Reality check time.
Of course the affair ended. They nearly always do unless you get caught. As much as we thought we loved each other, we just couldn’t go to the next stage and leave our families. So by mutual agreement we finished with each other. I have seen or heard from him again, but that is best, it’s what we agreed. I left the job and went back to doing freelance editing for my old firm and in some ways my life, on the surface at least, got back to being seemingly normal.
Hitting forty had been traumatic, but I coped. Ok it was with the help, or maybe the hindrance, I am still not sure which, of the affair. I strode into my forties with my head held high and my, sadly, slightly saggy tits pushed out. But I kept those very much to myself. As indeed I did the rest of my body. After my wild, totally sexual fling with Craig and my intense, hugely loving affair with Patrick, I didn’t yearn for anything else. I had no desire to have one night stands and the ‘offers’ that women who belong to golf and tennis clubs and go to work, albeit occasionally in my case, simply didn’t interest me. I don’t have that high a need for sex that I would do anything that I don’t feel particularly strongly about. Sounds pompous, I know, but I can take it or leave as far as sex is concerned other than in very special circumstances such as with Craig and Patrick.
In any case I am married, with a husband who loves me, I think, alright maybe not quite as much as he loves work, but then hey a girl can’t have everything can she. In my way I also love him, but as my idea of love has become jaundiced as I have got older, I’m not sure. I think I have concluded that what Richard and I have is what most people have. We get on well, we have similar likes and dislikes, preferences and values and we are used to each other. It may not be romantic ideal, but it’s probably as good as it gets in real life. And of course, we do have our photo sessions.
So as I struggled on without Patrick, I realised not much had changed. I was still over forty, my family were growing up, Richard was still away a lot, I was still bored and my tits still sagged a little.
I am coming to the conclusion that the Hyde, or is it Jekyl, side of me comes out when I am going through life style traumas. When something big is happening to me emotionally, I react in surprising ways. I was moving house to a place that I hated, and still do, although I love the conservatory I had built onto the back of the house, when Craig erupted. And of course Patrick came about when my I was agonising over my impending fortieth. I could feel the traumatisation happening again as my son completed his A levels and prepared to go to university and as our daughter, who we had agreed would go to a residential sixth form college, also got ready to leave me; I realised my babies were flying the nest.
Obviously, being associated with writers and writing of one sort or another most of my life, I had often thought of writing myself. I had made several unsuccessful efforts at writing a novel, but had put that on the back burner as I got on with my, up until recently, quite busy life. With just my part time editing from home, my children gone, Richard away as much as he was at home, no lovers or affairs on the go, my life lost its busyness and in some ways its purpose.
So I decided to start another novel. An idea had been rattling round my mind for some time about a story for a typical ‘airport’ book. Code named Savannah it was about an American woman whose family owned a cotton plantation in the 1850s. After marrying a gambler and living in London for several years she divorces and returns to run the plantation when her mother and father die.
As the Civil War looms, an old friend from years back, who has made it big in the Union military intelligence asks her to gather information on what the Confederates are planning. So she becomes a Marta Hari of her time spying for both sides and using all of her womanly wiles to get the required information.
As I wrote it I realised I was probably putting in far too much sex. It was intended to be a raunchy story, but it was turning into a highly erotic if not a pornographic one. I realised two things after I had written around fifty thousands words. Firstly, I would never publish it. I knew that I would never be able to stand the embarrassment of people reading some of the stuff I had composed, which was pretty extreme. And as to what Richard would say and my children would think just wasn’t worth even considering. Secondly, and in many ways more importantly, I realised just how much I was enjoying writing in general and erotica in particular.
Several times as I had gone into some detail about a sexual adventure I had found that I was touching myself, undoing buttons and slipping my hands into my clothing. A few times I had masturbated as I visualised myself in those situations. It was fun, exciting, enjoyable, secret and no one was getting hurt.
I wasn’t that confident, though, of how to write raunchy stuff. I knew what appealed to me, but I wanted more information on what appealed to others. fake hospital hastane I googled ‘erotic writing.’ One name stood out, ‘Literotica.’ I went there and was absolutely amazed. There was so much on so many different topics. Apart from a quite natural lower age limit of eighteen, it seemed that pretty much anything goes on the site, it was exactly what I was after. It seemed to me that this was a natural bedfellow for me; a place where I could try out my writing, get other peoples’ opinions, maybe hone my skills and find out what out what appealed to other people.
I spent hours a day for several days devouring loads of stories across a range of genres. Rather too many of them, regrettably, were not really to my taste for a number of reasons: too basic, lack of structure, story and ‘message,’ overly demeaning to women, unrealistic scenarios, poorly written and too quickly to the sex. That said, I found nearly as many that I enjoyed. I read such topics as spanking, mild bondage, incest, humiliation and bi sexual experiences by both men and women in which I had no realisation I would be interested. I was, though. One lesson I learned from my ‘erotic readathon’ was that one should not judge a sexual experience by its name, read about it and you will generally find some form of interest and pleasure. I did from so many different aspects of sexual reading, but I drew the line at animals, the use of bodily wastes and hard core S & M and the like. I also read lots of more ‘normal’ stuff between straight men and women, thoroughly enjoyed those and I did learn quite a lot of techniques that I now incorporate into my erotic writing. I now look back on those few days of reading as my ‘mega wank fest,’ for I seemed to be almost perpetually masturbating.
I registered as an author and submitted a short story about a businesswoman who uses male escorts. The waiting after submitting it until it was published was agonising and made me feel very sympathetic to the many authors I had kept waiting. I felt great the day I read my first ‘published’ piece and I felt even better during the next week or so when I received quite a lot of generally positive feedback.
I decided to write and submit another story. For some reason I registered again under another ID, I don’t really know why, but I was worried about privacy and anybody recognising me. This time I chose to write about how a recently divorced woman in her late thirties comes to terms with single life and the renewal of dating after such a long time. That also generated a lot of feedback and gained high marks.
It was getting to me, I was enjoying myself, I had found a new hobby, another interest, an outlet for my erotic needs, a different way of expressing my sexual desires and beliefs; the doctor or the mister were getting to me again. I was becoming more confident with my writing. I had always known that I can compose using accurate grammar and generally get my points across, but I didn’t really know how others received my messages. The feedback told me that they were received well. It is said that art causes an emotional reaction in the viewer. If that’s the case and if erections and masturbating are emotional reactions, then I must be quite some artist going on what a number of the feedback reported! At first, I found that difficult. It was strange to receive messages such as ‘Reading your stuff gave me a permanent hard on,’ ‘I jacked off six times reading that story,’ and ‘I fucked my wife thinking about you.’ I got used to it quickly, though!
I registered again, this time with what has become my ‘nom de plume’ catmoore. I put more information on the bio section kindly provided by Lit and I included a photo, which, if I do say it myself was of me in a nicely filled, blue, cashmere sweater wearing a string of pearls. I also included an email address.
I’d had what I thought was a great idea for a story.
An affair, well more a fling, if there is a difference, between an older woman and a younger guy, yes memories of Craig. However, the theme of this story was vastly different to that with Craig and me as was the way it was related. In this story I was an aunt and my lover was my nephew. That meant that we were not just addressing the older woman, younger man situation, but also adding in the taboo of incest. Why, I have no idea, but I guess it seemed a good idea at the time. The other, what I thought was an interesting twist was that it was written from the perspectives of both parties. So a chapter would be written by the aunt and then one by the nephew. I hadn’t really planned much about the story. I find my best stuff comes when I just write without thinking too much, just go with the flow. And that’s what I did and I guess that’s why I ended up with a fourteen part story!
When Patrick and were having our affair I had not only bought a pay as you use mobile, but had also opened a yahoo email account. I had Outlook, both as part of the package on my laptop and PC, which were linked to a server at Richard’s firm, and as an employee of Patrick’s company. However, they were not secure enough for what Patrick fake taxi porno and I sometimes needed to write to each other, hence yahoo. That was the address I put on Lit, but then forgot about it. That is until I read one of the feedback after the third part of ‘Perspectives.’ In the feedback the writer mentioned that he had sent something separate to my email. I logged in and was amazed when I saw that there was approaching fifty unopened emails.
Replying to most of those gave me a new interest. It was a natural extension to writing on Literotica, I was entering into correspondence with ‘my readers.’
At first I would exchange views on my Lit submission and then on each other; hobbies, work, partner status and the like. As I progressed down that path many would drop by the wayside, largely because they had difficulty expressing themselves in writing. Some though survived and I developed some really interesting online relationships. As time went on they, obviously, I suppose, became more focused on sexual matters. That was natural as it was one of those, my erotic submissions to Lit, which had caused the email relationship so start.
We would discuss sexual matters very openly, including our likes and dislikes and our fantasies. I loved how open the net enabled us to be and how the anonymity encouraged online relationships to reach a stage of frankness so much more quickly than reality could ever permit. I’d been hesitant at first, but after a while I have to admit that I took to exchanging very frank stuff like a duck to water.
With a couple of guys I started to role play by each of us writing a part of a story, sending it to the other, adding some more and returning it and so on. That resulted in an exchange of mails that went on for several weeks and reached such levels of frankness that I found myself describing my orgasms in greater detail than I did on Lit. Those role-plays were gradually broadened and deepened and became stories. Generally they were written in the first person.
Some naughty online experiences.
Having ‘got to know’ a guy through email, perhaps even exchanging a photo or two, and then extending that written relationship into a role-play, or even more, a story was an amazingly exciting adventure for me. To write such phrases as ‘When your cock sunk into me………’ and ‘The feelings your fingers gave me as they sunk deeply into my cunt……’ were serious turn ons.
It wasn’t just the writing of erotic phrases it was the knowledge that my ‘pen pal’ would soon be reading them. I loved the thought of him doing that, getting hard because of my descriptions and then masturbating over what I had written. With a couple of guys we would exchange descriptions of what we did when we received each other’s mails. Reading what they did and then writing what I did was so thrilling.
Sometimes as I composed the emails, I would touch myself, undo buttons, slide a zip down and slowly undress. That had happened to me a few times when writing stories. Rarely did I complete a writing session, either for Lit or an email story, fully dressed. Almost as equally rarely did I finish one without masturbating, or at least trying to; like many women, sometimes making love to oneself just doesn’t work.
I found the most sublime pleasures from this. Feeling my body react to the words flooding my mind from either, what a ‘friend’ had written, usually about what he would like to be doing to me, or how I described what I would do to him or have him do to me, was amazing, in a way I guess almost like a religious experience.
“Do you use messenger?”
A simple question posed in an email from Matt, a ‘friend’ of some time. Little was I to know just how well I was going to get to know yahoo messenger and what a part it was going to play in my life.
At first I had no idea what he meant or what messenger was. He explained it and suggested I join ‘It’s modern day chat rooms.’
I said I’d think about it, but immediately after ending the email I checked it out. I was excited by it and joined, even submitting a photo, a slightly more ‘raunchy’ than the one on Lit.
Matt was all the good things I look for in an email mate. Articulate, bright and quick minded with a self-deprecating way about him and a great sense of irony. He could write on most topics, was an avid golfer, had a worldly-wise approach to chat rooms and a wickedly naughty sense of humour. He was clearly up for anything on-line, but wasn’t assumptive or overly pushy. We were soon exchanging views on a wide range of topics including, of course, those of an intimate and personal nature.
He was married and, unlike most men I ‘meet’ in mail, claimed to love his wife. True, he said things were a little difficult at times, but he never pushed me to meet so I believed him when he wrote “I just like chatting to women.” I believed him, for that was exactly what I most enjoyed, well with men mainly. It was also part of the reason I joined messenger and why I had been chatting to him for a couple of weeks.
We got on too well really. We were so easily able nearly every family stroke porno time we ‘talked’ to turn the conversation to sex; easy, comfortable, relaxed, non-threatening, flirty sex-chat. Not heavy, come-on, demanding stuff, but nevertheless stuff we admitted turned us on.
I’d explained earlier when we were talking about being aroused that I didn’t cyber. I wasn’t totally sure what that was exactly, but assumed it was masturbation by at least one if not both parties. Since starting with him I had chatted to a few other men, well quite a few really and I never could work out how they found me. Most, though, were after just one thing, not much difference to reality there then.
“Don’t or haven’t?” he wrote back during an email exchange that had lasted for over an hour.
“Cyber” was his one word reply
“Both I guess,” was my three word response” I replied feeling the need, as I so often did on there when with a man I liked, to be totally honest.
I changed the subject and like the gentlemen, as many I’d met on the net were, he respected that and didn’t mention it again, well not for some time that is.
We’d been exchanging e-mails for some time. He wrote well. Not with classically good grammar, punctuation and spelling but with clear, “picture painting” descriptions and forceful narrative. I enjoyed reading his mails and, increasingly, I enjoyed composing for him. And of course from both of us the writing became steamier and steamier. He told me in wonderfully graphic, but not pornographic, explanations exactly what he’d like to do to me. As I read them I could imagine him doing them to me so clearly that they became my masturbation material. Just as my replies that described my feelings as he did those things to me, became his wankfest as he termed them.
“Are you sure?” he typed.
“Yes, yes I am.”
When we’d last spoke on a Friday we’d got very steamy.
“God I so want to fuck you,” he’d typed near the end of the session.
This wasn’t completely out of the character of our chats but was, probably a little more intense and direct than most.
“Don’t you feel it Cat? Don’t you feel that need?”
“Right at this moment,” I typed one-handed as I pinched my swollen nipple, “there’s nothing in this world I want more than to be fucked Matt.”
“Fucked by me?”
Smiling I teased him. “Fucked by anyone Matt, but especially by you.”
We both knew this was impossible for his wife was downstairs and my daughter was in the next room.
“Really? Especially me.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“On here, yes I do.”
“Are you sure, are you positive about that?”
We’d spoken about “going all the way” several times, but either the time wasn’t convenient, we just talked about it so much we talked ourselves out of it, or I backed out. This time, though, I meant it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it with him. With Matt, my electronic lover, my soon to be cyber-sexpartner. Yes I wanted to fuck myself for him.
We rarely chatted at week-ends as it was difficult for both of us, but I received an email.
“Just once more my darling, are you positive about this? Tell me “no” and there’ll be absolutely no problem. Tell me “yes” and I’ll be hard and rampant until we meet at noon on Monday.”
We’d ended our chat on the Friday making a date for Monday. And once we’d done that it did feel exactly like a date. The very special date that couples often make; the date when they are going to consummate their relationship; the date when all the awkward kissing, the fumbling and furtive gropings, the touches, caresses and strokings all come together; the date when they do go all the way, when they at last make love, finally have sex and fuck each other’s brains out. That was the date we’d made for noon on Monday!
I typed back.
“Yes, yes, a million times yes. I want you.”
It was an odd weekend. I hadn’t got much planned; some shopping on Saturday and a couple of girl friends round for take away pizzas in the evening. Tennis on Sunday that I played so badly, followed by a snack at the club and home early for an evening’s TV with my daughter.
But it wasn’t what I did that made it odd, it was how I felt. I did feel as if I was going on a real date, as if we’d agreed to make real love. As if Matt really was a new lover, a lover with whom my relationship had deepened to the point that we’d made this pact for Monday. All Saturday, more so Sunday and especially as I watched TV, alone as it happened for my daughter popped to a friend’s to do some homework, I became more and more aroused.
There was an, almost permanent, tingling in my tummy, a warmth that ebbed and flowed through me. An extra fullness and heaviness in my breasts and a pressure on my nipples that made them feel as if, at any moment, they could burst and let that fullness from each orb gush out. I’d washed my hair and showered. As my daughter and I often did on Sunday evenings, particularly in the winter, I’d slipped into a nighty and a dressing robe. The grey and white silk nighty was beautifully lacy, had a low neck and a slightly flared, mid-thigh length skirt. It was partly see through and clung to me above the waist. It wasn’t really a nighty to sleep in, more one to be shagged in. The white robe was thin, but not silk. It was floor-length and had a tie round the waist.