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
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
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