A Woman's Secret

We never talk about it, my friends and me. We share intimacies that men wouldn't believe, about our feelings, our children, our finances and even our husbands. But sex, except for some occasional ribald comments about a movie star, is never discussed. We are most respectable. We wear conservative clothes, and do "good deeds". I serve on the hospital board, another volunteers at the library; a third is involved with conservation. We get out the vote, belong to MADD. We are the most proper of ladies.

Yet, I often wonder about them. I've known some of them for years. How I'd like to know more about their sex lives. We all pretend we don't have any. Sexual needs are just taboo. Yet how I wonder! Since I was a young woman, my sexual needs have seldom been fully met. Even as a teenager, I had such desires. Are my friends all so wrapped up in their work and their children that they feel nothing? When I see a woman in the produce section of the supermarket, picking out bananas and cucumbers, I pause. Is it as innocent as it seems? Or is some other use in mind? (Perhaps someone reading this will understand. I've come to grips with it after all these years, but it would be nice to know I'm not a freak.)

Of course my cycle plays a large part. There are times, like now, when my body screams to be satisfied! I've lived with it for so long. My husband has no idea. I've been sure of that! In the basement, hidden under the insulation in the ceiling, are my toys. When he goes out tonight I'll use them. Or find something else. I love the excitement of finding new ways to thrill myself. My husband is a good man. He's kind and a good father. He's just not a driven as I am. Or does he have a secret life too? I wonder.

I remember the first time I sought something out of the ordinary. I was still living at home then. I come from Upstate New York. We lived out in the country. Our house was on a ridgeline and you could see Onieda Lake off in the distance. It was summer of course. I always got home before my parents. There was a thunderstorm brewing. I was in the mood, and had planned to use the privacy. I was experienced by then. I'd had quite a lot of practice. I'd been thinking about it all day. I had no toys in those days. I used other things, but more on that later.

The thunder was rolling in the distance when I got out of the car. It seemed to reverberate in the pit of my stomach. I was shaking with excitement. There was an old elm behind the house. Alas, the elms are gone know. The Dutch Elm Disease has taken them all.

I sat on the grass. It was sultry and still. A breeze was just beginning to come up. I can still remember how my heart pounded as I raised my knees and opened my legs. The slight breeze tickling my sensitive inner thighs was delicious. My hands cupped my breasts. It was exciting to be outside. I felt wicked, but also somehow grounded. As if the earth was a giant mother, understanding all my needs. I unbuttoned my blouse. I shrugged it off and undid my bra. I was ready to climax right there! I lay back against the tree and fondled myself. The wind was coming up, and the thunder boomed louder. God, I needed release!

I lifted my hips, and pulled up my skirt. My hands found the familiar place quickly, but my underwear intervened. I needed to hurry! With a smooth motion, I lifted my hips again. I lay back on the grass and spread my legs to the storm clouds overhead. My open vulva seemed like an offering. My fingers moved hastily over my sleek wetness. My lips were pouting. I love the feeling of my lips swollen with desire. I moved my fingers in that motion I'm now so familiar with. I have always lubricated well. The thunder rolled through the sky. It seemed to heighten my need. I toyed with myself, stretching out the pleasure. Finally I could bare it no longer. I pressed on that special spot, on my clitoral hood, making tiny little circles as I pressed against my pubic bone. That sends me over the edge every time. When it came, my orgasm was intense. I lay panting. The thunder was such a sexual thing! And then the rain drove me in. It was my first real adventure outside my bedroom. It lasted for only a few minutes, but I can remember it vividly.

Of course there have been so many other times, far to numerous to mention. When I married, I thought it would all end. I love my husband, but he has no imagination. I would be so willing to explore! But he just isn't that way. Before I met him, I had other boyfriends. Some were very good. But I'm not that attractive, and felt cheapened by the very things I wanted. I know they dated me because for a short time I was the 'girl who would'. I loved the experience, but hated myself. Yet I still lust for those pleasures! The Internet helps sometimes. I can be as wanton as I want. Anonymity is one of its greatest features. But when I'm like this, I know what I need and a good imagination helps. Sometimes I torture myself with a plan for days, deliberately heightening my desire. Fantasy plays a big part in these adventures. I imagine some of the most shocking things, other men; sometimes women. Sometimes things so wild I can't bring myself to write about them. My desire builds over the days, and when I finally 'cum', the intensity can shake my body.

I grew bolder after the episode in the thunderstorm. I had been thinking about the foot of my bed. I had what I can only describe as a sort of four poster. The posts on the headboard were almost as tall as I am, but those at the foot were just about the right height. There were acorn-like tops to them. They were slick and smooth. I had fantasies for months about lowering myself onto one. To impale myself on such a thick smooth object seemed to fill my every waking thought. I was doubtful it would fit, and the thought was almost as repelling as it was exciting.

One night, when I felt as I do now, my parents were out for the evening. I lay on my bed teasing myself. I love to take time when I have it. I had brought myself to the peak several times, and slowly coasted down again. The thought of the bedpost was like a magnate. I finally surrendered to my desire. I keep a tube of KY jelly for my adventures, and liberally spread it on one of the smooth acorn tops. Then standing on my tiptoes, I gingerly lowered myself down. An electric thrill went through me as I could feel the tip of the acorn. I maneuvered myself, and let my weight slowly force it inside. I could feel the walls of my vagina stretching to receive it. Tentatively, I began to move up and down. That old exciting feeling of the forbidden overtook me. Frantically I fingered my eager clit, so hard to reach in that position. I could fell the acorn penetrating me. I moved faster, driving it deeper. My orgasm was terrific! I shrieked as I came. I felt shame afterwards, but the release was complete. I had only a mild soreness in the morning. God, if that bed were here now, I would ride it again!

I've done these things almost against my will. It is a need I have. When I'm like this, I'm almost powerless. The shame always follows, but I accept it.

I bought my first dildo years ago through a catalogue company in San Francisco that was run by women. I have quite a collection now. I didn't have much privacy in those days. The children were home, and I could find little time for myself. The dildo was a new experience. It was incredibly large and long. At first I was terribly disappointed. I'd looked forward to getting it for so long and It seemed it would take forever to arrive. And when arrived, it was so large I thought I never would be able to use it. It had a suction cup on the bottom. So you could use it lying on your back, or be daring, and stick it to the floor and lower yourself onto it. I found that was painful on the knees. So, I found a smooth piece of wood in my husband's workshop. It was about an inch thick, a foot or so wide, and about three feet long. The dildo stuck to it perfectly. I still use it. I put it in the center of my bed, and ride it as long as I can. It's amazing how quickly I could accommodate it. Its thickness stretched me in such a delightful way, and as long as I didn't let it hit my cervix, the sensation was wonderful.

I occasionally stuck it to the foot board of the bed. When I get it at the right height, I can kneel in front of it, and slide back and forth, pushing it into me, riding it slowly at first, and then moving faster and faster. I feel like an animal. Again it shames me, but when I'm like this, shame is nothing compared to my need. Maybe I should ride it tonight when he's gone? No, I think I need something else.

Of course time moves on. The children are nearly grown now, and my husband is tied up with his career. As I age, my need has seemed to increase. I'm alone a lot these days, not that I mind. I like the serenity. The beach is nearby, and I can hear the surf from my bedroom window. I've had many adventures there! Perhaps I will go there again tonight. Walking barefoot and bare breasted in the surf grounds me too. Mother earth understands.

Last winter, I had a lovely adventure when I went to the quarterly Hospital Board Meeting. I had planned it for days. The thought still arouses me. My need that night was even greater than it is now. I can get almost frenzied at times. I felt particularly wicked. I dressed in a short skirt, and wore no panties. I was careful not to let anyone see. I'm not an exhibitionist, but the thought of being nude under my skirt drove me wild. All those proper men and women, if they only knew what I was planning to do. I can't remember a thing we discussed. My mind was elsewhere.

It was dark when we left. I had left my BMW in a somewhat out of the way place in the parking lot. It was quite dark. The wind lifted my skirt a