapter on erotic love. For the first time I understood a little about how nature wired females to react to a male's advances. I questioned my lack of interest in sex, wondering what I had missed out on. But the boys I dated were just childhood friends, not ones that might affect me that way. That book caused me to rethink my decision to remain chaste—and what I’d do if I actually was attracted to someone. I might not resist like I’d done in the past.

No one had ever tempted me like that though, so I was left with my imagination—leading me to masturbate. Sometimes at night an urge would come over me; I’d get a feeling between my legs like something was supposed to be there or maybe inside my pussy. I learned to make the corner of my pillow into a hard tip and wedge it between my legs, then hump it until my clitoris grew hard and erotic sensations overwhelmed me. Some of those orgasms were mild, like heat spreading through my body; some intense, making me want to cry out. I never allowed myself to do that—my parent’s bedroom was right next door. But normally it was rare I got that urge. I’d go for long periods when I didn’t even think about sex, being so caught up in my art studies. Leaving home, being on my own, seemed to be the catalyst that reinvigorated my libido.

Tonight the decision to go Christmas caroling and having to wait in line to board the bus synced with an opportunity to let myself go. It was serendipitous. Up to that point the activity had simply seemed like a good way to pass the time; but then a masculine voice had sounded behind me to ask where I was from. Turning I saw a tall skinny boy with brown eyes and a questioning look on his face. He was kind of cute so I smiled and started talking to him.

Then we’d been the last ones to board the bus and only one seat was empty. Feeling mischievous, I’d volunteered to sit on his lap. That was so different from what I would have done at home. Now, feeling his long thing press against me I was glad I did. The niggle of need between my legs was back and I was getting aroused.

That only increased when I found myself holding hands with him. I don’t know who initiated it—we were following the others, singing away, when a sudden pause jostled us and it just happened. It felt natural, like it was meant to be, so I kept my hand in his. My pussy definitely liked it, sending little tingles through my body, even doing a flip when he looked at me and smiled happily.

I smiled back but then hid my gaze by looking intently at the song lyrics we’d been given, unwilling to let him see me blush. Still, I liked the warm glow I felt as we meandered down halls lined with the elderly; their faces so open and innocent. Whenever our eyes met it struck me my companion had that same look. By the end of the night we knew where the other lived on campus; had even exchanged addresses. I don’t know why I did that. After all, I’d only just met him.

Christmas Eve at my house had always been a special time for family to gather. My brother was on leave from Germany while my sister lived only a few minutes away. Presents were opened with everyone waiting patiently to find out who got what. Walker had sent something; surprising and pleasing me to no end. I wanted to open it privately so had placed it aside, hoping it would get lost in the jumble of wrapping strewn about the floor. That was not to be: my sister stopped everyone from leaving and handed it to me, a smirk on her face, knowing my parents recognized it as from a boy I’d just met. She wanted to put me on the spot; to embarrass me.

She succeeded. I gripped my present, looked at their expectant faces, then hesitantly removed the mailing paper. It was wrapped in old Sunday comics. Oh Lord, I thought, who does that? Couldn’t he even afford wrapping paper? I dreaded what I would find next, but was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a small stuffed animal. Not a normal one; this dog was covered in splotches of green, yellow, and orange. I noticed a key on its thigh. When I wound it a sleep melody played and the puppy’s head slowly rotated. It was so sweet! In that moment I knew I’d date Walker when he asked, and if he was too shy I’d get up enough courage to ask him.

For the remainder of Christmas break I found myself daydreaming about going out with Walker; what we could do together. Inserting itself among the things I imagined was the thought of making out. I wanted to be alone with him to see if he could arouse me again like he’d unwittingly done on our caroling trip. Then I wondered how far I would go if he did. On my past dates a boy had occasionally gotten past my defenses to get a brief grab of my breasts, but no one had ever come close to getting into my panties.

Would I allow Walker that privilege?

Getting him to ask me out hadn’t been much of a problem. I just mentioned wanting to see a movie that was only shown at the local drive-in theater. We’d hit it off so well after we had returned from vacation I found myself anticipating his touch. To prepare I’d bought a bra that hooked in front and some lacy bikini panties. Since he was a freshman and couldn’t have a car we went in mine. And while it was small it had a bench seat that would allow us to explore…and for me to give in to his roaming hands.

It didn’t happen.

It started out okay. My plan had been that if I liked what he did up top I’d let him feel my pussy. For the longest time all we’d done was make out; the movie forgotten. I discovered he could kiss really well. When I complimented him he was embarrassed; admitting he’d practiced on willing dates, doing the things his sisters had described girls liked. They’d done really well teaching him how to get to first base. Apparently they weren’t so comfortable telling him what it took to get to second base, much less third. And that’s what I’d wanted since the movie started—for him to try. I longed to feel his hands on my bare skin; to experience the pulsations in my pussy from my nipples being rubbed.

I’d started the date with the first two buttons of my blouse already undone, my idea of being risqué—of letting him know I was available. But Walker hadn’t even attempted to feel my breasts, much less get his hand up the short skirt I’d deliberately worn. It was so frustrating! I’m ready, I silently screamed, why can’t you see that! It looked like the night would end like all my other dates had, with me remaining chaste—only this time I wouldn’t have had to fight him off.

I was sure he liked me; but he was being so polite! Then it occurred to me he might be afraid to feel me up; scared of offending me. Perhaps his sisters hadn’t liked those aggressive hands either and had warned him not to do it with someone special. I didn’t know. Finally I decided to push matters along; to see if he could take a hint. I waited until we came up for air after a long and passionate kiss, then moved my hand to the opening of my blouse, making it seem like a nervous gesture. When I saw he was looking I flicked open a button.

He raised his eyes to mine and it was like seeing a lightbulb go off in his head. Still, a questioning look marked his face. My response was to smile shyly, then demurely avert my gaze. I felt his hand touch mine, now descended to the next button. He moved it aside. I watched wide eyed as his trembling fingers fumbled, then succeeded in releasing it. He followed up by moving my blouse aside, exposing my bra and much of my tummy. Then nothing. My chest heaved in anticipation, impatient now for it to happen. It was almost like he was afraid to touch me. I took his hand and placed it on my bra covered breast.

I didn’t know it at the time, but encouraging that gesture of intimacy was the first step toward a life I never could have imagined.

[Chrislydi]

These vivid memories now imprinted on the mind of how they met and stumblingly found each other, is not so much a coming of age but the first small baby steps away from complete ignorance and absolute innocence, but for all that you sense, taste and touch that huge depth of feeling from the sepia images of long ago. This is writing straight from the heart of embryonic beginnings, the very start of a precious and long lasting relationship and an emotional baring of the soul.

When a highly gaseous and unstable liquid is corked and contained within a transparent and far too small container, you can actually see the build up of pressure as it's exerted on the cork, you see the increasingly explosive force building from within and know a release is needed before it becomes uncontainable. It's a useful analogy to keep in mind as we hear of Jade's background.

'...my upbringing had prevented me from experimenting with sex. My parents were very religious and expected me to be a good girl around boys; to wait for marriage like they’d obviously done.'

So presumably a rather closeted and sheltered or severely restricted early life which must have been difficult when the inevitable raging hormones of puberty had started to control her thoughts. We hear of the elder sister who sought her own escape by running away with her man and then realise just how much of a straight jacket she had to wear. You can understand then the pressure that is building with no outlets but only dates with friends who happen to be boys, but none with lovers. That this small wriggling while sitting on her favoured boy's knee would be such a huge thing for her would be unfathomable for most, and yet when considering that lack of opportunity, that pressure to experiment and find out things was a need and nothing so small, tiny and trivial. Even Walker's tentative responses (I'm going by the name given him in the library stories) have Jade in self doubt wondering if she's a tease, and why on earth would she act so 'promiscuously'?

This is an evocative account of the very beginnings, that first gradual release of the building pressure and the equally confused fumblings of her chosen lanky boyfriend. It's an account of those minor steps that for them were so major, singng carols and holding hands, the cute first Christmas present and the first date at the drive-in theatre, those very first steps to tempt him with glimpses of her newly bought fancy bra and those thoughts of maybe taking things much further too. Wasn't it so predictable that the equally hugely inexperienced Walker was so averse to progressing beyond kissing, never mind third and fourth base ! Can you imagine the frustrated longings and thwarted desires, and yet this time it's not so much through external restrictions but entirely because of Walker's own lack of confidence and knowledge.

It was a small step but the real beginnings when Walker touched her covered breast, but even then it had to be Jade leading Walker along the path away from first to second, in effect the blind leading the blind.

'I took his hand and placed it on my bra covered breast.'

Perhaps it wasn't exactly one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind, but for them it was every bit the fireworks and explosions of the heart, it was the very start of something special. After all that waiting and standing still, the build up of pressure accompanied by nervousness or lack of any unrestricted opportunity with the opposite sex, and now it's finally come so relatively late in their youth, but now definitely it had arrived, the very start, the beginning to everything.

BDJ is quite exceptional in his ability to take us back in time and with the help of his beloved wife, has taken us back fifty or so years ago to a small southern town where families have their own religiously inspired code and morals. It's a small community and a severely restricted life and perhaps not so easy in the present day to put that straight jacket around you and think just how restrictive it would be. BDJ for me achieves all of that and it's a very notable and valuable talent.

Chris and Cath

[Johng1953]

What a great start. I actually wonder if this lifelong relationship would have even started if Walker had been as brash as Jade's previous suitors.

[BDJ]

Walker (me) had been pussy-whipped since puberty, and more so by four older sisters when dating started at sixteen. They took out all their frustrations from lousy dates on me. I was afraid to be aggressive, especially with, as my mother said, nice girls. No fun until this ravishing raven haired beauty (and she really was!) decided I was to be the one she got frisky with. Even at that we were both timid.

BDJ

[BDJ]

Chris and Cath,

I really would love for the four of us to meet and spend an evening getting to know each other better. You two get us so well. But perhaps the generational difference would be too great. After all, we're in our mid-70s: grandparent material. We both appreciate the attention you've given to our story; and your analysis is always spot-on. It encourages us to delve deeper into our memories for those tidbits of information that will make this new effort more interesting.

BDJ

[Chrislydi]

Chris and Cath,

I really would love for the four of us to meet and spend an evening getting to know each other better. You two get us so well. But perhaps the generational difference would be too great. After all, we're in our mid-70s: grandparent material. We both appreciate the attention you've given to our story; and your analysis is always spot-on. It encourages us to delve deeper into our memories for those tidbits of information that will make this new effort more interesting.

BDJ

We both appreciate your kind words on our posts even if undeserved. You're both no great age at all and anyway as we get older we acquire all the great wisdom we really needed when younger. The way you've strengthened your bond and love is a great example to us too.

Fully identifying with the principal characters by mentally transporting yourself into the time, place and situation, and then experiencing the adventure for yourself as if you were really there, is all part and parcel of the great pleaaure reading can provide. Unfortunately not every author has the requisite ability to paint the scene with sufficient colour and background, to set the atmosphere and detail the presiding mores of the time so exactly. We've found that you achieve such a feat quite effortlessly, letting us step into that time machine before propelling us backward in time to that small southern town more than half a century ago. Your writing is quite masterly especially when aided by your beloved wife's intricate and detailed accounts, the result both inspires you and enthralls ourselves.

Chris and Cath

[john jasson]

Thank you for directing me to your real life story thread. I'm so pleased that you did. I'm a teenager again as I become immersed once more in that exquisite time of life when the innocence of youth is impatient for the anticipated ecstasy of experience. Bravo. You totally capture the vibe and I can readily see that it's a labour of love dedicated to your cherished lady. I empathise completely with that emotion because the same one guides my own writing. Your story is beautiful. I implore you to continue.

[BDJ]

I'm going to employ a device that Chris, and I think John Jasson, employed when posting a new segment. I know there is a lot of time between posts; lots of thinking going on to select and arrange things in such a way as to give the reader the most information as well as sufficiently develop the story. That tactic is to preface the new part with a little of the old as a reminder. I like it.

Read this to get in the mood for the next segment of our awakening.

Finally I decided to push matters along; to see if he could take a hint. I waited until we came up for air after a long and passionate kiss, then moved my hand to the opening of my blouse, making it seem like a nervous gesture. When I saw he was looking I flicked open a button.

He raised his eyes to mine and It was like seeing a lightbulb go off in his head. Still, a questioning look marked his face. My response was to smile shyly, then demurely avert my gaze. I felt his hand touch mine, now descended to the next button. He moved it aside. I watched wide eyed as his trembling fingers fumbled, then succeeded in releasing it. He followed up by moving my blouse aside, exposing my bra and much of my tummy. Then nothing. My chest heaved in anticipation, impatient now for it to happen. It was almost like he was afraid to touch me. I took his hand and placed it on my bra covered breast.

[BDJ]

2: In situ

“Walker,” I hissed, “he’s right down the hall!” My fiancée was unperturbed, his hands still pulling my pants down, taking my panties with them. He’d closed the door to my studio in the art building, one of just a few rooms that were given to a chosen few. Doing that was prohibited when mixed genders were inside and I was worried I’d lose it; that my professor, who had his own work area close by, would hear us. But Walker was undeterred—and extremely horny.

Once he had achieved his goal he’d begun to use his tongue on my slit, to lavish attention on those thin protruding butterfly lips; a prelude before teasing my clit. All I could do was wait patiently, getting increasingly aroused, knowing his hand was stroking his cock: that he was getting off by getting me off. It was dangerous. That shouldn’t have excited me, but it did…some.

I was glad only a month was left before the semester ended and I’d graduate. It was hard to believe two years had already gone by. He had another two years to go. But things would be different, I’d already scored a job as an art teacher in a nearby county. It wouldn’t leave me much time to sculpt but I was eyeing some night classes that’d allow me access to the studio full time. Then too, we’d finally be out of the dorm, each living in rooms in town. I shivered at the possibilities.

I was still scared but fully into it as Walker quietly took us through a well-practiced routine to get to our orgasms. I could barely hear my professor talking to someone further down the hall. Maybe he’d leave soon. I sighed at the necessity of allowing Walker to do this to me. Since I was adamant we weren’t going to have sex we’d decided mutual masturbation was the best way to stave off our almost uncontrollable needs—desires I’d never known existed until we started dating and petting heavily—going right to the edge of having sex. Practice at stimulating each other had led to our present comfort level. But it was hard finding private places since we both lived on-campus, so we were always casting about for somewhere to park our car; isolated enough for us to feel free to lose some clothes and really get into each other. It was not without its dangers. Parking at one such spot had led to the scariest moment of my life. And although it’d happened the previous year it still had an impact on me. Sometimes, when we were in a situation I knew I shouldn’t have let happen, like now, I’d relive it.

My mind had just brought up the memory when Walker chose that moment to insert a finger into my pussy…and suddenly I was back there, the darkness all around us as we rutted in his little car…

…and I’m almost there. Walker’s doing his part; kissing my neck and worrying his tongue on the sensitive spot behind my ear, while his fingers act like a cock; pistoning inside my pussy. My breathing is haggard, my eyes so tightly closed I’m beginning to see swirls of light invade the black expanse behind my eyelids. Desperate to orgasm, I begin to really frig my clit. Suddenly I’m on fire. Oh, God! Uhhhh! Uhhhh! My head snaps back as my back arches…

Rap, rap, rap. A pause. Again, an insistent tap. Somehow those noises penetrate my brain even as its simultaneously registering the sudden emptiness in my vagina. Silence, then a third time—this time louder. So abruptly interrupted, I’m only half aware as I look toward the sound—the car’s side window. A light is slowly moving on the other side, taking us both in with its bright beam. Another movement outside as a face emerges into my field of vision. Suddenly mortified, I realize I’m almost naked: my blouse pulled far down my arms, my bra gone. If that weren’t bad enough my skirt’s bunched around my waist, panties dangling from one ankle—leaving my puffy pussy on full display as a cone of illumination settles on my glistening labial lips.

Again the rapid raps on the window, then a hand indicating I should roll it down. I look fearfully over at Walker. He’s looking pale as a ghost. But while I fling my arm across my breasts he leans over me and rolls the glass down, exposing me to the hard gaze of a policeman.

“You know parking in this spot after dark is prohibited by town ordnance,” the man says. I could see his eyes focus on my inadequately covered tits. Damn Walker. He should have known that. My boyfriend begins to talk then, telling him we didn’t know, that we’d been told it was O.K. to be here. The man on the outside of the car had momentarily taken his eyes off my chest to focus on Walker. Now he’s looking at me again, his eyes following the sweep of his flashlight: beginning at my uncovered crotch, moving slowly up my naked torso, finally landing on my face. The light is so intense I have to squint. As if in response it’s lowered it back to my heaving bosoms. God, I’m so embarrassed!

“I need to see some identification,” he says, his voice flat. Walker seems cool as he retrieves his wallet from his back pocket; a difficult task since his pants are down around his thighs and his cock’s still obscenely hard: it’s long length making it difficult to miss. I remain frozen as the cop takes his license to inspect, then returns it. “Mam,” he intones, a question and command in that one word. It takes a second to realize he wants mine too. I have to uncover my breasts as I lean over and fumble around, trying to find my pocketbook. It must be a sight for him: my long black hair captured in a ponytail behind my back; my short, slim frame carrying breasts large enough to hang enticingly when bending over. I finally find my wallet and hand over my college I.D, acutely aware my nipples are hard as rocks. While he’s examining it I finally have the presence of mind to begin struggling into my blouse. Still, he’s gotten a good view, surely noticing my boobs didn’t sag or wobble. In a perverse twist of shame and arousal I hope he has. He returns my identification before I can finish, leaving my tits on display. And they’re being highlighted again by his flashlight’s beam, making it obvious he’s interested in what I’ve got.

“I’m not going to cite you this time,” he says, his light deliberately playing on each of our faces as he speaks, “but you’ll need to vacate the premises right away.” With that pronouncement the intrepid beam returns to its seeming home on my breasts, lingering long seconds there as if in appreciation, then he’s gone.


I was still feeling the fear of that moment, reliving the determination to never feel so exposed again, when the noise made by a slamming door brings me back to the present. Jumping at the sound, I look at Walker, scared we’ll be busted. I reach down and began to pull my pants back up, whispering at Walker to help. Thankfully he does, and in a moment we’re presentable. “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again,” I hiss, fear and anger heavy in my voice. He looks chastised; my sweet and obedient man present once again.

Our relationship has always been a tug of war; one pitting our inhibited upbringing against our raging hormones. Despite our limited knowledge of how to go about it, we’ve forged a bond of respect growing out of our mutual attraction and increased knowledge of each other. Early on, I learned he was an incorrigible romantic; declaring only three weeks after our initial date he was going to marry me. I’d laughed at him, sure he wasn’t serious.

But in a lot of ways my boyfriend showed a hardheadedness I’d seen only in one other man—my father. Once Walker got over his initial fear of something he was bulldog-like in his determination to master it. I guess my first example of that was the way he pursued me. He had gotten into my panties on that first date…barely. We’d both been so worked up I think we’d have gone further but our inhibitions had snapped back into place, preventing more experimentation that night. But it set the stage for the future, and by the end of the school year I’d had an orgasm of sorts by his hand. He’d been so proud, declaring he’d read about how to do it in a book. As for me, intuition ruled: it hadn’t taken much at all to give him one once he’d shown me how to stroke his cock. I thought my excessive wetness was a bother after he’d gotten me off but it was nothing to the mess he’d made that first time; the tissues just couldn’t contain it all.

Falling in love had happened gradually as we hung around together—soon becoming so exclusive people in the art department referred to us as Walker and Jade; our names inextricably linked. And he had become a part of my crowd easily: just one look at the carpentry tools in the craft room had hooked him, making it a no-brainer for him to declare art his minor—even though he knew nothing about the subject. My boyfriend was primarily a thinker and a vacuum cleaner of knowledge of any kind. Too bad he was such a mediocre student. My city high school had been one of the best in the state, easily preparing me for the rigors of college. His school was so tiny and ill-staffed only a small number of people had graduated with him. It showed and he’d had to take remedial classes that first summer. But once he started taking philosophy and psychology classes he’d known where his life’s interest lay. But that didn’t mean he’d become open minded about everything. An incident with my sculpture teacher was a prime illustration. I could recall it all too easily.

I look at Walker, wondering if he’s as amazed as I am. What had just happened was such a freak I still don’t believe it. He’s staring at my naked chest…just like everyone else in the small class. Only a moment before we’d been standing around a life-sized clay figure of an old man, every saggy muscle illustrated under the realistic skin, when someone asked how different would it be if the sculpture were a female. I remember our teacher looking around the room for a second before taking a step toward me. I was dumbstruck as he sought to remove my crop-top—without thinking I’d compliantly lifted my arms. It was surreal; after he’d deftly exposed me he’d never stopped explaining, certainly hadn’t asked my permission. I thought at the moment he’d done it: he’s famous, I guess he has the right. Or just wasn’t thinking. He certainly didn’t see me as a sex object.

I’m having conflicting emotions as the professor draws a line with his finger from my shoulder to the top of one breast, explaining how the fatty mass sits atop the muscular structure of the chest. He illustrates a point by cupping my breast, lifting it, then letting it drop. I stifle a little gasp and feel my nipples harden immediately.

On one level I’m as embarrassed as my boyfriend seems to be, but on another I’m eating it up: that he’s chosen me for his illustration. And it’s a good lesson for Walker about the way artists approach their work…that they sometimes have to disregard the petty societal inhibitions regarding appropriate behavior when engaging in the creative process. At least in this instance. The professor turns me and continues after he lifts my arm away from my body. The tickle of his finger tracing the line of my muscles is also highly erotic and my pussy starts to tingle. It’s hard to disassociate myself from it; to focus on what I’m supposed to learn instead of what he’s doing.

I steel myself to remain calm, even as he turns me around again, his hand now flat on my lower abdomen. Oh, God, I silently plea, please don’t have him open my pants and expose me even more. Then he’s descending lower, toward the low-slung belt of my hip-huggers, his fingers almost dipping inside to touch my mons Venus. My pussy pulsates: I want him to continue. In so many areas of my life I’ve been prim and proper, acquiescing to the expectations society has imposed on me. In this instance I won’t be inhibited: if he wants to undress me further I’ll allow it. I may be getting aroused, but I’m not here as a woman: I’m an artist…a sculptor.

The tension is palpable between us as we walk back to our lodgings. There’s three of us—maybe Stew can help him see that what happened wasn’t inappropriate. When we get to the old house with its wrap around porch we have to sit there to continue our discussion; Walker and Stew have rooms upstairs while mine is next to our landlord’s bedroom. They’re not allowed to visit me and I can’t go upstairs. It’s O.K., the spot where the old busybody can’t hear us is comfortable. And that’s good since Stew essentially just told Walker he’s a prude.

I look at the two of them go at it, each so intent on making his point. Walker’s my boyfriend and I love him, but sometimes I think that was due to a fluke of chance. It stems from an in incident before any of us had met; when I hadn’t seen either of them as I’d entered the art department’s large painting studio. I’d just gotten started on a big canvas and was focused on it, not the two freshmen on the other side of the room. I wonder now what would have happened if I had. While they look enough alike to pass as brothers, I have to give it to Stew on being the sexier. Would I have chosen Walker if both had pursued me? But Stew never tried, even though since he’s a fellow artist I saw more of him than I did of Walker. The two had already become good friends and that meant a lot to Stew.

So much time has passed now. That incident in the art department seems so long ago. We’re going to be married soon but still we’ll have to live apart: I’ve taken a teaching job near my parent’s house. Not what I wanted but it’s a financial necessity. But we’ll be together weekends—it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make, secure in the knowledge our love’s strong enough. And it’s only for a year: after he graduates I’m confident we’ll get jobs somewhere that also allows me to sculpt. Hopefully he’ll be able to help. Then too, I’m looking forward to how much fun we’ll have when we can finally have sex--when we’re able to go at it all the time. If he can make me orgasm from just his fingers and mouth I wonder how much better it’ll be when his cock is thrusting inside me.

Boy am I surprised.

[Chrislydi]

It's the old, old story that never actually grows old, the eternal struggle for so many young lovers throughout the ages with their hopes, dreams and aspirations for the future contrasting sharply with the cold hard and restrictive reality of the present. Poor Jade and her enthusiastic beau are suffering more than most, their overpowering urges having to remain largely unfulfilled.

It's the make do and mend approach, so while never being able to fully satisfy and consummate their powerfully felt love or satisfy their most basic animalistic urges, they have perfected a way of mutual masturbations which does for now. Jade still wears that straightjacket of her religious upbringing and Walker is still prudish in so many ways too, both products of their upbringing and environment and their many inhibitions, perhaps most significantly the strict diktats which abhor sex before marriage still restrict full expression.

There's also their lack of opportunity to do anything with regularity and no risk, cramped car seats or illicit and hurried masturbation sessions in her studio are having to suffice. Jade herself has already suffered a mild form of psychological trauma, still vividly recalling what in hindsight might seem comical, even so it's left her mentally scarred and perhaps a little scared at times too, those memories, the policeman wrapping on Walker's car window and catching them in flagrante delicto, the torch shining on her bared breasts, the panicked fumbling for ID's, the embarrassment, the mental torture and torment.

What was elucidating was Jade's analysis of her lover's character, her sweet and obedient man, his hardheadedness and determination, citing the tale of how he learnt how to make her cum from reading about it in a book, and of course his latent but ever present prudishness, as his and now their best friend Stew described it. Then there's the art class and Jade being partially stripped and positioned, something they knew was all part and parcel of the deal, 'that they sometimes have to disregard the petty societal inhibitions regarding appropriate behavior when engaging in the creative process.', Jade the woman, the sculptor and the artist and Walker needing to learn how to treat those different facets of herself and her work.

This is BDJ thanks to the marvellously detailed recollections of his beloved wife Jade, taking us a little further along the path of their journey. It's one of compromise and a constant searching for something better, a struggle to survive and keep their love exciting amidst a lack of opportunity through restrictive inhibitions, lack of suitable locations and the mores and customs of the time, a strict morality where you keep to what was expected and had to be adhered to.

Jade ever the optimist, takes a teaching job near her home town with one eye still on that beacon of light, their brighter future.

'Not what I wanted but it’s a financial necessity. But we’ll be together weekends—it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make, secure in the knowledge our love’s strong enough. And it’s only for a year: after he graduates I’m confident we’ll get jobs somewhere that also allows me to sculpt. Hopefully he’ll be able to help. Then too, I’m looking forward to how much fun we’ll have when we can finally have sex--when we’re able to go at it all the time. If he can make me orgasm from just his fingers and mouth I wonder how much better it’ll be when his cock is thrusting inside me.'

But it wouldn't be BDJ without a final twist as Jade remembers...

'Boy am I surprised.'

And of course there are her reflections on her fellow artist and Walker's best friend Stew....

While they look enough alike to pass as brothers, I have to give it to Stew on being the sexier. Would I have chosen Walker if both had pursued me?

What could be more straightforward then than their striving towards that light and that promise of a shared happiness, Jade and her Walker? We're looking forward to hearing how things went on for Jade and her Walker and reading more of these true treasures from the past. A big thank you to Jade for sharing such detailed, precious and candid memories with us, and of course to the marvellous way BDJ writes them all down. A modern masterpiece.

Chris and Cath

[Johng1953]

"Boy am I surprised."
It's little lines like this right at the end that has me on the edge of my seat craving more!

[BDJ]

Johng1953,
The three of you: Chris, and John Jasson, are people who have always been with me on this journey--and I'm grateful for that--voices I have come to respect. I've been worried I wouldn't be able to rise to this occasion: of a new story--one that's true. And it's hard to sift through all those memory fragments, both hers and mine, to find the right ones to highlight.

The second part was different from the first in tone and pacing. Compressed: only two events, yet expansive in the amount of time it covered. Inadequately I now see.

The third part is just now being painted on the page...the first strokes to more fully explain the breadth and depth of our courtship; of why we became the couple we now are. I'm trying to give a sense of how our emotions swirled through the quiet events marking that time.

Wait for me, I'll try not to disappoint.

BDJ

[Chrislydi]

Wait for me, I'll try not to disappoint.

BDJ

Take all the time you need or want, there's absolutely no rush and no deadline to meet and there's no way we won't wait.

Chris

[Johng1953]

I'm sure you won't disappoint. And I've said it many times on other threads, I far more appreciate the emotions behind what people do, how it affects them and on the way getting to know them a little and making me care about them too and you do that very well.

[BDJ]

Hello all,

This segment is really an apology for the short-sell in the second installment of how events affected us during our evolving romance. So I'm not moving forward in time here, really just completing what I inadequately accomplished before.

Here's a reminder of how that ended: Then too, I’m looking forward to how much fun we’ll have when we can finally have sex: when we’re able to go at it all the time. If he can make me orgasm from just his fingers and mouth I wonder how much better it’ll be when his cock is thrusting inside me.

Boy am I surprised.

As Julia Child would say: Bon appétit!

[BDJ]

3: Uchi–soto

It’s the waiting. I hate it. There’s always been that urge in me to get things done, to complete the task. When I’m helpless it makes me nervous, twitchy.

Like now.

I’m in the antechamber of the chapel, resplendent in my home-made white gown, anticipating the wedding march when it hits me. All at once I begin to tremble. The background noise of a thousand little sounds suddenly seems to increase in volume, washing over me, badgering my senses, confusing in their variety and tempo. I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

A reassuring hand touches my arm and I’m jolted by it, but that simple contact is enough to calm me. I gaze over at the man who’s always been there to do that. We wait, father and daughter, to walk down an impossibly long aisle so he can give me away,…pass me on to the man I have chosen to take his place.

I smile reassuringly at him, then watch with interest the people around us; my attention finally falling on two of my bridesmaids. My sister’s looking her usual tall beautiful self. She’s single now, finally free from the terror of an angry drunk. At her side is my future sister-in-law, Nokie; her nickname so descriptive of her quirky personality. She’s also tall and pretty in a different way. She smiles at something said, showing the gap between her front teeth. Maybe that’s why I feel closer to her than to my own sibling. I’ve got that same gap.

It mars me somehow: I think it makes me less attractive. But Nokie recognizes that reticence of character in me; knows it because she’s struggled with it too. Her marriage didn’t work out either, but it was because her husband was a playboy—a cheater—even in the face of him getting her pregnant when they were dating. Marriage was her only option. The philandering continued too often to ignore and she’s moved back home. I hate that I’m happy at that, but she’s always been a comfort to me when I visit Walker’s house. We’ve had many long girl talks and she’s told me ways to please Walker…sexual things her husband taught her. It was because of her I decided to take Walker’s cock in my mouth. It’s funny thinking of it in retrospect: huddled together alone, of her using a banana to illustrate the finer points of fellatio. I’ve done it to him now and have learned to enjoy it, but I’ve drawn the line at having his semen in my mouth.

Two different women with lessons for me to take into this contract with Walker. We’ve agreed that strong drink is too dangerous. For him it’s from seeing his grandfather, father and uncles drunk after attending monthly meeting. Hypocrites because that particular Sunday is set aside for worship; and Primitive Baptists don’t hold with consuming spirits of any kind, much less moonshine. For me it’s the memory of my sister and her two young boys standing on our porch one night; ill prepared for the cold weather. Her husband had come home drunk and angry. They’d fled when he started breaking furniture, walking half an hour in the dark to show up at our door. Sadly, she’d reconciled with him and saw it happen again and again. Like Nokie, she eventually found her tolerance ending, including whatever love remained—divorce the only solution.

I don’t want a marriage like that, or even one like my parents have. My mother’s proud of the place in society she’s secured from my father’s profession, one enabling us to hob-nob with the wealthy. I think she was initially put off by Walker’s lack of polish and relative poverty. She was cold to him when he’d come to stay the weekend after we’d gotten engaged. His discomfort came to a head that night as we snuggled on the porch. I told him not to worry, that she didn’t mean anything by it. But it had cut him to the quick and he couldn’t bear being around her for the whole weekend. He’d returned to campus that night. I learned something new about my dad the next morning when he made me tell him what happened. He’d expressed a cold anger toward my mother I’d never seen. She was always kind to Walker after that. I’d hate it if Walker ever did that to me—we’ve agreed we’re going to be partners—equals in every way.

Our courtship over these last two and a half years has changed me—us—in so many ways. I feel like I’ve awakened from a long sleep, or better still like a flower emerging from dormancy. My life before I left home, before Walker, was like the dead time of winter. But the warmth of our deepening relationship—my first real commitment—it’s akin to buds swelling on bare branches in the spring. As we began to trust each other with our thoughts and emotions its analogous to those first few flowers that emerge, testing the weather to see if it’s safe to continue. Throwing yourself out there to another person, giving up your independence: that’s scary. But we took the risk, innocent in the surety it’s right for us. It seems like nature does that with a flower. When it knows all is well it bursts into bloom, showing the world its beauty.

Again, in this sacred place, even holding onto my beloved parent, I begin to panic, fearing we’re making a mistake, that we aren’t really compatible and our marriage won’t last. My doubts bounce around my brain. Walker had been deadly serious when he’d asked me to marry him; had emphasized it would be forever—that he didn’t believe in divorce. He would never leave me as his mother had left his father. The full import of that statement falls upon me now. I think Walker’s all I’ll ever need. But I worry. He’s the only man I’ve ever given my heart to, but I just don’t know. I’m not immune to erotic thoughts or wicked longings when an attractive man flirts with me. What would Walker think if he knew other men could affect me that way? What if I found myself wanting someone else in the future—what then? I love Walker so much I don’t think it would happen, but for a period early in our courtship I’d wanted that freedom.

Ben’s face suddenly fills my inner vision and my pussy tingles in response. Even now. It was during a time I’d agreed to model for a college promotional brochure and he, an older and a serious photographer, was assigned to do it. I’d worn a miniskirt at his insistence and had gotten unexpectedly aroused from his touch when he positioned me for a shot. I found myself looking forward to the next time I’d meet him…he was a perfectionist so kept scheduling additional sessions: wanting more—and sexier—poses. Intuitively I knew he was interested in me—that he wanted me like Walker did—wanted sex. By the time he’d done a series of portraits of me as a thank you for modeling, I’d long been responding to his flirtatious behavior. And that portrait of Walker and me looking at each other with lovesick eyes…Walker never knew I was pining for Ben as much as for him.

If he’d made a play for me before I’d agreed to be Walker’s girl, things might have been different.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Now, right before I walk down the aisle to give myself to Walker. What if? Ben was so different than Walker: in the way he carried himself, his gentle laugh, his sense of humor. I can still feel the way his hands would linger on me as he adjusted a pose he wanted…then add a little caress. The look he would give me when he completed the shot…satisfied but still hungry in the way his eyes held me. I’d smile and it was like we shared a secret; one meant only for us.

My pussy felt so empty in those moments. I wanted Ben so bad! It scared me, that unexpected passion. I knew he’d be able to teach me—satisfy me in ways I’d only dreamed of. There wouldn’t be any fumbling around in a parked car somewhere. Ben had his own apartment.

I remember daydreaming of what it’d be like on a date, of the fun we’d have doing…something. Then he’d take me there, to his place, and we’d sit on his sofa and neck. I’d let his hands roam all they wanted. His kisses would excite me—arouse me until I’m climbing the walls with need. I’d willingly go If he took me to his bed. Once we’re naked and I’m holding his stiff cock…I might not be able to resist him—might not want to. And after his fingers touch my clit—are inside my pussy? Would I want to keep my virginity then?

I sigh deeply, causing my father to squeeze my arm. My returning smile must seem bittersweet because he leans over and gently kisses my forehead, then pats my arm, as if saying: it’ll all be alright.

In the end all my speculation is for naught. Walker had given me an ultimatum when he asked me to go steady: if I refused he was gone—done with me. I just wasn’t willing to chance it. And Ben knew I was already taken. Gentlemen didn’t try to steal another man’s woman. I eventually came to realize it’s for the best: that gangly man who I’d decided would give me equally tall children—he’s the better choice.

As if on cue, the noise in the chapel quiets and I see the chaplain, our counselor, step to the alter. Music fills the air and suddenly people start to move around me: bridesmaids accompanied by their groomsman begin marching down the aisle. I grip my father’s arm more tightly, then look at his kindly face. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him…lose his love when I give myself to Walker. Then I’m distracted; my sister’s youngest, the ring bearer, unceremoniously trips while walking down the aisle. His little companion giggles and tugs him upright: she’s happy to experience this, while he looks like he wants to hide. I can relate.

Finally silence, only punctured by sudden coughs, the sound bouncing off the bare stone walls of the sanctuary. Mendelssohn's “Wedding March” begins and my father and I make our way toward the alter, one of my hands clutching a spray of dogwood blossoms: a symbol of rebirth. I’m staring straight ahead, trying not to smile at all the family and friends filling the pews.

Then we’re almost there and I see the assemblage around the minister. I focus on the two tall, handsome men to his left; Walker and Stew, both smiling at me.

My men.



My breath catches…now why did I think that?

[Chrislydi]

A young girl on the cusp of marriage and facing the biggest day of her life, the doubts and fears, the hopes and dreams and all those memories, the lack of any real experience of others, of alternatives and a different outcome, the what could have happened if only and the what ifs. This is a piece about a course taken and those last minute worries, she wants all the affirmation and security she can get and looks anxiously around her for the signs. The kindred spirits with similar experiences and vulnerabilities, even small things like the similar small gap between Nokie's teeth, her steadfast and reassuring father his love and everlasting care still needed and her own sister and the thoughts on her disastrous marriage to a wastrel and drunk, and the hypocrisy that was rife in the drunkenness of church elders while preaching religious virtues, they all have their influences, a whirlpool of swirling emotions and thoughts, a recognition of uncertainty and a determination to avoid the pitfalls and to make her marriage better.

One of her main memories and is very much tied in with her thoughts on not having spread her wings and both found and experienced others, perhaps better lovers or more suited partners, her reminiscences about Ben the artist, his touch and the way it turned her on. A serious photographer and perfectionist and her quite obvious sexual attraction and symptoms of arousal he engendered. The painting with her eyes and thoughts very much on Ben and not her beloved Walker as depicted, her Ben that might or could have been even if it eventually and realistically couldn't. Walker was the only one who commited and threw his whole in with her's, at the point he offered it was decided, this is for life and now she was committed too.

And what of that teasing last line again?

The chords of Mendelssohn's “Wedding March” strike up and then she sees them

My men

Stew the best friend and best man next to her now to be new hubby, the lanky boy from a country town, her beloved Walker. Is it a pointer for what's to come in view of her thoughts on lost opportunities and sexual adventures missed, or just another of those reassuring pillars of familiarity to hang onto?

We were both absolutely bowled over by just how marvelously honest and candid Jade was, and of course the way BDJ expressed it by using all his usual powers of artistry and poetical forms of expression. It's unmissable and a must read.

Chris and Cath.

[Johng1953]

Another amazing insight into your early lives.

And then,

'My men'

Yet another almost throw away line that hints at what is to come.

[BDJ]

Johng1953,
Really, she was devoted to me but we were so close to our best buddy; my best man. I guess she just had a mental slip. Yeah, that must have been it.

Do those who read this remember that first time, both sexes now; how it felt during the lead-up, then the act. Maybe you were one of the lucky one who had a lot of experimentation with a variety of partners before the act. We didn't.

Again, the tease from the last post:

Finally silence, only punctured by sudden coughs, the sound bouncing off the bare stone walls of the sanctuary. Mendelssohn's “Wedding March” begins and my father and I make our way toward the alter, one of my hands clutching a spray of dogwood blossoms: a symbol of rebirth. I’m staring straight ahead, trying not to smile at all the family and friends filling the pews.

Then we’re almost there and I see the assemblage around the minister. I focus on the two tall, handsome men to his left; Walker and Stew, both smiling at me.

My men.

Hope you enjoy this next segment.

BDJ

[BDJ]

4: Mono no aware (物の哀れ)

My concentration had broken when the bed moved. Damn, we didn’t anticipate that when we’d gotten a king-sized waterbed. I knew Walker was not intentionally causing the counterpoint of swells that had interrupted my own rhythmic undulations, but the result was the same: I wouldn’t orgasm. He’d been waiting for me to finish because, once again, he’d cum too quickly and I’d been left hanging, still wanting his cock. But it wasn’t hard anymore.

That’s the reason for this; why I need to focus on the tip of my pillow. I can’t do that when I’m being distracted. And his presence is doing that. God, it’s so frustrating still being horny after just being fucked. I glanced at him through barely opened eyes—my lust and need still apparent in my gaze. “Could you please leave,” I tentatively ask, “I might be able to finish if I’m alone.” He sheepishly nods his acquiescence even as he’s getting off the bed; the resulting wave action makes me think I’m riding the wake of a passing boat. After he left I began again, hopeful the isolation will allow me to concentrate, but my mind keeps returning to the beginning of our difficulties…our wedding night.

I’d been wearing a white lacy peignoir I’d purchased just for this moment. On the bed posed on my back, I hoped I’d look seductive, one leg bent and hiked to one side, my full bush on display when Walker entered fresh from his shower. He’d paused, startled. I was so pleased I’d surprised him with the sight of my pantyless pussy.

That should have led to an evening of slow, tender lovemaking. And we did start that way; kissing and caressing each other, giddy with the knowledge we wouldn’t have to stop at foreplay. The necking was wonderful, and his fingers felt divine as he rubbed them through my moist labia. My hand held his cock; stroking it, feeling its hardness, its wonderful length. I was in heaven.

Like I thought I should be, I was compliant when he mounted me, pushing my legs wide as he settled in between. He supported himself on one arm so he’d have a hand free to manipulate his rigid manhood, putting it at the entrance to my honeypot. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he quickly pressed it forward, seeking to push past the barrier of my puffy labia. I suddenly inhaled, my breath caught in my throat. “Wait,” I begged. He looked at me in askance; a question mark replacing the intense lust that had dominated his features just seconds before. “You’re not doing it right,” I explained. Reaching down, I took his cock in hand, feeling it jump at my touch. Being as gentle as possible I guided the tip of his thick column to the base of my opening. Spreading my protruding inner lips, I pulled his cock to me a little as I moved it up and down, lubricating the bulbous head, using it to separate the thin folds of my labia. I wasn’t worried about him breaking my hymen; horseback riding had long ago taken care of that. “Now do it,” I said. He pushed into me, too fast. “Oh!” I exclaimed, grabbing his hips. “Slower. Let me get used to it.”

It took an extended effort but he was finally able to fill me—could stroke in me without discomfort. Now it felt really good. I liked it. He was still supporting himself on his arms. We were grinning at each other—couldn’t believe we were finally doing it. And he was following my instructions, moving slowly, going in a little deeper with each stroke. That was making me even more aroused, my pussy pulsing now, emitting waves of the most incredible sensations as his cock progressed further in my vagina. It thrilled me: I was a virgin no longer.

Suddenly I felt like I wanted it all, needed to feel his groin press against me. I raised my legs and wrapped my ankles around his back, lifting my ass off the bed. His cock went in deeper. I focused on Walker’s face as I nudged him with my heels, wrapped my arms around his neck. “Oh, so good,” I crooned. He started to fuck me faster—harder. I responded with grunts of encouragement. I was amazed it felt so different from when he masturbated me. It was like electric jolts were shooting through my body. I began to match his thrusts, clutching him more tightly. My arousal had an immediate effect on him. His breathing intensified, his grunts heralding his pending release. Before I could say anything he slammed into me one last time, straining to go as deep as he could as his orgasm gripped him.

My world erupted in pain. “Ahhhhh!! Stop!” I wailed even as I felt his warm liquid fill me. My body suddenly rigid, I desperately tried to pull away. “It hurts!!” I managed to cry.

It had been only a few short minutes since we’d begun.

It was a blessed relief when he pulled out. Opening my eyes I saw he was horrified at what he’d done. Smiling, I tried to reassure him I was okay. But I couldn’t understand why it happened. His cock had felt so incredible until that last thrust. Why then? Slow realization came to me: he must have entered my cervix. It’s the only thing I could think of that would cause so much pain. I wondered if there was something wrong with me; was my vagina too short? One thing I was sure of: I didn’t want it to happen again.

We lay together afterwards, unsure of how to proceed. I felt cheated. Walker had his release but I hadn’t. So many questions plagued me then. Maybe I wasn’t ready when he’d mounted me? I felt like I was, but how was I supposed to know? Why hadn’t he used his mouth down there like he normally did? That really got me going—something else passed on from Nokie. But neither of us had thought of it; at least I hadn’t.

If I was going to orgasm tonight he’d have to help. “Walker, eat me. You can always get me to cum that way. Use your fingers too.” My husband of only a few hours made no attempt to comply; just looked forlornly at me. “Jade,” he almost whined, “my stuff’s in there.” Oh, I thought, he didn’t want to taste his cum. I could understand that: I didn’t want to either. I sighed as I got off the bed and prepared to clean up. It looked like our romantic evening was over.

Our first night as husband and wife. It felt strange, almost as if I shouldn’t move: I’d never slept with anyone before. Slowly the tension in my body dissipated. Maybe I’d get used to it. I’d have to talk to Nokie when we saw her next. I snuggled my head under his arm, content he was beside me. Eventually we were able to drop off to sleep.

But slumber, I found, didn’t release the need I still felt. Apparently it lay simmering beneath the surface; because sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, wanting relief so badly I just couldn’t stand it. I thought I’d have to use my pillow. Then it hit me; I had Walker’s cock. Reaching between us I found it; long but soft. I began to stroke it, surprised at how quickly it became rigid. At the same time I played with myself, rubbing my clit. A feeling of warmth began to suffuse my vagina. I mounted him, but instead of trying to get his cock in my pussy I began to hump him, his long pole trapped between my tightly squeezed legs. Frantically I rode him, a part of me amazed he didn’t wake up. Quickly I felt the wonderful pulsations in my pussy; the waves of heat rapidly spreading throughout my body. Then I was over the top: first becoming rigid, then shaking uncontrollably. “Uh, uh, uhhhh!!” I moaned. It felt sooo good, so intense! Too soon it was over—my euphoria fading, my body beginning to relax.

I felt arms encircling me. Propping on my elbows, I looked down at Walker, awake now and, I could tell even in the rooms’ dim light, hungry for me. He kissed me hard, then began flexing his hips as he reached around my body to grab his cock, then moved its broad head up and down until he was though the folds of my labia, slick now from my excitement. With a mighty push he was in. I lay my head next to his, quiescent, my legs still together as he fucked me—really pounded into me. He held my asscheeks in an iron grip, his cock a piston, his need paramount. I felt myself rising, the sensations so recently emulating from my pussy returning. I began to breath heavily, my heart racing. Oh God, I prayed, let him keep it up. My arousal kept increasing from the wonderful stimulation his cock was causing.

Then it was over. Walker held me tightly as he thrust into me one last time, the sudden heat of his semen filling me heralding the end.

With an inner sigh I accepted it…realized it might be that way with us. I wasn’t sure what sex was supposed to be like but had hoped it would last longer—that his cock would be enough to make me cum. Was sex supposed to be that quick, I wondered? But it was okay, I decided. The disappointment in me persisted, though, until I reflected on all the good things that had also happened. Overall it had been fun, better than holding back like we’d done before tonight. Once again I realized how much I loved Walker—wanted him with me always. I hugged my husband, and when he looked at me as if to question why, I kissed him good and hard. “I love you,” I whispered, “love everything about you. That was wonderful.” Another hug accompanied that statement. Then I crawled off him and we went back to sleep.

That was the end of it as far as I was concerned. Acceptance. But I hadn’t counted on Walker’s sense of inadequacy in the bedroom. For months it lay in the background, a presence in the face of a life that was normal and fulfilling in most ways. He continued his studies and I struggled, at first, at teaching. Once I found my sea legs I was happy with my new profession. The school wasn’t too far away and the children were mostly polite. It helped that I was special: a visitor to their classroom, bringing them a new experience. But it was tiring having a full time job and sculpting whenever time allowed. And what with Walker working weekends at a construction job the prospect of frequent sex fell by the wayside. That didn’t mean we didn’t have fun or that I wasn’t satisfied with what we did. I was, but with my husband it was a different story.

He was still struggling with his propensity to ejaculate too quickly. Lots of foreplay and pulling out helped, but if we weren’t careful it’d be over almost before it began. I never did orgasm with him screwing me. Still, I eventually got satisfied so that was okay. One thing that continued to haunt him from that first time was how he’d hurt me. Afraid it would happen again, he held back. I think because of it he became a gentle and considerate lover. The down side was he couldn’t let loose when we screwed. If I so much as winced when his cock was thrusting in me he’d get a concerned look on his face and he’d lose his erection. I loved how he cared so much but was frustrated when that happened. Even when we’d had a good session I somehow felt like something was missing. And because he couldn’t let go I found myself being a little restrained when we fucked. Overall though, I thought sex with my loving husband was great.

It wasn’t until about four months into our marriage that he sprung it on me. I remember because it was one of those times when I just couldn’t seem to come, no matter what we tried. We were a little exhausted, I think, and were just laying on our waterbed, trying to recover when he brought it up. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could experience another man’s cock, he’d said. It shocked me at first, but after he explained why he wanted me to I could understand. Even though I assured him I didn’t want that he kept at it, the stubborn Walker coming out. It took a few weeks of suggesting, sometimes in an almost pleading tone, before I gave in and agreed I’d do it.

“So who?” He’d replied, suddenly excited. It was after some really good sex and I shouldn’t have brought it up, but his persistent desire that I experience the touch of another man had gotten me to accept that it could happen. I’d found myself thinking about it at odd times: imagining new hands on me, different lips kissing me—of how it would feel for my pussy to accept a cock that had never been there before. It was really distracting.

“I…” I hesitated, making sure I wasn’t looking at him, unsure I could tell him. He might not agree to this particular man. At first I’d thought of Ben. But he had long since graduated and we’d lost contact. Anyway, it might have been too dangerous: thinking of Ben fucking me always got me aroused. If I did it with him I might not be able to stop. That was too scary. I might fall in love with Ben if we did it. No, I wanted someone who I was attracted to but…well, someone who wouldn’t threaten our marriage. I loved my husband too much. If I did this I wanted it to be with someone we both trusted to keep it secret, who wouldn’t ask for more if I didn’t want that. Turning to him so I could hold both his hands I told him.

Gazing hopefully at my husband; a look of trepidation in my eyes, I finally answered, “Stew.”

[Johng1953]

A few things struck me here, first how does anyone have sex on a waterbed? I slept on one once, actually that's not true, I once spent the night on one but couldn't get a wink. The most uncomfortable night of my life!
That said, this story proves to me that our sexual proclivities are pretty much in built. I can relate totally to that.

[Chrislydi]

As a teenager I had a phase where I was particularly keen on reading the novels of John Fowles, so The Collector, The Magus, The French Lieutenant's Woman and Daniel Martin, several of which were made into films, and then I came upon his latest A Maggot. Now a maggot in common parlance is the larva of a fly or other insect, but it also has a far more archaic meaning which has long since disappeared from modern usage, that of a maggot as being a strange or quirky idea.

This is the chapter which most shows the origins of Walker's maggot, that strange and off centre notion of Jade experiencing better, something that their unsatisfying fumblings had caused to develop and something that had been allowed to steadily grow until it became more than just an idea and more of an imperative. So to adroitly change to the modern day usage of the word, the maggot had changed and taken flight and the idea was outed and admitted to, with Jade herself increasingly excited, having previously been frustrated and seeking solutions.

........Stew then she whispered ...

and with that, the maggot had fully got its wings. Apologies to any entomologists.

This was no look back through rose tinted glasses but a staggeringly honest warts and all portrayal of how things didn't work between them physically, granted the emotional connection and love was super strong, as good as it could ever be, that they were deeply in love never in doubt, and yet physically consummating that love was nothing but a series of misadventures and frustrations. Even the motion of the waterbed proving an obstacle, never mind achieving simultaneous orgasmic delight or anything close to that. The questions about doing it right and why should it hurt at times are floating about, so much so that each is too careful for the other, maybe it's a loving and slow expression but it's an evolvement caused only by a fear of being too vigorous and unintentionally hurting the other. Being ever so careful can also simultaneously be thought of as being intentionally gentle and loving, but either way there's no real passionate movements and no holds barred thrusting and screaming, inhibitions and a fear of being too rough rule the moments. So while not exactly courting disaster it wasn't exactly fully satisfying either, a make do, mend and be satisfied approach was adopted because they weren't certain it could ever be better, or at least they didn't fully know how to make it better.

And so we get to plan B and Stew, that maggot has certainly grown it's wings so that now it's becoming a plan and a question of how do we do this?

Brilliantly written and candidly told once again by Walker in the guise of BDJ. He has managed to give an illuminating window into their huge frustrations right at the outset of their lives as naive, young, newly weds. It really shows and details the influences and the way that those inadequacies gnawed at his psyche and permeated his brain, resulting in a yearning to find a solution, the formulation of a new idea, a revelatory light that switched on in his brain and the maggot that took root, the proposal being nothing less than Jade experiencing another man's cock, and of course signalling the entry point to a new lifestyle altogether.

Grateful thanks are also due to his beautiful and wonderful Jade who had loved him so deeply that she was prepared to consider it too. It's Jade's voice that's being written down and her reminiscences, memories and words, even if superbly crafted and expressed by the talented BDJ. Grateful thanks then are due to both of you for sharing so much of this highly personal portrait with us all.

Chris and Cath

[Mr1SexyGILF]

Now a maggot in common parlance is the larva of a butterfly, a fly or other insect, but it also has a far more archaic meaning which has long since disappeared from modern uesage, that of a maggot as being a strange or quirky idea.

Chris and Cath

Silly me, I thought butterflies hatched from the cocoon of a caterpillar?

No matter where butterflies come from I agree, it sound like Jade is about to spread her wings and take flight.

Mr GILF

[Chrislydi]

Now a maggot in common parlance is the larva of a butterfly, a fly or other insect, but it also has a far more archaic meaning which has long since disappeared from modern uesage, that of a maggot as being a strange or quirky idea.

Chris and Cath

Silly me, I thought butterflies hatched from the cocoon of a caterpillar?

No matter where butterflies come from I agree, it sound like Jade is about to spread her wings and take flight.

Mr GILF

Yes of course, a bit of an embarrassingly mad error to make

Chris

I've edited it but probably not properly