From the Author: A relatively quick story about an unexpected relationship that I tried writing in the first person. It contains two married people having sex outside of their marriages so, if that offends, it's probably best if you stop reading here. This story is fictional and any similarities to any actual people or events is unintentional and unlikely but would be freaking awesome.
It was a Tuesday morning when it all started. Craig and I had just moved into the house and, other than the bed nothing had been unpacked, there were boxes strewn around the room. I'd woken up before Craig to put the coffee on and to start breakfast but when I went into the bed room I found him nearly ready to go, just putting the finishing touches on his tie.
I couldn't help it, I'd always thought my Husband looked good when he was looking crisp and clean and fresh for the day. Soon I found myself kissing at his neck.
"Mm, I think you need to call in sick today," I said, taking in a nice deep breath of his aftershave. The idea of staying in bed all day and fucking sounded great to me. The kind of thing we'd done all the time when we had first gotten married but now, three years in, seemed like a less and less frequent occurrence. If I could convince him to stay in, I would. I let my robe open and fall to the ground as I kissed him hungrily on the lips. If it had been a movie, I'd have had a white lace teddy on underneath. As it was flannel pyjamas aren't the most enticing of garments but they can be removed easily enough. My husband, unfortunately, was not as receptive to my advances as I hoped and broke free of my clutches.
"Can't, Hon," Craig said as he went back to his dressing.
"Before work blow job?" I said, trying to sound as sexy as I could. Deep down I knew I probably looked terrible and had morning breath but I was still hoping that I could convince him to stay and keep me from the dreaded boredom.
Craig just shook his head with a laugh. It was a desperate move on my part.
"Anal?" I said, desperately reaching for something to make him stay
"Don't be gross, babe," Craig said, looking in the mirror again after his jacket was on, "And knock it off, someone needs to work around here."
If he was looking for a way to kill the mood, he'd found it by touching on two of the bigger areas of contention of our marriage.
I didn't like the fact that I wasn't working. I had resisted when he'd suggested moving to the suburbs. The idea of being a kept woman didn't appeal to me at all. But moving to little Amberly Drive in the Shady Grove development with it's cookie cutter houses and having a wife who took care of the house was Craig's desire so we'd agreed that we'd try it. I'd quit my job at the gallery and we'd left the big dangerous city for the world of SUV's and soccer-moms.
On-top of that, our sex life had gotten somewhat stale of late. I'd explored somewhat in college with boyfriends before I'd met Craig. They'd gotten progressively more varied and intense as I'd discovered my partner's kinks and a good time was had by all. With Craig it had never developed. There just weren't kinks to find. He liked sex but usually good, old fashioned missionary. Not much else. Even blow jobs seemed to be considered by him to be a wasted effort on my part.
So, mood killed and me reduced in dignity to having offered to get butt-fucked to stave off boredom, I soon found myself all alone in our big, empty house.
And so began my daily quest to find something to do. My first stop was a fruitless one. Leaving the bedroom I passed by my "Art Room" on the left and looked in sadly.
I loved being in our old neighbourhood, full of hundred year old buildings and storefronts and real slices of life. That's what I'd do, street scenes and cityscapes in charcoal. Here, the only things I saw when I looked out the window was other houses that looked just like mine.
So Craig's gift had been sort of him in a nutshell. Very sweet, very considerate but missing the bigger picture. I had all the canvas I could need and nothing to draw.
The den proved little better. Our television wasn't hooked up yet for cable and, even if it were, I wasn't much for day-time talk-shows or soap operas. I warmly thought of the Nintendo 64 I'd been persuaded to give to goodwill before our move and regretted the decision. I knew how to hook it up and, if nothing else, I could have played Mario Kart for the entire afternoon.
I was briefly considering a drive to a local mall to buy a video game system when the doorbell rang. I eagerly went to answer it. Odds were it was something being delivered but even that sounded like a blissful break from the tedium of my day. A quick look through the peephole, however, told me it was nothing quite so exciting. I opened the door, however, curious nonetheless.
Standing on the front-step was a woman. A woman with rich, luxurious brown hair with and sparkling green eyes. She a fairly impressive figure and skin that almost looked golden but had no trace of sun damage whatsoever. There were only the slightest hints of wrinkles to indicate any age.
If I'd have had to guess an age I'd have guessed mid-thirties and if I'd have had to guess an occupation I'd have gone with Stepford Wife. Seriously, it was as if a terribly unimaginative person had gotten some shorthand as to what a suburban soccer mom was supposed to look like and had just built her from directions. An argyle sweater, khakis and even pearls. Everything about her looked expensive, carefully constructed and utterly sterile. In my state of mind it was like opening my front door and seeing exactly what I didn't want to be in ten years staring back at me.
She smiled as she saw me but her wide, welcoming grin soon became a look of embarrassment as she noticed my clothes.
"Oh my goodness, you're not dressed, should I come back?" she said sweetly, in a sort of sing-song voice that just re-emphasized my first impression of her. I reflexively closed my robe and then immediately felt stupid for doing so. I was the kind of girl who used to answer the door for pizza boys in my t-shirt and underwear. Now I felt weird about being in full pyjamas?
"No, no, it's OK, can I help you?" I mumbled
"Oh, it's no problem dear, I just came to welcome you to the neighbourhood," she continued with a laugh. She was, I had to admit, charming, "I'm Monica Sutter, I'm just over in #16"
That I could process. Me and Craig were in #14. That made this woman was my next door neighbour. I returned her smile and opened my door.
"Hi Monica, I'm Jen, Jen Thomas." I said, extending my hand. A surprisingly firm handshake ensued before I decided to give being neighbourly a go, "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"
"I'd love one," Monica said with a twenty mega-watt smile as she stepped into my home. As we walked into the kitchen I occasionally caught the twinkling green of her eyes as she seemed surveying both me and my the house. I couldn't put my finger on it but there was something oddly evaluative of the way she was looking at everything. As if she were judging that each and everything were up to some unspoken standard. She kept smiling though, so I assumed I was passing.
"Don't you just love the high ceilings?" she asked. I nodded, genuinely, as the house did have a great spacious feel to it. In the kitchen, coffee was poured and, after I excused our lack of a table or chairs, we sipped our coffee standing at the breakfast nook.
"My goodness," Monica said happily after her first sip, "That's phenomenal. Where do you buy it?"
"Oh, this little organic fair trade place in the city," I smiled, savouring the flavour myself, "I'm kind of a coffee nut and, well, I just got addicted to their stuff,"
"Well, you'll just have to pick me up some next time you're there," Monica said as she took another sip, "So Jen Thomas, how are you liking our little corner of Shady Grove?"
"It's nice," I nodded. I tried to keep my eyes on my coffee. It was odd but Monica seemed to make constant eye-contact. It wasn't something I was used to and it put me a little off. Nevertheless, it seemed as though my eyes may have given something away.
"But a little dull, huh?" she laughed. It was a warm, knowing laugh and I joined in with a chuckle while nodding my head.
"A bit. I'm not used to all of this free-time." I said, taking another sip.
"I know just what you mean, " Monica said as she nodded, "When I married Bill I'd been a PA in an investment firm. Long hours, high stress and then poof! Ten hours a day of nothing to do."
I nodded to that, my smile faded. My current problem being summed up as a shared experience made it no more enjoyable.
"Don't worry though, you'll find something. Everyone does," Monica said, picking up on the shift in my expression, "Stacy Keenan over in #26 teaches ballet, Kelly Anderson in #10 is on the school board and Terry Wilson over in 17? She writes this absolutely screamingly funny blog about her kids. I'll send you the URL"
I nodded, trying to force a smile. None of those things sounded remotely interesting to me.
"And if you're looking to stay in shape, there's an unbelievable yoga place in the Mall, super-intense,"
I cringed a little. I could practically hear the laughter of my city-hip friends at hearing about a super intense Mall yoga session with the suburban mother's club. Still, I had to admit, if that was how Monica stayed in shape it may well have been as advertised. She was slim but strong looking. As I said, I didn't know how old she was but I wanted to look that good when I was that age, whatever it was.
"That sounds fun," I said finally, leading to a big grin on her part.
"Oh that's terrific, we can go together. Make a day of it,"Monica said, patting me on the hand. I had to admit, there was something overwhelming in how friendly she was. She seemed determined to make me like her and it was working, "I go Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons,"
"Sounds great," I nodded. It did actually. Something to do. Our first Saturday in the house Craig had gone golfing with his father, leaving me with yet another day,
"Do you have any hobbies?" Monica pressed. Again, it seemed less invasive than it did a genuine attempt to get to know me and direct me around my new neighbourhood.
"I draw. I like live music. Art galleries, museums, stuff like that," I smiled
"Hmm, well, there is an art supply place in the mall," Monica said, looking deep in thought, "Not much in terms of art galleries or museums I'm afraid. Not much in terms of music either. Last concert I was at was when Bill took me took me to a U2 concert at the stadium downtown,"
"How was that?" I asked, hoping to find common ground. U2 is a little AOR for my tastes but, well, it seemed about as close as June Cleaver and I were going to get in terms of connecting.
"Oh, Bill enjoyed himself," Monica said, sounding as if she were speaking of a small child, "I've never been much for Rock concerts,"
I looked at her a second in a bit of puzzled disbelief. Monica looked like she was in her 30's but she sounded like she was in her 60's. She was definitely odd. Pleasant, warm and charming but odd.
We kept chatting, making some small talk. She asked about Craig and I told her the story. We'd met in our junior year in college, we'd married after graduation and we planned to start a family as soon as Craig was a little more established at his Father's firm.
"Well, that's another thing. As soon as the first little one comes along you won't be complaining about too much time on your hands," Monica laughed a wise laugh.
"You have kids?"
"Three," Monica nodded, "Daniel and Trent are my twins and Brianna is the baby,"
"Sounds like a handful," I said. It did. I wanted one. Maybe two. Three, including a baby sounded crazy. Still, I had to hand it to her. She was in phenomenal shape for someone who'd had three kids.
"They were," Monica said with a wistful smile, "I'm an empty nester now, though,"
I looked at her in disbelief. She had to be putting me on.
"What? Did you kick them out at 12?" I asked, smiling,
"Aren't you a dear," she said, a wide grin on her face, "No, the twins are 19 and Brianna just turned 18. All away at college. So I'm somewhat in the same boat you are,"
"Christ, if yoga is your fountain of youth I'll be there with bells on," I said, still marvelling at her looks.
"If I didn't know better I'd swear you were hitting on me," Monica said saucily. I looked at her for a second. For someone as strait-laced as she seemed even a vague detour into a sexual topic seemed hilarious. We looked at each other for a second before giggling.
It definitely seemed as though Monica took my boredom complaints seriously. She showed up the next morning for another cup of coffee and a chat. Then again the next day. I don't know why but Monica seemed to be some sort of perfect mix of parent, therapist and girlfriend. She seemed to draw each and every problem out of me and got me talking about it, giving me constructive advice and doing her best to suggest how I deal with things in the confines of suburbia. She was the first person I confided in that I wasn't entirely happy in my new surroundings.
She even turned out to have something of a dirty sense of humour, something I'd never have guessed in a million years. True, it still struck me as odd from time to time that my best friend seemed to be a housewife fifteen years my senior who looked as though she'd never chipped a nail but I was learning not to put too much stock in appearances.
It was that occasional streak of dirtiness that meant our conversation was bound to happen upon sex from time to time, something it did almost by accident the next day.
"I mean, you're twenty-five, gorgeous, at least you and Craig should be doing it like bunnies, shouldn't you?" Monica said after I'd complained to her for about the hundredth time about the boredom of life.
"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged, "It's not infrequent or anything it's just..."
"Just what, dear?" Monica said, seemingly intently interested. I looked at her for a second before realizing that this was also something I'd never said to anyone.
"Before Craig I was kind of...adventurous," I said, trying to find a decent euphemism for it. "There were things I tried and liked and things I didn't try but wanted to and Craig, well, Craig's kind of pretty standard."
"Same thing, night in night out?" Monica nodded, sounding as if she had some experience with the subject,
"Something like that," I nodded, not wanting to say that night-in and night-out implied a greater frequency than I'd gotten used to. My comment held in the air for a minute while Monica looked at her coffee a second before smiling.
"So, what sort of adventures?" Monica said, a sly look in her eyes.
"Oh, you know, stuff," I demurred. I wasn't used to talking frankly about sex with girlfriends. Especially not the stuff I'd kept buried the last few years.
"Go on, shy girl, you can tell me. I watched every episode of Sex and the City, I won't be shocked," Monica said in an exaggerated whisper, "Your secrets will be safe with me,"
I hesitated only for a brief second before answering this time.
"Well, I guess I'm a little...submissive." I said, even as the words left my mouth I could hardly believe I was saying them. Still, Monica was true to her word and didn't look shocked. She looked, actually, like an adult talking about sex, "Nothing crazy like whips or chains or anything just...I like it rough, you know? Getting called a dirty so-and-so while I get it? Some mildly kinky role-play?"
"Maybe a the occasional spanking?" Monica said, as if she were reading my mind. I was starting to believe there was something a little strawberry under her own vanilla demeanour.
"Yes, exactly. My boyfriend before Craig liked it. A lot" I nodded, thinking briefly about my largely awful but sexually thrilling relationship with Jesse. " He was a total ass hole in every other way but he certainly delivered in that area."
"And Craig, not so much?" Monica asked. There was no hint of cruelty though, just sympathy.
"Don't get me wrong. The Vanilla is good. It's good vanilla." I said, wanting to defend my Husband a little, "But I ask for the other stuff and though he tries from time to time, well, it's pretty clear his heart's not in it. My birthday, it's a little funny, he tried giving me a spanking and I had to beg for it harder. Not in a sexy way either. But, like, 'I won't break and this is more of a pat on the butt' sort of way,"
Monica grinned. I did too. And the words kept coming.
"And, and I know you'll think I'm awful, for this," I said, about to say something I'd certainly never said to anyone, not even Craig "But Craig isn't quite as..,equipped as I might like."
"Jennifer!" Monica said, her hand covering her mouth. Again, I jumped to his defence.
"Don't get me wrong. It's perfectly average. There's nothing lacking whatsoever." I said, speaking the truth, "But, again, previous boyfriend was a little more so and that really did it for me."
Monica just kept looking at me. I wasn't sure what to make of the look. At first I thought it was more shock but, after a second, I realized it was more trying to read something off me. Like whether or not I was putting her on.
"You probably think I'm awful," I said, shaking my head. Truth was, I didn't feel awful. I felt honest.
"Oh don't think it for a second," Monica waved my concerns away as she took another sip of coffee, "Everyone has their peccadilloes."
Our sex talk was the last topic of the day, however, as Monica soon excused herself to head back to her place. I nodded and walked her to the door, giving her a friendly wave as she walked away. I admired her for a second. Not just that she was gorgeous, she was though, but the entire package. I felt as close to Monica in three days as I did to any of my other girlfriends. I'd just told her my deepest, darkest sexual thoughts and she'd reassured me, listened and not judged.
More than that, in the conversations I'd had with some of my other neighbours(I'd had many brief stop-bys) my mention of Monica's name often brought similar laudatory reactions. They marvelled at her ability to look as good as she did while doing all she did. I learned that she'd been head of the local PTA, sat on the board of the botanical gardens and had been an Olympic level swimmer in her younger days who still volunteered at the local pool. I'd dismissed her when I'd first laid eyes on her as being a Stepford Wife but I was learning that she was a super-woman. An actual role model.
Standing there, watching her walk away, I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from me. I'd been really honest and didn't feel guilty about a thing I said. In fact, I actually felt a little turned on. The sex talk had left me thinking about nothing particular exactly but I definitely felt the urge to take a long bath.
As I undressed, I paused to admire myself in the mirror. Monica had made repeated reference to how beautiful I was, how much the men must admire my figure and, as I stripped out of my pyjamas I actually agreed with her for the first time in a long while. I've always been busty, with a slender waist and wide hips but recently I'd begun to doubt myself a little. Looking naked in the mirror, that was gone. I was a babe. Long blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. A face that bordered between classically beautiful and cute and somehow had both attributes working at once. Full, firm D-cups that were still as perky as ever. Long, slender legs that led to an ass that many girlfriends had openly envied. I could have stepped right out of a Playboy centrefold. I even made some sexy poses in the mirror to that effect. Craig was lucky to have me.
In the bath, the words that had left my lips earlier kept running through my head. Rough sex. Role-play. Spankings. Before I knew it my fingers were between my thighs. There was no specificity to my thoughts, just the ideas themselves. My fingers expertly manipulated my clit as I splashed water around. Before long the formless, shapeless lover of my dreams had taken me to an orgasm that shocked me with it's intensity. I was panting, moaning and shaking as I came. As good a climax as I could remember. It was about that time that I really felt as though I'd make it in the suburbs.
Post-bathtub time had gone well, the orgasm still infecting my mood. I dried myself before cleaning up in time to make Craig dinner as he got home. We had a nice dinner, curled up together on the couch to watch our newly installed TV before going to be.
In bed, I initiated sex and Craig, again for the first time in our new house, agreed. It was our usual thing but it was very nice, with me riding him to our mutual climax. I fell asleep in his arms and we drifted into a pretty blissful sleep.
I awoke, as I always did, to the sound of Craig's work alarm. I made him breakfast and we talked for a bit before he went off to work as was our now usual routine. I didn't even offer to debase myself to get him to stay. Before I'd dreaded his leaving, hating the idea of my mornings alone. Now, though, I actually looked forward to it a little. Not that I wanted him gone, just that I was eager to start my day. We said our goodbyes and I returned to the kitchen to clean up. If my previous days experiences would hold, I'd have just enough time to finish cleaning before Monica knocked on my door. Surprisingly, however, this did not hold true. I finished the dishes and actually sat on the breakfast nook for a few minutes, eagerly awaiting her arrival.
Ten minutes later I was beginning to fear that perhaps Monica had decided that our little chats weren't necessary any more. That she'd seen me through the toughest parts of my move and adjustment and she was off to help someone else. That every woman on the neighbourhood moved in being a hip city girl and Monica helped them transition to suburban wife. The thought made me a little angry.
Those thoughts dissipated, though, as a knock on my door roused me from my oddly possessive head space. It was later than usual but any annoyance I had felt vanished. I knew Monica had her own life after all. I almost ran to the door in anticipation.
Sure enough, it was Monica. It was the first time I'd seen her dress casually. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of her usual knit sweater and khakis, her make up and pearls replaced with a more natural look and flowing locks tied behind her head in a ponytail. I stood there for a second, marvelling at how she somehow managed to look even better dressed down than up. The only similarity was the large purse she had over her shoulder.
"Hey there stranger," I said warmly. I guess it was a sign of how comfortable I'd gotten with her that I didn't even bother to close my robe before inviting her in. A few days earlier I'd thought I was under dressed in flannel pyjamas. Now, I felt perfectly comfortable in front of her in the pink t-shirt and boi shorts I'd worn to bed. For a second I thought I may have overestimated our familiarity with each other because she looked at me a little strangely at first but then that warm, inviting smile greeted me again.
"Hey there Gorgeous," Monica smiled and walked in. She suggested we have our coffee in the living room and I accepted, sitting beside her closely. I wasn't even sure what I wanted to talk about that day. We made some small talk about gardens and the news as we drank our coffee. I thought I must have been imagining things but it seemed as though every little move and shift Monica made ended with her sitting a little closer to me on the two person loveseat, to the point that by the time our first cup of coffee was finished our knees were touching. It wasn't that I minded the closeness but, for some reason, it felt different than when we'd sat together on prior days. I couldn't put my finger on why, exactly, but I decided that getting another cup of coffee for us would give me a chance to change where I was sitting. I asked her if she wanted another cup, she said yes and, to my surprise, rose with me as I walked to the large archway that led to our kitchen.
"Jen, wait," I heard her say in an oddly commanding tone. I turned around and it happened. She'd been right behind me. She pushed me up against my living room wall and kissed me.
I confess, I've always thought of myself as a little bi-curious, I noticed particularly attractive women. I'd even had the occasional self-love session centred around the subject. It would always be something like this. My rough sex fantasies but with a punky young woman in place of a man. I'd never looked at Monica in that way at all though. How could I?
So I was caught by surprise. So much so, in fact, that I dropped both of the coffee cups I'd been carrying causing them to break. Her lips were soft, as soft as I'd always imagined another woman's lips being, but there was nothing soft about the kiss. Maybe it was just a reflex but I melted into it, opening my lips and kissing back.
There were no thoughts in my head, not about who I was kissing or why it was wrong, just the touch of her lips seemed to make me focus only on the kiss. Our tongues met and again she proved herself delicate but forceful. It was clearly a kiss where she was in control but I gave back, spreading my legs and arching my back to make the kiss I was getting from the taller woman.
I felt her hand on my hip, pulling me towards her and my hands fell to her shoulders. I opened my eyes as our kissing continued, almost to make sure it was real. It was. I was being kissed by a beautiful, green eyed older woman and I didn't want it to stop. There was a roughness to what she was doing, pushing me up against the wall and the tugs of my lips with her teeth that I found intoxicating. She smelt like lilacs, something I took special note of when her kisses moved to my neck and I did the same. Our legs entwined, her hands now falling to my butt, squeezing it tightly, pulling me closer to her.
"You're so fucking sexy," Monica practically growled as I felt her teeth pull at my earlobe. Had I had my wits about me I'd have noted that it was the first time I heard her curse but as it was I just moaned, grinding myself against her thigh.
Her hands continued roaming. They were under my shirt quickly, cupping and hefting my breasts before squeezing them, my nipple perfectly in the palm of her hand as she did. I moaned at that too. She tugged until my shirt was up around my armpits, letting my breasts free before she started moving her hands lower.
It was at this moment, lost in pleasure though I was, that I had my first real moment of coming to my senses. I didn't pull away, I didn't stop anything, I just tried to make sense of the situation.
"Monica, we can't do thi...oh my god in heaven,"
My protest didn't even make it through the one sentence. Her fingers had slipped beneath the waistband of my panties and had expertly found my pussy. There was no mistaking how wet I was and she took note of it.
"You're so wet, you little slut," she whispered, getting another moan from me. I couldn't help it. You know the cheesy romance novels where a woman describes a touch as "electric". Well, I was convinced. The second I felt her fingers on my sex it was like a jolt of pure, delightful electricity. Her fingers were like everything else about her. Strong, soft and expert. My god she knew how to touch me. Her thumb found my clit as two of her fingers rubbed along the length of me. I felt my knees week but her firm hands held me in place. As her fingers slipped inside me, sound finally escaped my lips.
"Oh fuck, oh god," I yelled loudly. I'd have worried about the neighbours if it wasn't the neighbour causing me to howl in pleasure.
Fingering me in those particular panties wasn't easy but Monica did it with unbelievable skill. Hard and fast. There's no two ways about it, she was finger fucking me, plunging her fingers into me as hard and intensely as I'd ever been fucked by a cock. I tried to catch my breath to no avail, all I could do was spread my legs and moan. I was being taken like I'd always dreamt of being taken. I was pinned against the wall and being fucked hard.
Pretty soon I was writhing in ecstasy. Monica's head had moved to my neck to my exposed breasts, alternating between treating them gently and roughly. Gentle licks, playful bites and hard suckles. When she moved from breast to breast, I could see the teeth marks being left. It was still a surreal sight, this beautiful woman who I'd just considered a close friend a few minutes earlier was fucking me for all I was worth but I was too lost in pleasure to dwell on it. A few more pumps of her slightly bent fingers and I was going to cum shrieking, pinned against my living room wall.
That was apparently not in her plans, however, as she with drew her fingers to my moan of disbelief and dismay. I had been so god damn close to cumming. Her fingers, wet with my juices, were soon pulling me back towards her, to another hungry kiss. A quick one though, as soon I felt her hands on my shoulders, pushing me to my knees.
"Eat me," she said forcefully as she unbuttoned her jeans. Again I marvelled at how it seemed as though Monica had taken things from our conversation that I hadn't said. Being brought to the brink and then cruelly denied, being forced to my knees, made to orally service my partner, those were parts of my ever present fantasy. True, it was infrequent that it involved a woman but in those rare instances it was largely the same. I hesitated for a moment when her tight jeans were tugged down along with her panties.
Whereas I kept myself neatly trimmed, it appeared Monica had gone for the full Brazilian. Her sex was smooth, bare and glistening. I'd seen shaved girls before but certainly never from the vantage point I was seeing it now. I don't know why but it gave me pause.
"Monica, I've never..."
I tried explaining my hesitancy. Not that I wasn't going to do as told. No, that ship had sailed. I was so burning hot that I knew that whatever Monica had planned, whatever she wanted, was happening that day. All of my objections and concerns had been compartmentalized and shut off.
I had, however, always thought that if I were ever with a girl then she'd have, well, explained things to me. Taught me. But that did, I know, conflict with the rough, forceful side of things and there was no mistaking which side Monica was coming down on.
"Just fucking eat me," Monica said, gripping me by the hair and pulling me to her. I decided to go for the gusto. I'd eaten a pussy or two in my dreams and decided to work from that. Gingerly, I stuck my tongue out and tasted another woman for the first time.
It wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I'd tasted myself before. But she was different, unique. I went slow at first, just licking along her slit and flicking my tongue over her clit. That seemed to have an effect. Her grip on my hair tightened and she cooed in pleasure. I did the same again but with more urgency to an even louder reaction. Soon my tongue was inside her and I was eating pussy to the best of my ability.
Novice though I was, I quickly picked up on what she liked. When I went faster, tongued deeper and reached my thumb to her clit I got moans of pleasure and a tighter grip on my hair. When I slowed down I got the reverse. If this had been an equal partnership I might have teased her the way she'd cruelly stopped before my own climax but that wasn't my fantasy. I was servicing her. I ate furiously, rolling my tongue. She was leaning against the back of the loveseat we'd sat on, spreading her legs and giving me the kind of encouragement I'd longed for.
"Fuck yes you dirty little whore," she said in appreciation, "You're a natural,"
I opened my eyes to look at her. She seemed lost in her own bliss, ignoring me. When we did make eye contact she'd push me deeper, grind her hips, almost ride my tongue. Looking at her like this, it seemed ridiculous that I hadn't seen her as a sexual creature all along. She looked confident, in control and totally at ease with the pleasure she was feeling. Like it was expected.
Soon I found a particular spot with my tongue that seemed to really have an effect. She bucked as my tongue ran over a particular ridge deep inside her. I did it again and she bucked again. Soon it was all I was doing and she was bucking and moaning with wild abandon.
"Oh fuck yes, fuck me, fuck me, oh Jen, oh fuck," she moaned. I felt proud. I was going to make her cum. Going to please her. I redoubled my efforts.
"Oh fuck yes, yes, oh god yes!" Monica cried as she came, flooding my face with her orgasm. I kept licking her through, kept on that same spot. Her pussy squeezed around my tongue as she spasmed. She bucked and shook and whimpered as she came. The look on her face one of total rapture. It was an orgasm that must have lasted a good twenty seconds before she slowed, her bucks now occasional rolls of her hips and my tongue, which I admit was pretty tired, slowed down.
"My god, Jennifer," Monica finally said when I stopped, planting small kisses on her thighs, "You must have wanted this even more than you let on,"
"Mmmm, that was pretty great," I acknowledged dreamily. I could still feel my own burning need but the experience had already been terrific.
"Not that," Monica said as she took my chin in her hand and leaned down to plant a long, slow, sensual kiss on my lips, "What you're about to get. You must have really wanted it if you ate me that well."
I sat there for a second, on my sore knees, and looked up at her quizzically. She just smiled and reached back onto the couch for her purse.
"What the fuck is that?" I asked, knowing full well what it was I was looking at. A black leather harness attached to a dildo. I knew what a strap-on dildo was. My question was more about it's size, which was enormous, and how realistic it looked. It looked as though if I'd sucked it I'd have had something to spit into tissue paper after words. It must have been near nine inches long but much thicker than any cock I'd ever seen. It even had what looked like thick veins in it, travelling the length of the shaft.
Monica just smiled as she stepped into the harness, tightening the two straps. Only when it was securely fastened did she answer.
"This is what's going to give you what you wanted, Jen. The kind of rough fucking you need." she said it confidently. I just kept looking from her eyes to the cock and then back.
"I don't, I mean, I've never, wow," I couldn't help it. I was intimidated. Wet as hell and desperate to get off but still intimidated.
"I know," Monica said, "I didn't know how big your past lover had been and wanted to go one further so I erred on the side of caution."
"You're safe," I nodded, still staring at the thing in amazement. Jesse hadn't been as long and nowhere as thick, "I don't know if I can take that,"
"Don't worry, Jen, we'll only give you what you can handle," Monica said with a grin before winking and adding, "Plus an inch or two,"
The words made me quiver. Being pushed to my limits, being pushed past them. The idea was great. The reality had me doubting it though. I wasn't entirely sure how confident I was in this. I'd seen a strap-on scene in porn before and it always seemed awkward. Understandably, like unfamiliar equipment was being used. Looking up at Monica mainly dispelled those thoughts though. She certainly sounded like she'd used it before and everything else she'd done to that point had been with a the grace of an artist and skill of a surgeon.
"Besides, from my experience," Monica said, a great deal of confidence in her voice, "Get a dirty little slut wet enough and she can take just about anything,"
I just looked at her and nodded.
"Now go and get on your fucking couch."
I did as told, scrambling over to my couch and sitting down. She followed behind me and positioned me just how she wanted me. In the middle of the couch, sitting just on the edge. She yanked my panties down roughly, exposing me to her. She bent down and gave me one lick along my slick lips, stopping just before my clit. I moaned in frustration. I was so close I thought that just another lick would have pushed me over. She must have seen that though because she smiled, spread my legs and got between them.
I immediately saw why she'd positioned me like she had. With my legs spread and her on her knees in front of me, she was in a perfect position to fuck me. She reached into her purse one more time and produced a bottle of lubricant. A quick dollop later and the massive cock was glistening and aimed right at me.
She gave me one last look as she pressed the head against me. Whether it was to see if I was ready or if I was having second thoughts about the whole thing I had no idea but either way she got her answer. She pushed in. I moaned.
It was so big. Even wet as I was and lubed as it was I couldn't believe it was in me. Once in me, it was no more believable. I felt stretched, stuffed and full with only the head of the thing inside. She kept pushing though. Every push felt incredible. If there was a difference in feel or pleasure between a real cock and Monica's I couldn't tell. It was just so phenomenal to feel that full, that stuffed.
"You want more? Want to get fucked?" Monica said softly, staring right into my eyes. I just locked my eyes on hers and nodded. I did. So badly.
She obliged, pushing more in. Going deeper. Deeper than I'd ever been penetrated before. I moaned at every push, wrapping my legs around her back. She pulled off her shirt, revealing her own heavy breasts. Like the rest of her they showed almost no sign of age. Large, heavy orbs with stiff pink nipples and the same tanned tone as the rest of her. I filled my hands with them. Weighed them. Tried to see if I could notice a difference between them. It was an entirely new feeling. Being penetrated while getting to grope a soft, firm pair of tits. It was a terrific experience.
And it was distracting me from the massive cock being pushed inside me. I'd liked the size before. I hadn't expected it to be exponential but it was. The pleasure I was feeling just in entrance was unreal. When Monica finally stopped, when I felt full to bursting, there was only a tiny bit of the thing not buried inside me. I could hardly believe my eyes.
"Well, that's good for now," Monica said, "Now are you ready to get fucked?"
"Beg me for it."
"Fuck me, please" I moaned. Begging came easy. I needed to cum more than I ever had in my life.
"Again," Monica ordered, still buried inside me. I tried massaging her breasts, plying them in my hands as if treating her breasts lovingly would encourage her to give me what I needed. It didn't work though.
"Fuck oh, god, I need it, please fuck me." I practically cried.
That seemed to do the trick. Monica began thrusting. A little at first, withdrawing the thing was almost as slow as it had been on entry, before a thrust that nearly knocked the wind from me. Then another. Faster. Then another. Even faster. Soon she was steadily pumping her hips into me, fucking me deeply.
Christ it was good. Any thoughts I'd had about the dick not being real or her awkwardness in using the foreign instrument vanished in an instant. It was being fucked into me. Hard and fast. And it was big and firm. It was just how I'd dreamed of it. Exactly what I'd needed for so long. That it was a beautiful woman fucking the big thing into me was just a delicious, novel icing on the cake. I squeezed my legs around her as she fucked me. Just thinking about it was intoxicating. Another woman was fucking me. A beautiful brunette woman was fucking me better than any man had ever fucked me.
"C'mon bitch, you like it, huh?" she said, grabbing my neck as she did. I moaned. She had listened to everything I'd said. She'd listened and took notes. She was going to give me everything I've ever wanted. Her free hand squeezed my still exposed breast, hard. She kissed me again. This time I gave myself over completely. The softness of her lips pressed into mine. Another new experience.
"You're a dirty little whore who likes getting fucked with a big cock," she said, each word zapping into me. This was how I wanted to be spoken to. This was how I wanted to get fucked. She picked up the pace, slamming the massive dildo into me with no less skill but with a lot more speed. I moaned. I gushed. I was going to cum soon.
She rolled me over, banding me over the couch as she inched backwards a bit. I moaned encouragement. From behind had been the way I'd pictured it. Her hand wrapped in my hair, riding me. Fucking me like a bitch.
"Harder," I moaned, "Fuck me harder,"
She did. I wouldn't have thought it was possible but she was soon pounding the cock even harder into me. Our bodies slapping loudly against each other. She was spanking me too. Hard stinging slaps on the ass. I remembered having to beg Craig to slap me harder, make it seem like he was really punishing me for being bad. With Monica it was the opposite. It almost felt too hard, like it would bruise. Like I'd have to explain red hand prints to Craig if he saw me naked later. But I just shrieked in delight. I was her property for the day and she could do whatever she wanted to me.
"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum" I moaned, feeling the cock rub over every nerve ending I had.
"Beg for it." she commanded
"Please mistress, fuck me. Fuck me with your fat cock and make me cum," is how I obeyed. I was surprised by the words coming from my own mouth. Things dreamt but never said. I was delirious with pleasure now. The fucking was driving me over the edge. Just a constant radiating pleasure coursing through me. Her hands left my hair and now filled with my breasts, using them as a handle for fucking me just as she'd used my hair. She was tightly gripping my large, soft breasts as she fucked me from behind, her fingers pinching at my sensitive nipples.
It was impossible to say where I was hurting the most. My achingly sore pussy from the deliciously rough fucking, the ass from the intense spanking, my breasts from the entirely welcome grip on them or my face from the ear to ear grin I was wearing. I was just totally consumed by pleasure. My hands were gripping the couch so tightly my knuckles were white and I could feel the orgasm that had been building all day coming to the fore.
"Come for me, Jen," Monica ordered. Again, I obeyed.
I lost it, cumming intensely. My cunt spasming and squeezing around the huge cock in the most intense orgasm I could ever remember. I was screaming Monica's name, screaming yes and screaming for god. If god was really behind sex like this then I would go back to church. She kept fucking me through my orgasm, making it last for what seemed like an eternity. It was unreal, she seemed to know exactly what to do with the big cock around her waist to make my orgasm mount just as it was cresting. Tears were streaming down my face I was so happy.
I came again. A ragged spark of an orgasm that made my fingers and toes feel as though they were on fire from a thousand tiny fireworks going off inside me. I barely had finished coming down from it, or so it felt, when a third coursed through me. Then a fourth. I lost track of time and orgasms as she hammered me with an incredible stamina. Every now and then I felt a drop of her sweat drip onto my back and could hear her grunt with exertion but she didn't let up her pace for a second.
I couldn't verbalize it but I felt something building from deep inside my body. Something that felt unlike any orgasm I'd ever had before.. Each previous orgasm seemed to leave me closer and closer to an edge. An edge I'd never been close to, never felt at all. I wasn't sure what to make of it. It felt a little like a pressure that was building and building as the massive cock pounded away at my cunt.
"Oh fuck me, Mon, keep fucking me," I said. I wanted to get wherever this fuck was taking me. The pressure began to get unbearable, like I was going to explode at any minute from any number of places. I collapsed against the couch as each thrust brought me closer to that cliff, inch by inch, until I went over.
It was unreal. Like all of my orgasms combined into one, radiating from every part of my body. Exploding in light and sound and colour. I screamed. No words, just a scream. I felt the shock wave course through my body and then, finally, I just collapsed into a delightful abyss.
I have no idea how long I was passed out for. Heck, I have no idea how long we'd been fucking. But I came too, like waking from a delicious dream. Monica was lying on top of me, breathing heavily, her soft breasts pressed against my back and the cock still buried inside me. I moaned in approval.
"Still with us?" Monica said happily, kissing the back of my neck.
"Mmmm." I moaned, I could still feel little charges of my orgasm running through me.
"Told you you could take it," Monica said, giving my shoulder a little bite. It was at that moment that a little beeping noise went off. I had no idea what it meant. My brain wasn't working well enough to even understand it. Monica, however, seemed to know exactly what it meant.
"Damn," she said, pulling out of me gently, leaving a trail of delicious soreness as she did so, "I didn't want to do this and run but I agreed that I'd run over snacks for the junior high's afternoon bake-sale,"
Had I been more in control of my faculties I might have pointed out the ridiculousness of the statement but I had been fucked totally senseless. Up was down, black was white, sometimes illicit lesbian fucking gets interrupted by a responsibility to make marshmallow squares. I wasn't one to argue. I was barely cognisant of Monica's dressing and departure until she knelt beside me, fully clothed and, again, tenderly pressed her full, pale lips in a long, lingering kiss.
"This was incredible Jen. I'll be over tomorrow for coffee and we can talk then, OK?" Monica said, real affection in her voice.
I nodded. The idea of time, of my actual life, of actual responsibilities were all beginning to sink back in. I watched as she stood up and left the room, waving good-bye to me again before I heard the door closing. I stood up uneasily after a few more minutes of lying against the sofa, my knees feeling like jelly, and stumbled towards my bedroom. I finally pulled my shirt entirely over my head and completed the walk completely in the nude, collapsing onto my bed and falling into a deep sleep.
I had lucked out. Craig had called later in the day and left a message saying that he would be working late and, being as it was Friday and he was planning on golfing the next morning anyway, maybe he'd stay the night at his parent's condo. I was relieved. I couldn't explain what had happened that morning to myself, let alone to anyone else.
I fell back to sleep a little later before waking up for good sometime in the middle of the night. I found myself obsessing over what had happened. Was I a lesbian? Was I meant to be married to Craig? How did Monica feel about me? How did I feel about Monica?
I didn't have good answers to any of those questions and so I did what I'd always done when I was confused. I went into my Art room and, for the first time in my new house, I drew. Anything and everything I could. Scenes from memory, pictures in some of my books, the faces of people I knew. I drew for hours, relieved at getting my mind off of things. I lost myself in my drawings the way I used to be able to. Something I'd feared I'd lost. I was so enraptured by it I missed the rising of the sun, working through my seven o'clock alarm and only, finally, being interrupted by the sound of my ringing phone. I had been working on a drawing of my college roommate and hated to leave it but I grudgingly did, learning that it was now near eight o'clock in the morning.
"Hi Jen, hope I didn't wake you," said Monica's instantly recognizable voice when I'd pressed answer. It was bizarre. Gone were any traces of the voice that had told me to eat her or to beg to be fucked. Just the charming, cheery sing-song voice of my neighbour.
"No, Monica, I was awake, is everything OK?" I said, somewhat dreading how our conversation might go.
"Fine, sweetie," Monica assured me, "I just woke up to find that a huge chunk of my garden was ripe for the harvest and I'm sort of in the middle of that right now. No time for coffee, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's..." I didn't know how to react. I guess I wanted to talk to her about what had happened but I still didn't know what to say. Maybe another day would give me that chance. That clearly wasn't what Monica had in mind though.
"But come on out back and we'll talk. I'm putting together a basket for you."
"Sure, see you in a second." I said, still in disbelief at her demeanour. I headed back to my room to throw on some clothes and walked back down the stairs. Passing the living room I ducked in to grab my discarded panties from the floor. It was hard to believe. Just a few hours earlier it had been the scene of the most unbelievable, unreal sexual experience of my life. Now it just looked like my living room, albeit a living room where my sofa was a foot or two out of place.
I pushed the furniture back where it should be and made my way through the kitchen and into the spacious backyard. There was a fence about four feet high between my yard and Monica's and I could see her immediately. She was on her knees, wearing overalls, harvesting what looked to be some tomato plants.
I walked to the fence, enjoying the cool early morning breeze in what had been a sweltering summer, and cautiously made my way to where Monica was.
"Good morning sunshine," Monica said as I got to the fence, sitting up slightly and smiling at me. It was another new look for her. Dirty and sweating. Like all of her other looks, it suited her. In spite of my nervousness about the impending conversation I had to look away shyly as thoughts of what we'd done again coursed through my body.
"Hey," I smiled. I was still entirely confused. Every time I looked at her it was as though I saw something different. At times it was the suburban housewife, at times the good friend I'd made and, at times, the woman who'd fucked my brains out. She got up to her knees and reached down to what looked like a small peach basket full of herbs and vegetables.
"This is for you," Monica said, handing it to me. I took it and looked at it, grateful for another distraction. It looked tremendous. As good as any produce I'd seen in any store. Clearly Monica was as accomplished a gardener as she was everything else. There were tomatoes, carrots, green beans and, tightly wrapped in a plastic bag, something I hadn't seen in a long time.
"Monica, Jesus," I said, nervously looking around as if a DEA officer might leap out of my hedges, "Is this pot?"
"It is," Monica said, winking at me, "I hope you don't mind me assuming you smoked but, being as you're a hip city girl I figured that at the very least you'd know someone who does and my plants just gave and gave."
I stared at it. I did smoke from time to time. I was no expert but it looked really, really, good.
"It's a cross-breed," Monica said, reading my mind yet continuing to speak about the large quantity of illegal narcotic no differently than someone would about a rose bush they were proud of, "Hawaiian Rise and Snow White. I don't have a name for it but it's a good one. A big high but it sneaks up on you so go easy."
I just stared at the bag of it. There seemed no end to Monica's hidden depths. Soccer mom, neighbourhood leader, lesbian power top, drug dealer. It all made sense and none of it did.
"You grew this?" I asked incredulously,
"I did," Monica nodded, wiping sweat from her forehead, "Not out here of course but I turned my son's room in the basement into a little home grow. Nothing serious, just for me and a few of the girls."
"You smoke?" I realized it was a stupid question as soon as I asked it.
"Of course," Monica nodded, "Child of the 70's and all. Not much I like better than smoking a little chronic and listening to, well, The Chronic"
Again, I was stunned.
"Dr. Dre?" I asked, "But you said you didn't...."
"I don't like rock music, no," Monica shook her head, "My parents listened to rock music and who wants to listen to their parents music, right? So when I was young and wanted to piss them off it was hip-hop. Dre and Snoop and Cube and so on."
I shook my head. There was too much in that sentence to be shocked by. I decided to by-pass it completely and move right to the main subject.
"In fact, if you're still coming to yoga I was thinking you could come over afterwards. We could smoke and listen to Nicki Minaj's new album," Monica said, still looking and sounding as though she was asking me for nothing stranger than afternoon tea, "I like her mix tape stuff a little better but I was thinking we could roll a blunt and maybe make some cinnamon buns. I have a recipe that is just to die for. Fresh vanilla cream cheese icing too,"
I just stood there in stunned silence. It sounded like the kind of thing I'd loved doing as a teenager, minus the fantastic sounding cinnamon buns. It sounded fantastic. Still,I decided to put a breaks on the surreal conversation and bring it back to something that needed to be said.
"Monica, about yesterday..."
"Hope I wasn't too rough on you," Monica said, still as cheerful as everything
"No, not that," I said. She had been rough on me but well, that was what I'd wanted, "But you need to know...I don't think I'm a lesbian,"
"I'm not either," Monica said with a firm conviction and a shake of the head before her tone softened and went back to the cheery welcome wagon mode, "I'm bisexual, though. President of the local chapter of the Bisexual Network in fact. We meet on the second Monday of every month if you're interested. Not much of a chapter I confess, me and Mr. Hanready and a couple others. The millennium is coming slowly to Shady Grove I'm afraid."
"And I love Craig," I said, convinced it was true.
"And I love Bill," Monica said, her voice still full of sympathy, "So don't get any ideas about us falling in love and running off together because I believe in stable marriages. Bill's my best friend, father to my children and very good in bed when I'm in the mood for hetero fun,"
"So why did you..."
"Bill and I have a pretty open relationship, sweetie," Monica said, "He has a girl in the city and I have, well, I have my recreational activities,"
She smiled as she said this, more to herself than to me, and I could see she was thinking about what had happened as well. I stood there for a second, still trying to wrap my head around what she was saying.
"And, dear, if I may be so bold, I'd suggest you talk to your Craig about this. It's pretty clear that you needed what happened yesterday." Monica said, "Trust me, I know. I didn't be frank with Bill about my need to be with women until we'd been married 10 years and they were some tough years. You don't want to cut yourself off from an important part of your sexuality. Now, we're happier than ever.
"That's why I did it, really," Monica continued, "I could tell you were really missing something and that it was going to continue eating at you until you got really miserable. It's why I sort of took charge. I hope you don't mind but, well, you did seem to enjoy yourself."
I just smiled and nodded. There wasn't much use denying it. I did need it, it had bogged me down and it had been absolutely incredible.
"So then what are we..." I said, continuing my streak of not asking entire questions. Not that it prevented answers.
"Friends, Jen." Monica said firmly, although sweetly, "Now if you don't want to do that again..."
"No, no, I do," I said quickly. Just as sure as I didn't want to leave Craig, I knew I didn't want to not have that happen again. I knew I needed that sex in my life. I didn't want to give it up.
"OK, then, we'll be friends who fuck each other silly from time to time." Monica said, smiling broadly. I smiled too, nervously. Clearly she was as happy at the news as I was, "But again, you should tell your husband. I'll do it on the sly if you prefer but I'd rather avoid a messy scene."
I nodded. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.
"And know right off the bat that if he does agree on the condition that he watches or joins it's a no-go. The only man I sleep with is my husband and I don't perform for an audience. "
I nodded again. It was an arrangement I wanted as well. Something just for me and her. Seeing this, she beckoned me forward, right to the edge of the fence. She leaned over and kissed me, softly and sweetly. She was still a little grimy from the gardening but I didn't care and kissed her back, feeling some dirt smear on my lip.
"God that makes me so happy." Monica said as we broke our kiss, licking her thumb and wiping the dirt from my face, "That was incredible yesterday,"
"It was," I agreed, resting my forehead against hers.
"Was that really your first time with a woman?" she asked, clearly impressed,
"God, you are going to be a handful, aren't you," Monica said, clearly happy about it.
She gave me another kiss on the cheek before taking a step back. She gave me a quick smile and then turned back to her plants.
"So I noticed Craig didn't come home last night. Nothing happened, did it?" she asked as she cleared up a little
"No," I shook my head, "Just out golfing, stayed at his folks because they're nearer to his course or club or whatever."
"Bill too," Monica chuckled, "What they see in that silly game I never understand,"
"Search me," I laughed,
"I swear, Bill wakes up earlier for Golf than he does for work and doesn't come home until the late afternoon," Monica said, still shaking her head,
"Craig's the same." I nodded, "36 holes and then drinks. I won't see him until at least five"
My words hung in the air for a second before Monica looked at me, her green eyes twinkling. She clearly had the same thought I did and I blushed.
"Do you suppose," I asked nervously, feeling the heat already rise within me. An idea had washed over me."You could be my strict Women's Studies professor that I'm asking for an extension on a paper?"
Monica looked at me. It wasn't a friendly look either. I could feel myself getting more and more excited as she looked me over like a wolf would a juicy steak.
"Be wearing a plaid skirt and white stockings" she said naughtily as she got up, collecting her tools, "And put your hair in pigtails. I'll be over after I shower,"
I beamed as I watched her walk inside, her agreement to see to another of my unfulfilled fantasies making me grin wide. I admired her curves as she walked in. Even in the clothes she was in there was no mistaking the raw sexuality she seemed to carry when it suited her. I watched her until she was just out of view before I turned back to my own house. I'd like to think I walked calmly back into my house but, truth is, I probably ran.