Chairman of the Board

Posted by: Author: Age: 48 Posted on: 0 comments
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I had a tipsy little lunch with a friend of mine recently and we got talking about masturbation, and some of the places we'd done it. What was the riskiest place I'd ever masturbated, she asked?

So I went through the list. The bathroom at work, the bathroom on a long flight, while hiking in the woods, on the beach, while driving at night with my husband-they're public, but without all that much risk of getting caught. Slightly more risky was masturbating while sharing a room with someone who was sleeping-in the dorms at college, sharing hotel rooms with friends.

But probably riskiest of all, was-I kid you not-coming home from a Frank Sinatra concert. This was 25 years ago, when I was in my 20s, and I was a huge Sinatra fan. My husband and I went to see him in concert with a friend, my first time seeing him live. He was just so powerful, so seductive, his voice so alluring, that my panties were wet when we got in the car to drive home. The ride was more than an hour, and it was a buzzy little Honda, which didn't help.

Our friend was sitting in the backseat, and my husband was driving. It was winter so I had a heavy coat. I draped it over myself and put my hands beneath. Almost instinctively, I started rubbing my crotch over my jeans. I debated with myself for a few minutes: Should I risk it? If it were just my husband, I wouldn't have hesitated at all. But what about our friend in the backseat? What if she figured out what I was doing? But I was so horny I didn't think I could make it home without spontaneously combusting.

Debate ended-lust won. I unbuttoned my jeans, eased the zipper down, and slipped my hand into my panties. The conversation continued around me. I just kept saying 'yes' to agree to whatever anybody had just said. It took me at most a few seconds-the quietest orgasm I've ever had. Neither one of them knew what I had just done, so I rubbed out a couple of more, enough to get me home. then slipped my hand out and buttoned back up, no one the wiser.

When we got home, I pounced on my husband, and we had terrific sex. I told him what I had done, and he couldn't believe it-not just that I was so quiet, but that I had been so bold. I had always been a bit shy about masturbation before that. We had another round of great sex when we woke up he next morning.

Years later, into the second bottle of wine at dinner with our backseat friend, Sinatra came on the radio, and I told her what I had done that night after the concert. She burst out laughing, and then, turning red, admitted that after we dropped her off at home that night, she had a little love session with herself, too. Thanks, Frank.



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