The Frigging Forties
Many of the postings I've read on this board concern youthful masturbation experiences, and I find them interesting and enlightening. That so many of you discovered self pleasuring in your pre and early teen years speaks much of your sexual awareness. But permit me, if you please, to discuss how the joys of masturbation -- "jilling off," I call it, rather than the male "jacking off" -- can continue into early middle age. Further, having a same-sex partner adds an extra dimension to humankind's most endurable joy.
Concerning my early experience, suffice to say that I discovered my pussy quite accidentally: touching it gave me pleasure, and stroking it even more so. By the time I was 11 or 12 I was masturbating daily, often twice or more, and achieving what I now realize were orgasms. That the act was sexual was something that I deduced on my own. When my girl friends began discussing sex I learned the name for what I had been doing. In my mid teens, during a sleep-over at a good friend's house, we dared one another to "do it" while the other watched, and in due course we slid down our pajama bottoms and stretched out on the bed and stroked ourselves. In due course the other girl said, "Well, I'll do you if you will do me..." which we proceeded to do. I loved it! The feel of my own hand on my young cunt was thrill enough, but to lie back and watch another girl's fingers explore my mons was so exciting that I had to restrain myself from wetting the bed. And when I probed her pussy with my fingers, and felt how incredibly wet she became, I was "there" all over again.
I shared masturbation with this girl through the rest of our high school days. My second year of college, I was fortunate enough to have a suite mate who was an open gay. When we were alone in the suite for a weekend we drank a bite of (illegal) gin one Saturday evening and she asked if I'd ever had sex with a woman. I 'fessed up to the shared masturbation, and she smiled and asked if I'd care to do it with her. Certainly, and we did, and then she went down on me and gave me earthshaking orgasms with her tongue and lips. (The memory has made me wet.) I did not go down on her, although I was tempted. We did not find the opportunity to have sex again, and she left our suite at the end of the semester to move off campus with a faculty lover.
Thus ended my same-sex shared masturbation until an episode about 18 months ago brought it to the fore of my sex life again.
I am happily married, and have been since age 24 (I am now in my early 40s). We are both professionally employed and live in the eastern United States. Mac and I have a vigorous sex life, and three times, while on vacation, we have dared to have same-room sex with a couple who are our dearest friends, although we have not gone so far as to cross-fuck. Twice we fucked on separate beds, once we fucked side by side on a king sized bed. If the suggestion was ever made that we swap partners, I would go along with it. The reluctant one -- the "stopper," actually -- is the other wife, who fears she would suffer too much jealousy if she saw her husband atop another woman.
Early in our marriage we began masturbating together as a part of our foreplay, and I feel comfortable touching myself to climax in Mac's presence.
Now, to the crux of my story. For about six months I had been going to a health club three times weekly to work out on various machines, including the Stairmaster, a tread mill, and a weight thrust affair. If I say so myself, I am in good shape, with a tight butt, boobs that are fairly sag-free (36Cs) and cellulite-free legs. Save for a fringe trim to keep stray hairs from poking out of my bikini bottoms, my pubic thatch is free range, and dense, and deep black, as is my hair.
From my first visits I noted that women had different procedures in the dressing room. One faction would hide behind locker doors and towels when changing from street clothes into gym togs, and when shower time came they would wrap towels tightly around their bodies, concealing all. Another group was more casual, permitting incidental exposure as they dressed and undressed, and putting towels around their waists rather than above their boobs enroute to and from the showers. And there is a third group -- of which I am a part -- which simply behaves as if we are in the privacy of our own homes, and if someone does not care for seeing naked bodies, let them gaze elsewhere.
The shower arrangement features about eight individual stalls, plus a communal room with I think a dozen nozzles. I prefer the latter and always use it. This means that you stand totally naked under the shower, in the presence of whoever else happens to be there, and soap and rinse out in the open.
During my visits I noted that my schedule seemed to coincide most days with that of another woman, also in her 40s, a most attractive blonde who was not hesitant to display a most stunning body. She had me by a size-and-cup in the breast department, and her bottom was so shapely that it cried out to be touched. And she shared my disdain for disturbing her pubic hair -- a full bush, and luxuriant. That my description has sexual overtones is deliberate, for I am writing exactly what I felt the first time I saw her standing naked in the locker room, only a few feet distant, drying her hair and chatting with another woman. We would nod and make idle chatter while dressing, and we would find ourselves showering at the same time, and neither of us displayed one iota of modesty about being nude in close proximity. Her name is Melissa, and she works for a financial institution, and she has been married almost exactly as long as I have. She is four months my senior.
It happened February a year ago, during a driving snow storm. I live only three blocks from the health club, so I walk over. The weather kept most persons away that day, and only the fact that the club is part of a hotel complex kept it open at all. One woman was dressing after a shower when I came in, there was only one other in the exercise area, and she finished a few minutes after I arrived. I was still on the treadmill when Melissa arrived and smiled a hello to me and got onto the machine alongside me.
I watch TV as I work out -- CNN for the most part, or MSNBC -- so we did not make any conversation beyond pleasantries. I finished my program in 45 minutes and went off to the dressing room -- deserted -- and stripped and went down to the communal shower room.
For the first time, I was alone, and as the warm water came down on my body I thought great it was, standing naked by myself, as if the club was my personal property. I got my hair and body wet, and then I moved back and aimed the nozzle so that the spray came directly down on the V of my groin. The shower that Mac and I have at home can be adjusted so that it is a fun masturbation supplement, but I had never used the club shower in this manner. And oh my, did it feel good! I closed my eyes and sighed. The spray made my cunt tingle, and I took advantage of the privacy to slide my hand down to my pussy and tease my labia, and let a finger steal into my slit. I was oblivious to anything save my own pleasure. I quickly went from "touching myself" to masturbation.
And then the sound of another shower, and the realization that someone else had come into the room. My eyes opened to find Melissa standing two nozzles away, her back discreetly turned towards me. I realized that she had seen what I was doing and chose to come on into the shower anyway. My first reaction? I must admit that I suffered some flickers of embarrassment. To have been caught like a teen, playing with my pussy in a public place! My second feeling, however, was one of arousal -- that I had the opportunity to be naked, and alone, with a woman I sensed was a kindred spirit, one happy when nude, and unashamed to let other persons see her body.
I wanted Melissa to see me again. I made some inane remark about how quiet the place was, and she turned around and smiled and agreed. As she spoke she put her hands up to her breasts -- she had a bar of soap in one hand -- and began rubbing them. I could sense that her nipples were erect between her fingers, and she seemed to be fondling herself rather than washing. A flash of heat rushed through my body. Was she inviting something? Had the sight of me masturbating aroused her sexually? Or was I reading too much into what could be an innocent act?
I decided to cross the Rubicon. I would make a reciprocal gesture and see what happened. I took my bar of soap out of the tray and lathered up my hands and deliberately put them down on my groin, touching my pussy, and then rubbing. She gave me an unblinking glance that seemed to last for hours, although surely no more than a few seconds passed. Then her face creased with a slight smile, and her hands slid down her chest, past her belly button, and abdomen, to her V. And when her hands reached her cunt she deliberately extended a finger that went right through the cleft separating her labia. I matched her. I kept my eyes locked on hers, and I probed at my pussy with first one finger, and then two, rubbing them against my slit.
Melissa glanced over her shoulder, as if to insure that we were alone. "Wait," she said, "I'll be right back." She walked to the end of the shower room, ducked outside briefly, and returned with a broad smile. "We've got the place all to ourselves," she said. "Come over here, let's save on the water." I knew what she meant -- she gestured "come here" as she spoke -- but I was nonetheless surprised. Did my mouth gape for a moment? Probably. But did I obey the invitation? Yes, with only fleeting hesitation.We stood side by side, only inches separating our breasts. "Nice," she said, reaching up to let her fingers trail across my naked flesh, pausing at the nipples, and then cupping and tenderly squeezing. I put my hands to my breasts and more or less shoved them into her chest, nipples meeting nipples, in kissing fashion. My hands were first to go below, to seek and find Melissa's pussy -- a warm receiving pussy, one whose cleft was open wide for my fingers. I cupped my right hand under her cunt, letting my middle fingers steal up to do the caressing, pushing its way into her pussy. She gasped and her body was against mine, and her fingers at my V. And there we were, two adult women locked in a masturbatory embrace in the quasi-privacy of a health club shower.
Part 2: To recapitulate briefly, I found myself alone in my health club shower with another woman, also in her forties, on a snowy day when no one else was around. She walked in and caught me masturbating in the group shower, eyes closed, and when I looked up we exchanged smiles and somebody signs that ended with me moving over to share her spray and put my hands to her groin and fondle her pussy. She responded in kind, and we stood there for perhaps five minutes, finger fucking one another, rubbing our naked breasts together, and exchanging deep kisses.
Melissa summoned the will power to break away. "I find this enormously exciting," she said, "but I am afraid that someone is going to walk in on us. Do you have any place that we can go and continue in private?"
"God is on our side today," I said. "Mac -- he's my husband -- telephoned just before I left and said that he is snowbound in Chicago and probably won't be home until late tomorrow, even if then. I live four blocks away. It was a tough walk through the snow, but I bet we can make it!" I reached down and gave pussy a slow stroke. "That is, if you want to.!
She patted my bottom. "Let's get our clothes on and get outta' here," she said with a giggle. She said that she usually did not get home until after six o'clock, meaning that we had three or four hours we could spend together.
And, lo and behold, we had just broken away from one another and turned to leave when two other women appeared at the door to the shower room, talking animatedly. Had they arrived two minutes earlier, even less, we would have been caught in the ultimate embarrassing situation. Melissa and I kept straight faces as we walked by then; outside, she looked at me and said, "In a word, WHEW!"
We said little during the short walk to my condominium. I was both excited and nervous. Having my first same-sex encounter since my college days reminded me of how much I had enjoyed what I did with other females as a child and teen. Melissa appealed to me, both personally and sexually, and we resembled one another enough physically to be "peas of a pod," to use a cliche. The skill with which she used her fingers on my cunt suggested that I was not the first woman she had touched, and I shivered with anticipation of her doing it again.
But my excitement was overlaid with more than a little nervousness. By modern standards, I had been a faithful wife to Mac, with one exception. Two years into our marriage, I felt that he was paying more attention to his law practice than to me, and that he might be fucking a woman in his firm when they traveled together. Our sex life had deteriorated to "maybe this Sunday, and if not then, surely the next." So when an old boy friend, then married, came through town and called, I met him at his hotel for lunch, and at my suggestion we left uneaten deserts on the table and went up to his room and fucked. Right away I felt guilty and ashamed, and when he was through town again I declined an invitation for a repeat date. Mac apparently sensed my discontent, and by happenstance he wound up a major case at that time and we took off for Europe for an unexpected 10 day vacation. I came at him sexually full-bore, and he came right back, and we lived sexually happy ever after. I mentioned in Part One that we even did some in-the-same-room fucking with another couple who are dear friends, and that I would have taken the other guy had it not been for his wife's reluctance to swap partners.
So here I was, literally arm in arm with another woman, walking to our condo to have sex. Was this not adultery as well? What would Mac think were he to discover that his wife wallowed around in our marital bed naked with another person, even though she was female, while he was gone?
Here is where I solicit guidance from those of you who have read this far. Read on, and do let me have comments at the address at the end of this posting.
As we rode up on the elevator and went into the condo I sensed that Melissa was also nervous. We dumped wet coats and snow shoes in the foyer and I asked if she'd care for a glass of wine or something stronger. She opted for wine, and she followed me back into the kitchen and watched as I poured two glasses. When I went to hand one to her, she gestured that I should put the glasses on the counter. I did, and she opened her arms, inviting me to join her in an embrace. I did. I felt the softness of another woman's body against mine, and our mouths joined, and her hands had my pullover sweater and blouse out of the waist band of my slacks, and slid up to undo the clasp of my bra. I broke away to pull off my sweater and to unbutton and toss aside my blouse, letting my naked breasts tumble free. She clutched me again, and this time it was my fingers that pulled her sweater over her head and stole her bra.
We stood, breasts to breasts, and Melissa looked at me and smiled. "Look at them," she said, "pretty nice for a pair of old babes, wouldn't you say?" She tweaked one of my nipples with her fingers and leaned over and teased it with her tongue. I cupped a breast in each hand and sighed. Oh, god, to be fondled and caressed by another woman, so tenderly.
Somehow we made it to the couch, bringing along our wine glasses. "Let's take it slow," Melissa said, "I'm having so much fun that I want to prolong it. OK with you?"
I nodded assent. "Fine," I said, "with one exception. These ski pants were made to wear on the slopes in Aspen, not in an apartment with the heat way up. Would it bother you too much if I took them off and I sat here wearing just my panties?"
She answered by standing up and undoing her slacks and stepping out of them. I had noticed, in the dressing room at the health club, that she wore panties cut high on either side, in European fashion, with a thong for the rear -- most revealing, and highlighting a most beautiful pubic area. A good amount of dark pubic hair peeked around the elastic, and the panties were tight enough that I could see the folds of her cunt beneath the fabric.
What she saw, in turn, was a pair of bikini panties, light beige, also very skimpy and transparent to her admiring eyes. I was tempted to go ahead and strip all the way, but I remembered her go-slow admonition, so I was content (for the moment) to sit in one corner of the couch, facing Melissa, who took the other corner. We were not touching.
She asked point blank if what we had done in the shower was a new experience for me. I felt trusting enough to tell the truth: to tell about my early experiences, culminating in submitting to -- bad word, ENJOYNG! -- cunnilingus at age 20.
"So," Melissa asked, "nothing in more than 20 years?"
I nodded. "Correct. And that's one reason I found today so exciting -- as if I was doing something naughty." I told her that I had been casting an eye on her for weeks -- "I know, and the same thing here," she interjected -- and that I was glad that circumstances finally permitted us to come together.
Melissa proceeded to relate her own same-sex history: some childhood play, "an all the way physical relationship" with a friend in college that continued sporadically the five years after graduation, until she married; and, two years ago, her seduction by a woman lawyer in her firm when they went out of town together and got tipsy over dinner. "We did it three or four times back here, but it was too dicey, being involved with a woman who was in my office, and who was widely perceived to be lesbian. So I told her, "fun, dear, but no more.' She took it with good grace and we remain friends."
Two things dawned on me as Melissa spoke. I had never shared with anyone, not even my loving husband Mac, anything about my same-sex forays, even though he knew, in intimate details, my sexual history before we married. Second, hearing her account aroused me, to the point that I realized that I was unconsciously and casually touching my pussy, my fingers trailing over my panties. Not since my high school days had I masturbated in the presence of another woman, and now only a very thin (and very damp!) band of fabric separated me from doing just that. (I had masturbated in front of Mac uncountable times, for that was something we shared as part of our sex play, but doing it with one's husband was far removed from doing it with another person, especially a woman.)
A long sigh from Melissa. "You know, hon, just talking about all this is making me horny as hell." She paused. "How about you?"
I now put my hand on my groin with unconcealed deliberation. I wanted my friend to see that I was rubbing my pussy. "The same way. And, in fact, I think I am going to do something about it, right now."
Should I ask directly if she minded if I took off my panties and played with myself? I dismissed the question as soon as my mind asked it. No, after what we had already shared, asking for her approval would not be necessary. I hooked my thumbs into the elastic of my panties and pulled them down my legs and kicked them away. And, to my delight, Melissa stood and did the same. She stood naked before me, her hand on her cunt, her fingers moving around her mons.
I threw my right leg up high, so that my pussy gaped wide open, and my fingers sought my wet cleft. One, two, three fingers ventured inside, and the web between my thumb and index finger rubbed gently against my swollen clit. Melissa sat down again, also with legs spread widely. Our eyes locked on one another -- flickering away from time to time to check on each other's masturbation -- and we exchanged the smiles of soul sisters.
Two fortyish married women, frigging themselves happily on a snowy afternoon. Sapphic love? An erotic adventure? A form of adultery/infidelity? Simple naughtiness by two horny women?
Whatever, what happened at that moment, and in the hours and days that followed, remain a dear part of my sexual life. I shall relate more concerning my relationship in due course.****
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