Glitter. Real Stories About Sexual Desire From Real Women (13 page)

Schooled

Taffy Davenport

I am a newly separated after twenty years of marriage. I have been a stay-at-home mom for most of sixteen years and have just started working in the last year. I love to write erotica.

I was born in 1972 and married when I turned eighteen to a man nine years older than myself. I write at
SmutByMissJane.com.

This story was painful to write, but I believe putting it down on paper was therapeutic.

I was going back to school. Human services. I wanted to be an advocate for people with disabilities, or something similar. I had started school before but had to quit due to issues with childcare for my daughter. This time I was more confident. I had just gotten back together with my husband after an almost two-year split, I had lost 40lbs. and I was going to the gym at least five days a week. Everything seemed right in the world. A new beginning.

In two of my classes there was a man named James. He was well over six feet tall and was quite the flirt. I sat in front of him in our counseling class and when we had to pair up to practice our counseling skills he and I would sometimes pair up.

He would flirt with me and I would blush and act all silly like no one had ever flirted with me before.

My husband worked two jobs at the time: his day job installing windows and doors and his night job helping a friend remodel his home. I saw him very little. When I did see him I told him about James. I was like a giddy little girl telling my husband about this guy who was flirting with me. He just listened with a grin on his face. He was not the jealous kind. It seemed like he thought he had to be happy for me because I liked the attention.

The flirting got more and more serious. Instead of it just being some little compliment or some joke that would make me blush it started being a bit more about sex: asking me personal questions about my sex life with my husband or asking about what I had experienced in the past.

I started looking for him in the cafeteria when I got to school and would sit with him until it was time for class. I started dressing up for school. I'd wear things like a blouse instead of a t-shirt, a tight denim skirt with lacy white knee high socks and black platform heels. Of course I'd do my hair and makeup as well. I had already been dressing up more and more due to the weight loss and the fact that I was feeling pretty hot with this new body of mine.

One day James asked me for a ride home. He lived in the same part of the city that I did. He lived in the drug and alcohol treatment part of the veterans center, across from the hospital. He flirted with me all the way there and talked about how he would like to have sex with me. I blushed and never knew what to say but would say things like "James, you know I'm married" while smiling from ear to ear. He would tell me that he wasn't trying to date me, that he just wanted to have sex with me. When I would blush or act coy he would tell me that I was too old to be embarrassed by the things he said. I told him that I had been married since I was eighteen.

I went home and told my husband about giving him a ride home. He casually told me that I should stay away from this guy because I might be enjoying the flirting but this guy was serious about getting into my pants. I sometimes found myself wishing that my husband would get mad and forbid me to ever speak to James again.

I continued to flirt with James. I enjoyed the attention too much and didn't want to give that up. I had always practiced living in the moment and rarely thought of the repercussions.

The next time he asked me for a ride I heard him tell our teacher that he was sick and that another student (me) had agreed to drive him home. I felt a bit uneasy about it, but I didn't want to say no. I didn't want him to stop flirting. I wanted him to like me.

When we pulled out of the parking ramp he slid his hand up my leg and pulled my skirt up a bit. I pulled it back down and blushed and told him to stop, however I said it in the I'm-only-saying-this-because-I-don't-want-to-seem-like-a-whore kind of way. I had a whole list of reasons why I shouldn’t have sex with him, apart from the fact that I was married. Most of the things on the list were things that I always worried about: being self-conscious about my body, things like that. I even told him some of those things. He had an answer for everything. He said I didn't have to be self-conscious about my body because he'd just pull up my skirt and take off my panties. I'd blush again and look away, but I was filing away all the things he said. I think I used them later on when I was going through the pros and cons in my head. I honestly think I worried more about if James would like me and if I could go through with it than I worried about my husband and whether he would leave me or not.

When I got almost to the veterans center I told him "Yes. Yes I'll have sex with you." He said "Ok" and smiled but didn't seem all that shocked about it. I asked him about condoms. He made some crack about how he doesn't just carry them around in his wallet. I told him we could stop at the pharmacy and he could run in.

I waited in the car in front of the pharmacy. When he came out he appeared to put something in his pocket but he had no bag. When he got in the car I asked him if he got the condoms and he said yes. I thought it was a little odd that there was no bag but I figured he wouldn’t lie about something that I would soon find out about anyway.

There was a motel on the side of the road and he directed me to pull in there. I was not that excited about it being one of those old motels where all the entrances to the rooms were on the outside and to get to the second floor you had to climb the outside wooden stairs to get up to the balcony.

I waited outside while he went into the little office and paid for the room. When he came out he complained about the cost of the room as he walked toward me. He couldn't believe that he had to pay $49 for a single room.

He opened the door to the room and I stepped in. He quickly took his shoes and clothes off and got into bed.

I remember exactly what I was wearing that day. A black sleeveless shirt, a black A-line skirt with a bit of a ruffle at the bottom, white knee socks and calf high black boots with three-inch heels and a buckle on the side. I removed my boots and quickly got under the covers with all my clothes on. I remember when I was getting into the bed I noticed several pieces of grey duct tape on the wall, right by my head. It looked like it was covering up a big hole in the wall.

I laid down facing him, with my hand under my head, propped up on my elbow. He asked me what I wanted to do. I said "Can we talk for a little while first?" I was nervous and was hoping we would take things slow. He didn't respond to what I said unless you count immediately kissing me a response.

After he kissed me for a few seconds, and before I knew what was happening, he was on top of me. This more than six-foot tall man on top of this five-foot tall girl. He quickly reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down and off. He was instantly inside of me. I felt kind of like I was in outer space. All these things were happening so fast and I didn't feel like I had control over any of them. He raised my feet over my head and was having sex with me. I just laid there, still. I noticed that my breathing started getting heavy and I started to feel like I couldn't get my breath. I said to him "wait! wait!" and I put my hand up a little bit in a stopping motion. He either didn't hear me or he didn't want to hear me. He continued on and I decided it was important that I just go along with things. I didn't want to say "stop!" in some loud voice and have him ignore me again. I figured doing nothing was better than this turning into a horribly ugly scene. It finally dawned on me that I was just lying there so when he laid on top of me, with his face near mine, I wrapped my arms around his back and moved them around to act like I was participating. I didn't want him to think I was a dead fuck. I think I started making some faint noises as well. He was not well endowed at all, thankfully, so there was no discomfort whatsoever. He took a lot longer than I thought he would. I couldn't wait for it to be over. Finally there was the last few, and harder, thrusts. It felt all wet all of a sudden so I asked "did you just cum inside of me?" He said "yep."

He laid down next to me, on his back. I asked him why he didn’t use a condom? He replied “I don't use condoms. I hate them." I asked him if he even bought condoms at the pharmacy. "Nope." I didn't respond. He got up and went to the bathroom. I waited and then went in after him. The bathroom was dark and had a little shower stall in the corner. The toilet was next to the small sink that hung on the wall. There was a small mirror over the sink.

We made lunch plans after that. I took him to a lunch place where my husband and daughter and I went to breakfast sometimes. He complained about how the food was weird and the chicken was dry, but he still picked up the check. I did my best to be charming and not say too much to disrupt anything. After all I still wanted him to like me.

I was flying high for a couple days afterward feeling like I was something special because I was able to have casual sex like everyone else. After a couple of days reality set in and I broke down and told my husband everything. He was mad and hurt but still comforted me while I cried because of how bad I felt. I'm not sure if I felt worse because I cheated on my husband or because James never liked me as much as I wanted him to.

On my husband's request I started seeing a therapist, and started going to a support group as well. He said that I could stay in school if I thought I could stay away from James. I quit going.

For almost two years afterward I replayed that whole scenario with James in my head several times a day. Thinking about what I could have done differently. At what point should I have walked away. Why I did it. I had a loving husband, but was I lonely anyway? Did I need or want attention so badly that I was willing to do anything for it? Did I think so little of myself? My husband? Our daughter? Things improved with time and life went on. I don't think my husband ever looked at me the same way he had before I cheated and I don’t think he ever completely trusted me again. I still don't really know why I did it. There were many theories tossed around by the therapist and the people at the support group, but there was never a consensus. I gave up trying to figure out why I would do such a thing.

What I do know is that I will never do anything like that again. It’s not like the movies where affairs are glamorous and romantic, taking place in five-star hotels, making love for hours, then cuddling, talking, and ordering room service afterward. I think I believed it would be some version of that, or at least I wanted it to be. I learned a hard lesson. I hurt myself that day, as well as my husband. That hurt continued long after.

Just a Good Southern Girl

Sweet Cheeks

Just a simple southern housewife with a naughty side.

I'm convinced that almost every girl I know has in some way or another experimented with another girl at least once and most of those who insist they never did are lying. At the same time it's become a huge source of shame and guilt for me as an adult, the kind I hope my daughter never experiences. Thank you religious, southern upbringing! It's not something I've ever told anyone about but I always wonder if the people involved early on think I'm a deviant even though they were just as ‘guilty’. I secretly went through phases where I thought I was bi but I always knew I could never be in a relationship with a girl beyond close friendship. My need for the (perceived) security of being with a man is too strong. I don't necessarily totally regret my own experiences, they've helped shape me into one of those people who make the phrase "it's always the quiet ones" so very true.

My first sexual experience of any sort was at a sleepover with two friends in fifth grade. They wanted to role play different scenarios as a married couple and it was apparent they had done that before. I don't remember much aside from some kissing and touching but not directly ‘down there’. I enjoyed it immensely and couldn't wait to play like that again. Sometime after that one of the girls spent the night at my house. While lying in my bed we decided to pretend we were married. We kissed, touched, and pretended to hump each other. Then she put her hand down my panties and touched me ‘there’. Right then I had my first ever orgasm. I would spend the next few years trying unsuccessfully to recreate that feeling myself.

A new friend moved down the street later that year and I was pleased when she suggested we practice kissing. Kissing and humping while we took turns wearing a balled up pair of socks down our pants became commonplace for us but I never had an orgasm. She claimed to but I was never certain we really knew enough to know for sure.

I would later go on to fool around with a good friend in junior high. She was more experienced than me but I had a serious boyfriend and welcomed the practice. I loved for her to suck on my tits and enjoyed fingering her. Once she suggested I go down on her but I had no idea how that was done so I laughed it off. Once in high school we had little contact and she dropped out. We reconnected after I was in college and one time she asked me if that was just a phase. "Of course!" I'd answer, not wanting anyone to ever think I was really into that.

By high school I was more interested in meeting guys, getting a date, and actually making out than I was in just practicing with friends. It would be after I had a serious boyfriend and was in college before I'd feel any further interest in fooling around with girls again. My studies were focused on feminist theory and I was quite liberal. It was nice to see a girl and wonder what it would be like to make out with her but I was way too shy to ever act on this. During my junior year an older girl in one of my classes stopped because she recognized the homework I was doing. The following semester she was in my gay & lesbian literature class (cliché, I know). I'd secretly hoped I'd find someone in this class to hook up with but never thought it'd be her. She was in a relationship and living with another girl. We started talking and went out a few times, knowing where things were headed. One night we'd been out to a gay bar and started kissing. She lived nearby and her girlfriend would be working until really late so we quickly went to her house. I must admit that the feeling of having a girl go down on you for the first time is incredible. That memory has remained part of my somewhat limited ‘spank bank’. I would eventually have the pleasure of successfully going down on her. Making a lesbian come felt victorious to me. Once (I'm not sure why not more) she fucked me with a strap-on. I've recently started wishing I'd had the chance to do the same. Our fling ended after about six months, she felt guilty and I didn't want to be a factor in the breakup with her girlfriend.

After that I'd hope to hook up with other girls but was way too shy to ever make my thoughts known. That part of me just faded away along with my idealism after I completed my feminist theory coursework. I'd dabble again if I knew no one would find out. Even now, as asexual as my life as a minivan-driving, Christian-preschool-volunteering stay-at-home mom has become, I'd be thrilled if any of my friends made a move on me.