How My Sexuality Changes as I Age Ch. 05

A message from Jayne.

Almost no matter what the state of a wife's relationship with her husband, committing adultery for the first time is, to her, a big step. It'll worry her, cause her concern, make her feel ashamed and the feeling of guilt will be huge. However, unless the marriage changes and he behaves more reasonably, in her view, these feelings will diminish and will gradually be replaced by a desire for more cheating, as society unfairly calls her escape from a disastrous relationship. Yes, it will no longer feel like she's cheating, but more that she's getting what she's rightfully entitled to, a full ration of satisfying sex.

Often, though, the woman will not be able to handle the 'fuck 'em and leave 'em' lifestyle and, instead, she'll choose to legitimise the situation with a divorce after which she is then free from guilt and she can fuck who and when she likes. Society calls that being promiscuous, which it may well be, but then so what, it's her body and mind to do with as she wants! If that includes sleeping around and having a variety of lovers so be it.

A bit harsh, I know, but then that's how a broken marriage and setting out on the single woman's road to sexual pleasure makes us.

Thanks for reading this,

Love

Jayne x

For several months after the end of my first affair, I reverted to my usual roles of wife, mother and housekeeper and, more recently, a part time worker, so I was nearly able to forget about my affair with Thomas and the fling with Mark. I couldn't, however, quite forget them, but I managed to just about push them out of my mind most of the time and get on with my life as if they'd never happened. It was almost as if I had seen what I did with them in a film or read about them in a book and had not been the star character in a real-life drama where for a while I had two lovers.

Fortunately, in some ways, Thomas and his team had been moved to another location and Mark and I realised that due to the relationship between us as couples, he and I really were playing with fire and taking huge risks so we agreed to cool it. During the time when I was sexually active with both of them, which was no more than three months, I didn't see either of them that often, but it was frequent enough to keep me broadly sexually satisfied as my marriage went from bad to worse when Kevin as good as admitted that he played around and had lovers in both Singapore and Melbourne.

As the autumn set in I started feeling depressed and as that gave way to winter, the prospect of the long, damp months ahead made me feel even worse. Also, I started becoming restless as I was bored and fed up. Kevin was away even more as he completed integrating the companies he'd bought in Singapore and Australia, or as he shagged his bimbos, and had told me that would be the case for at least another year or so, which I immediately took to mean two years as he always underplayed bad news. I implored him to send one of his partners in the business, but he refused and suggested that I travel with him on some of the trips and stay over there as he worked. Whilst the prospect of first-class air travel and time in five-star hotels had some appeal that wasn't enough for me to miss seeing the kids, leaving my ageing parents and giving up the interesting and quite fulfilling job I had started a few months previously, which, of course had also included the attraction of the afternoons in hotels with Thomas.

Taking everything into consideration and cutting a long story short, I put it to Kevin that I wanted a divorce. To my surprise and, in a way, disappointment he quite readily agreed and we quickly worked out how to split our finances. They were quite complicated as both of us had earned significant amounts of money overseas on which we hadn't paid UK tax and my parents, who were both now well into the eighties, had gifted us the money both to start Kevin's companies and buy our main house that we'd just sold as we downsized. So we didn't want to involve lawyers too much and, as a consequence and with a little bit of chicanery from Kevin within a few months we had a quickie divorce finalised. I was now a free woman!

Moving from being a married to a divorced woman brings about, probably, the biggest changes to a woman's outlook and how others think of her that she's ever likely to experience. Many men will see her in a totally different light and any that have had a passing fancy for her in the past are quite likely now to become more open about it. This often leads to her hearing the 'old chestnuts' about how his wife doesn't understand him and how he's 'held a candle' for her for so long. Society generally, well the male side of it at least, will now kid themselves that women in such situations are short of sexual enjoyment and, thus, are always gagging for it and who better to help her out than him, whoever the him of the moment is! This oft tarnishing of a woman's reputation can have a significant effect on a divorcee especially if and when the wives in her social circle see her as competition, as some always do, and thus keep their husbands well away from her.

When my divorce became public knowledge in my neighbourhood and at the tennis club and as I joined new groups and announced my marital status these changes of men's and women's opinions of me as a divorcee were quite apparent. In private, I smiled about them, but deeper down they did concern me, but there's not much anyone can do to alter societies long held opinions so, effectively, I just had to grin and bear it. And bearing it for me meant thinking 'if people believe that I am always up for it then maybe I should be.' It wasn't a slow conversion from being a faithful wife to being a modern, single woman who embraced the more male philosophy of 'fuck 'em and leave 'em, but as I waited for the legal wheels of the divorce court to slowly grind their way through the decree nisi to the final stages equally slowly, that almost became my mantra.

Once the wait for the finalisation of the divorce was lifted from my shoulders, I felt better. Like many, or most women in similar positions, I was now more able to start rebuilding my life. I stopped being the reclusive celibate I had been for the past few months. I bought a whole new wardrobe as I set out to become a single woman of the 21st century, a liberated female, one who could take or leave men. One who recognised sex for what it was, basically a commodity to be enjoyed and not something that was mixed up with love and affection, but a pleasure, an indulgence, something I would do because I wanted to. No other reason, no other motives and to hell with the thinking that there must be love involved before a girl lets a guy into her knickers!

Oh yes, as I signed the final divorce papers sitting in my lawyer's office in my new Janet Regar thong and ridiculously skimpy bra under the tight linen trousers and low-cut top, I was sure that I would now be able to 'fuck 'em and leave 'em'. And for a while it worked just like that. For a weird year and a bit I did 'fuck 'em and leave 'em,' and I may well have actually fucked a few too many!

Was I promiscuous? Of course. Was I an easy lay? Well fairly, at least to some? Was the sex good? You bet it was, but was I happy? Hmmmmm!

My first date after the divorce was a salutary lesson and an amazing experience for me. It was also quite funny, sad, all mixed up and, overall rather disappointing!

He was someone I met at a tournament at his tennis club. We got on well as we played and we chatted easily at the following dinner. Older than me in his mid-fifties, Peter was a widower with two children. He was well-off, an accountant with his own five-bedroom house in the town where I had spent most of my marriage and we met me at an opportune time just a couple of weeks after the divorce was finalised which was the time I had set myself to re-enter real life and shrug off my one as a recluse. Then, several months without any form of sexual contact, I was close to being so frustrated that even a glance from a good-looking guy could start things moving in me, which often I played out later, naked on the floor in front of that mirror.

When he asked me out I at first found myself starting to refuse as I had with a few times others in the previous months, but then I remembered my pledge to myself so I accepted. We had dinner and then I met him for lunch and we went out a couple of times for drinks. Other than a few brief pecks on the cheek and one fairly energetic goodnight kiss there had been nothing physical between us although clearly the time for that was approaching. I could feel the pressure of the 'if you don't like the heat get out of the kitchen' or more crudely, but probably more accurately, 'pee or get off the pot' being applied. After all, people of our ages don't go out purely to talk about their tennis, but in reality I quickly realised, as we had little else in common that was largely what we did chat about. The moment when I was supposed to pee or get off the pot came with the suggestion from him, which I have now learned is quite prevalent amongst the new age men movement, which largely had passed me by, of 'come round to mine, I'll cook dinner.'

Over the next few days, I couldn't get my head around whether I would go to bed with him if that was proposed. In some ways I wanted to, I needed sex and I wanted to break my divorcee duck by having another man. A man with whom I'd be free from the impositions of cheating, guilt, revenge and the red mists I'd had in the latter days with Kevin who I had heard was well living up to the suspicions I had of his life in Singapore. With the two guys I'd been unfaithful with, Thomas, the guy I worked with, and Mark, a friend of ours, I was still in the mode of some form of affection being needed and, indeed I think with both guys there was more than merely a physical attraction, which there wasn't with Peter. With him, I needed to know whether I would be able to respond to and accept his advances when there was little or no attraction other than physically. Whether I would become aroused and indeed, whether I would be able to have an orgasm? I'd had no recent physical contact with a man and, although I had found relief and a degree of satisfaction from my other activities, I was enormously frustrated. I worried that would make me appear to him to be inexperienced and that I might climax too quickly and make a sexual fool of myself. Was dating worth it I began to wonder?

So, in a quandary I packed Sara off for the night as opposed to having a friend in, just in case I stayed over. As I was getting ready, I was like a schoolgirl on a first date not being able to decide what to wear. Rejecting some things because I felt they were too come on and others because they were too formal I took ages to prepare myself. I bathed, washed my near, shoulder-length, fairly spiky, naturally, blonde hair, dried that and spent simply ages with my make-up. I felt that I should dress with a view to being undressed, so I paid special attention to my underwear. Should it be seductive black or virginal white, or a pastel colour in between? Then, I pondered on the bra. Net, thin and see through so that should my nipples erupt they would be clearly visible through my top, or thicker and more supportive to create a more interesting and dramatic cleavage? Tights or stockings? I mused over these critical matters for ages? And then of course there were the panties. The modern, high-waisted cut acutely at the thighs type, or perhaps, a thong, maybe French knickers, possibly boy shorts or little bikini ones?

God the agonies of rejoining the dating game.

I eventually got myself to his house and we had a couple of drinks before he served me a well-prepared dinner. The atmosphere was easy between us and any concerns or inhibitions I had were being washed away with the bottle or so of white wine that we drank. At the end of the meal, I got up and said that I would help him clear away but he wouldn't hear of it saying.

"Leave it until tomorrow."

Feeling surprisingly warm towards him I went round the table and I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely meal. His hand reached out and rested on my hip as I bent over and my top of course gaped a little. His eyes, naturally I suppose, went down my top and he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. How many years had it been since I had sat on a lap and had a snog, I wondered?

We kissed for some time with his hands running up and down my back, outside the pale, grey cashmere sweater. It sent pleasant feelings through me and I felt comfortable and at ease on his lap and showed no resistance when I felt his hands inside the sweater on my bare back. The intensity of his kiss increased as his tongue searched deep into my mouth signalling his passion to me and I responded with my tongue touching his and pressing back against it. That obviously worked for slowly he moved his hand round to the front moving closer and closer to my breasts, but taking the time to gain my tacit approval at each stage. Then, he touched one of them and it felt lovely. My boobs had only been caressed by me for such a time, and that made the feelings seem even more intense and special.

Slowly and gently he stroked and rubbed me through the thin, black lace teasing the pink tip into its rock-hard erection. Feeling no resistance from me, he became more welcomingly adventurous easing his fingers inside one of the cups so that they were right on the nipple that once more exploded with feelings. Now, presumably feeling confident of my compliance his boldness grew and he pushed the thin sweater up so that he could see my breasts. I was pleased with my choice of bra for I knew that his eyes would be gazing at the two orbs encased in the thin, black net material and that he would be seeing the swollen nipples. I helped him manhandle the sweater up and over my head, carefully avoiding taking my glasses with it, until it was off and then, as we resumed kissing, he unclipped it and I felt the pressure on my breasts easing as he took my bra. off. He was now looking at me naked above the waist and he said very softly, "Oh Jayne they are lovely!"

It's a very special moment when a new partner gazes at a woman's bare breasts for the first time. The feelings of pride as he compliments you and the, usually, clear indications that you are arousing him are great as is the want that seems to go through one from exposing such an intimate part of your body to someone who will soon be your lover. His hands, now on my bare flesh were doing incredible things to me and he murmured,

"Let's go to bed Jayne?"

Feeling a little like a topless waitress at one of those lap dance clubs in London I stood up as he, in a rather laboured way, lifted himself up clearly a little embarrassed at his erection being on show. Standing, in just the leather trousers and high heels, until he was beside me with the bulge in his trousers now being very obvious we embraced and began to sort of dance to the music. Pulling me to him so his hard-on was pressed into my stomach, I felt ready for him and was relieved that I was about to break my celibacy in such a romantic style. I undid his shirt and let his quite hairy chest send extra thrills through the skin of my boobs as we gyrated together on the spot his hands exploring my bottom through the thin leather that was stretched tightly across it. After such a time from not feeling an erection like that, it was both exciting and a little daunting for I was out of practice as to what to do next. However, female intuition and sheer lust took over, and I found myself pressing back against his bloated cock squirming every last bit of feeling from it into me and that was gorgeous.

My breasts jiggling as he walked me up the stairs to his bedroom I felt wantonly expectant as we stood by the bed and embraced. Looking at each other we, wordlessly started undoing our trousers our eyes taking in each new sight that was revealed: his boxer shorts ballooning out around his erection, the lacy top of my panties that showed him that I was not wearing tights, his muscular thighs and the respectable bulge in his pants. Feeling very relieved that I hadn't worn my Bridget Jones big knickers I watched his gaze travel down my body to take in the slither of lace across my pubic area and the tops of my black, self-support stockings.

"No," he croaked as I went to remove my panties, "Please leave them on for a while." Although feeling a tad over-dressed against his total nakedness I did as he asked and lay there as he ran his gaze over me. Ridiculously really, I now felt hellishly nervous and not completely sure that I should be doing this. I liked him, he made me laugh and he wasn't bad company, but was that enough to let him fuck me? As I lay on the bed in my black thong, holdup stockings and heels whilst he climbed onto the bed beside me, I wondered for a moment or two whether I was up to the 'fuck 'em and leave 'em challenge?

As we kissed, his hands caressed my bottom moving nearer and nearer to my crutch that really was aching to receive them and whatever else he wanted to put there. As his fingers slid inside my panties and touched my now sodden wetness, my body once more exploded with sensations. The feelings that his touch were sending through me were accelerated and increased by those I was gaining from holding his warm, throbbing cock, probably slightly too firmly, in my hand. I had forgotten just what it was like to hold a man's cock. The combination of the warmth and hardness and knowing that I had caused it is heady stuff and rudely thrust any doubts from my mind as my entire focus was how I wanted that in me. I felt giddy with the thought that so soon now I would once again have a man, the third other than my husband, fuck me. But that had to wait as my body was reacting powerfully to the hand doing such deliciously arousing things between my thighs. I was climaxing and I knew there was no stopping it. My body also transmitted that to him and he pulled me even tighter to him as the shudders of sexual release roared through me. I sighed and moaned as my first man induced climax for ages took over and transported me to that womanly place of extreme pleasure.

That was bad enough. Here he was thinking he'd pulled a woman in her supposed sexually available prime. A woman who was up and ready for anything with many years of solid sexual experience behind her. A divorcee who was naturally gagging for it and who had the maturity and skills to be a really good lay. And what does she do? What she bloody well does is cum immediately he touches her. Oh yes what a lay? What an experienced woman? What a skilled lover? And it got worse for, as the powerful orgasm swept over me with wave after wave of what seemed like increasingly intensive sensations, so my emotions just exploded and I started to cry. Floods of fucking tears everywhere, glasses steamed up, mascara running down my face, hair all over the place, bloody tits heaving and my body jerking like a junky doing cold turkey, I cried and cried. The poor sod had no idea what was going on and even less as to what to do. I could see that he wasn't sure whether to cuddle me leave me alone or jump between my thighs and try and fuck me. And I was in a similar state of confusion for I too had no idea what was causing this emotional explosion.

Not surprisingly, the evening didn't end on a very high note. After that exhibition I think he was convinced that instead of an experienced lover who would transmit him to a sexual Valhalla, he had on his hands a bloody nutcase that might easily take him to the hell of madness. Needless to say he wasn't happy that all he'd got for his efforts slaving over the stove was a grope of my tits and a hand in my knickers and I have to say I felt bad about that. I recognised that it was not good value. A half dozen quite delicious King Prawns and a lovely crown of lamb, not to mention the wine and the previous dates, must be worth more than a flash of boob and a touch of pussy. If not the laws of economics, that I know may at times be cloudy, would have no meaning at all would they? So compensation was needed. Restitution had to be paid. The scales of economic justice had to balance. But what was the going rate? I didn't know for I hadn't had to balance any such scales at all for ages. Maybe the currency had even changed since I had last dated. What was possibly then a hand rubbing a dick until it spurted might now have become a full-on blow job!

Perhaps I should ask him, I ruminated a few moments later standing by the sink in his bathroom? I knew that I had to let him make love to me but strangely it no longer seemed as important as it had earlier. Most of the excitement and anticipation that I had felt since I entered his house had now gone. Sure, there was a little tingling, but not the rush of feelings I had previously experienced. I showered, wrapped a large towel around me and returned to the bedroom where he was lying on the bed a sheet covering him. I climbed in again apologising for what had happened, but he just shrugged that off and was very understanding.

We cuddled up together and gradually started doing all the things that a naked man and woman do when in bed together. He became hard and I held that and stroked it. He caressed my breasts, quite nicely and then kissed them. We pressed our bodies together and we kissed at length and yes I became a little aroused. But not that much. That disturbed me as I thought I should be begging him for it? The first time for all that time and here I was wondering what Sara was doing and glancing at the clock to see whether I'd missed the ten o'clock news. Not really the domain of the twenty-first century single woman, which was how I had been thinking of myself. Where's the tigress gone? Where's the rampant, frustrated, sexual goddess, who's ready to 'fuck 'em and leave 'em' hiding? I had no idea, but desperately wanted to find out. So, kneeling beside him I took his cock in my hands, bent forward and looking into his eyes I pressed my boobs against it, slid it between them, pressed them together capturing it between them and slowly moved them up and down so that they were effectively fucking his dick. That, inevitably I suppose, led onto me kissing the slightly wet tip and then moving to kneel between his wide-open legs I licked its length from his balls, which looked to me to be on the large side, right up to the tip and then back again as I asked, "Okay Pete?"

"Mmmm oh yes very okay, but I am near, you'll have to stop for a while."

Blow jobs hadn't featured that much in my explorations into sex with men other than my husband who I had regularly let cum in my mouth and swallowed, so I wasn't quite sure what to do and I stopped and looked at him. Luckily, I guess, he seemed to know as somehow he was laying on top of me, his condom covered length was against my pubis, my thighs were open and he slid down so that the tip of his cock was pressing against the lips of my pussy. He was grunting and sighing as his hips pushed forward. and, for the first time in ages, I was penetrated. He was in me, up me and filling me. 'I'm being fucked,' went through my mind repeatedly as at the same time I wondered who was presenting the news on TV that night. A few minutes of, what I thought were, relatively innocuous thrusts and he was telling me that he was nearing his ejaculation. That made me think that I ought to join in and squirming my body around a bit and gasping, sighing and moaning, I feigned an orgasm for one of the very few times in my life. I think I must have a natural talent for it as he was so pleased that he had 'made me cum' and that we'd climaxed together.

Not a bad night's' work I thought later at home in my own bed. Not bad but not great for certainly the sex had, at best, been confusing, and was not the blisteringly fantastic experience I had expected on my return to being a player of that game. 'Ah well,' always next time I smiled as I slid off to sleep after my first date as a single woman.