From: [email protected]
Subject: Have you ever …?
Dear Mari,
First, my apologies for my sudden departure yesterday. And, yes, the lying. I had to be nowhere, and I wanted to be nowhere more, at this moment, than with you. I took flight! Again! And after the way our relationship has developed, I better explain. Because I want our conversations to continue, foremost in being your partner in breaking our virginally demure silences. We are doing this, aren’t we? After thirty years of close friendship where not even the things we observed and could not miss made us break the silence about our real sexuality.
Still, it was not your raunchy, detailed, arousing story about your sexual adventure with Robert the Builder, back in whenever, that made me run in shock. Mari, I loved sharing your relived excitement, literally, blow …, thrust by thrust! (I’m following your example, Mari. I will, from now on, use every one of the, between us, too-long avoided words!). No, I ran away from your By-the-way question about my extramarital experiences.
I have been in the past badly blocked in revealing to anybody the real, sexual me. With you, most likely, the main reason was that you were sexually so much more experienced and sensually alive than I. Although we were friends, your so open sexuality always scared me a bit. And it attracted me very much. Since Martin’s death and being single like you, I really want to change and discover and embrace my sexuality. Paradoxically, I am feeling young. I think I am feeling more like you than I have ever felt before. And I have actively done something unusual about getting sexually unblocked. And you would like that in me, wouldn’t you?
So, dearest Mari, despite having run away from a seemingly mild personal question, don’t give up on me yet.
About my having taken flight ‘Again’, perhaps I’ll soon tell you more.
With Regrets, Your
Rene.
P.S. – God, I loved your Robert-recollections! He was a sexy beast!
From: [email protected]
Subject: Pussy-Envy!?
My dearest, still shy Rene,
The subject-tag above means to shock. If it does, read no further and press the Delete button. We are going to see each other tomorrow. What I write in this mail, even I, so much less blocked than you, would not say to your face. After all, I’ve kept silent about it for the last 21 years.
Remember the summer-break of our Uni-clique in Apollo Bay; the afternoon you and I decided we were getting burned, left the others on the beach, and returned to our cabins? I had left the key for ours with Michael. So, we finished up showering together in your cabin. Afterwards, I had to borrow one of your panties and much too short shifts. I remember every detail of this afternoon because I fell seriously – let’s avoid the cliché – in lust. Yes, with you!
I had no planned, lecherous intent. We showered – you first – separately. Only afterwards was I struck by the idea of how deliciously naughty it would have been for the two of us to squeeze together into the tiny shower cubicle! Anyway, when my turn came, you shy Rene, were partly responsible for what was building up in my depraved mind.
You stayed in the bathroom with me to chat. Not only but also! While I showered, then dried myself, talked, and always watched you, you were not only naked. You were rubbing cream all over your – I suddenly noticed – suggestively sexy body as it responded even to your hands. Your lovely nipples got nicely perky! When you sat down to do your legs, as we talked, you faced me. And then you applied the lotion to your spread-open legs.
And I looked, for the first time since I was twelve, at another woman’s vagina. And staring at yours, while your hands rubbed the cream into your thighs, took my breath away. You had the most beautiful, kissable, fuckable pussy I could have imagined! It was a pronounced undulating hillock, slightly darker in colour than the surrounding skin. The slit parting down its top glistened like moistened lips and, as your hands massaged your thighs, they slightly opened and flashed at me a glimpse of temptingly luscious red. And my pulsating heated-up cunt signalled my desire, while it simultaneously reminded me of my pussy’s envy.
As you well know, my dear Rene, I did not act on the one, nor have I ever confessed on the latter. Is it now too late; perhaps too unbecoming to remember both?
Still, more than just affectionally yours,
Mari.
Immediate Text Replies:
R. to M.:
“All the things we missed out on, being good. Never thought you were Bi. Never suspected myself either. I wonder, why not? Well, well! Love, R.”
M. to R.:
“Am so glad to know now, we were ‘possibles’ then! Await with bated breath your next mail. Love, M.”
From: [email protected]
Subject: ‘Hotmail’ ankara yabancı escort Reply.
Dearest Mari,
Have just returned from our afternoon together and could not wait to get onto my laptop. We avoided, of course, to talk about what was foremost on our minds. Holding back my questions almost throttled me, while you seemed to do it with an amused, playful detachment.
I will still not ask my questions. Not because I am too shy. I just don’t want to give up the thrill of having to wait for what you are going to tell me next. I am like a virgin, shivering in expectation of the coming, half-feared but hoped-for, forbidden touch! So, I better mute my inbuilt censor and tell you what I remember about our Apollo Bay afternoon.
Dearest Mari, your confession has delighted me. Reading it repeatedly, made me rub my so unexpectedly admired pussy into a very alive state. But then, that summer afternoon so long ago, I missed out not only on being led astray but on knowing I could have been. My censor only allowed me an unusually prolonged, totally shame-free time of nudity with you. Yes, it was hot, we had been friends for years, and both of us were naked. But it was unusual for me. I was not one of the liberated young women that went topless at the beach or played strip-poker with the boys late into Maryjane- and drink-filled nights.
I was a terrible prude but, it’s time to confess, I loved looking at you naked. The men in our circle, I knew, thought you were too slim to be sexy. On one occasion, when you had the better of Michael in an argument about Shakespeare and stalked away, your husband showed his colours. Pointing theatrically at your slim back, he declared: “Yon Mari has a lean and hungry look!” Michael’s quoting the bard was met by his mates with roaring laughter: His wit had prevailed over his ‘scrawny’ wife!
I thought the blokes were blind idiots. Didn’t they see your lovely long legs, ending in that beautiful ass of yours? It was a boy-sprinter’s ass that showed the play of every tensing muscle under its soft skin. And I loved the look of your smallish tits with their boyish nipples. And there, in the shower, under your washing and drying hands – I innocently thought – they had risen to perky, dark buds. The last but far from least of your sexual attraction for me was your glorious bush. Remember, Mari, it was the beginning of the Brazilian vogue, and us intellectual feminists were not going to shave our pubes child-like bare. The dark triangle, a third up your flat stomach, with your marvellous legs, so kissable tits and proud face completed for me the picture of an exceptionally desirable woman. My body, compared to yours, I thought, was insipidly ordinary.
So, I am pleased that you enjoyed the afternoon we were nude together not only as much as I but more so. After all, I had no lecherous intent!? With your focus on my pussy, you must have enjoyed my lengthy search for something to wear in the suitcase and bags on the floor. I bent over a lot and not briefly either. God, did I do it deliberately? Did I stretch my round girl’s ass, my slightly open thighs and, thereby, my framed and highlighted fleshy pussy knowingly in your direction? Did its kissable lips show any excitement?
Did it get as hot then as thinking about it does now? Enough writing for tonight.
Sleep well. Your,
Rene.
Text Replies One hour after.
M. to R.:
“Setting aside your possible/likely/drawn-out resistance, I would have tongue-tip-teased your pussy’s already glistening slit slowly open. And then my tongue would have sunk deep into your cunt’s red-hot core. It would have been the beginning of ‘kissing’ at length (breath bless him! I’m still waiting for your story(ies).
Now to your query: Am I Bi? Never thought so, although I knew from my late teens that I could be sexually turned on by a woman’s physical attractions. It was as specific as that. I know now that you have always seen me as sexually adventurous. Yes, perhaps, but I did not like to make the first move, I wanted to be seduced.
This was true of me in growing up. I was never girlish, was considered an exceptional student and gifted athlete. In appearance, while not ugly, I was for a girl too tall, too lean and too underendowed with boobs and bum. Being unsexy, I was not drawn into my fellow students’ first frenzy and turmoil of their teenage hormonal rush. While not an outsider, they thought, I suppose, that I was sexless.
This was not the case. My parents had treated me as an intelligent adult. They made sure that I was in sexual matters informed and shared in their open-minded outlook. I was sexually aware and interested in sex, but nobody seemed to want to have sex with me. There was something about me, that stopped others of my age from wanting me. During my teenage years, I competed as a runner and Netball bahçelievler escort player. Still, I was never sexually propositioned by a fellow athlete or coach, either male or female. I was, on occasions, seriously attracted but could not bring myself to make the first move.
With one of my Netball team-mates, I became sorely tempted. I was then in my first year at University, nineteen and playing in the top competition. On one of our frequent interstate trips, I began to share a room with Karin, a recent addition to our team. She was twenty, even taller than I, but a voluptuous, Nordic beauty. Her parents were Danish. This could have been the reason for Karin’s ultra-relaxed attitude on nudity. As from then on, we always shared a room, I saw all of her, often, and for long stretches, au naturel. And nature had blessed Karin in all the parts it had neglected me.
I was not a prude. For my parents, nudity was not a shameful issue. I was also relaxed about the unavoidable nude exposure of myself and others, in the dressing-sheds and -showers of the sporting-clubs. In the group- and mostly hurrying-through situation, I had never looked with real interest at the female attributes – the tits and bums and pussies – of my team-mates. With Karin, it was suddenly different; very different!
Importantly, just the two of us were in the undisturbed privacy of a hotel room. Furthermore, Karin slept in the nude, enjoyed staying nude after her shower. In the warmth of Queensland or the comfort of well-heated hotel rooms, she would lounge on her bed to read or chat on the phone. Sometimes we would talk, for what seemed hours, before Karin slipped into bed under covers. For her, it was a natural way to behave with a friend she liked and trusted. And I was a girl like her!
Karin had, I believed, no idea how her Nordic, goddess-like beauty was disturbing me. Everything about her was perfect: Her skin, her beautiful long legs, her round firm breasts, womanly hips and shapely, dimpled ass. She was a straw-blond, down to the silky-hair triangle that, to my eyes, accentuated her shapely pubes and pussy. And I suffered. I tried not to stare, to control the shaking in my voice. I had to resist the urge to touch Karin, to get too close to draw in the beguiling smell of her naked body. And, of course, I never let her know how much I wanted to make love to her. It was the first time in my life that I felt like that about anybody.
Besides shyness and fear of rejection, what stopped me was that Karin was engaged and in love. I still believed, in my then inexperience, in the exclusivity of one-on-one relations. So, I watched on more than a few occasions Karin on the phone, talking and flirting at length with her lover. They were having regular, fantastic sex, she had told me.
Whenever she rang him – it was almost every time we played interstate – she was lying naked on the bed. He must have been quite a talker, as he made Karin squirm and shift as he poured his sexy talk into her ear. Karin would look at me, smile and grin as she whispered back. Sometimes she would laugh out loud before switching into Danish and a sex-charged timbre in her voice. I could not help it but watch her hardening nipples and the way her legs clasped together and suddenly spread open. Or she would throw herself on her belly. With her thighs spreading, her feet would angle-up, and her toes curl in excitement. All this was, I believed, natural and spontaneous for Karin.
I became aware, however, how much she enjoyed that I watched her love-session with her fiancé. Every look and smile, wink and gesture in my direction told me so. And Karin, I thought it was purely accidental, did much more to turn me on. In her contortions on the bed, she frequently flashed her lovely, lushly lipped, long slitted pussy with its small, glistening pink centre at me. God, Rene, how that beautiful pussy of Karin tempted me to join her on the bed!
I am still wondering what Karin would have done? Was she, perhaps, so much readier to turn Bi, than I would have dared then to turn Lesbian? So, my dear, lovely Rene, you have my confession. Your beautiful pussy on that magic afternoon in Apollo Bay was not the first one I fell in lust with.
My dearest Rene, I better stop. I have, at least, made a beginning in explaining my ‘fixation’ on beautiful pussies. I never have, except for these two frustrated encounters come close to follow up. So, no affairs with women in my past. But yours and Karin’s sexy, lusciously tempting pussies could have turned me Bi or sapphic on the spot!
You were both saved, whether you wanted to be or not.
Love, (may I say so after this?)
Mari.
Text-Exchange 30 minutes after:
R. to M.:
“Dearest Mari, your Karin was and is for me, in your description, a major turn-on. And God, she showed you how much she wanted balgat escort you as a bed-ready add-on to her fiancé on the phone. What a Bi! After her, I was easy to resist, being married and … But hell, I believe now I wanted you then as much as Karin!”
M. to R.:
“Your text made my night. With Karin, all that is left for me is regrets. But with you? We could now, finally, Bi together! Sweet dreams. Mari.”
From: [email protected]
Subject: My running away.
Dearest Mari,
The fun and arousing pleasure our exchange gives me are indecently, inexcusably, irresistibly rewarding! That this could be so, came to me as no surprise. I had – Yes, your ‘shy’ Rene! – once before sought a relationship just like ours. It was with a man and well on the way to become all-consuming. And Mari, ours is well on the way to become a full-blooded, sexual affair too, isn’t it? And this was what I wanted then. But, with him, now 137 days ago, I took flight.
Anyway, to cut to the story: Then, over several weeks, I sampled the offerings in several dating- and relationship-sites on the web. Very few attracted my interest. The ones that pretended to seek a digital relationship saw it clearly as a preliminary opening for a ‘real’, face-to-face, body-to-body meeting in the shortest, possible time. My problem was that the mind-relationship and -sex I was looking for were just not in fashion.
Then I read Mark’s ad. In 63 clear, unambiguous words he stated precisely what he wanted. I knew immediately that he and I were of one mind and replied. (The complete record of our affair, from the first word in Mark’s ad to the final question that made me flee, is in my computer’s memory. A full copy is attached to this mail. I’d like you to read it. It will save me from repeating much detail). Mark’s answering mail arrived in my additional set-up web-address six hours later.
It was lengthy, exceptionally well written, and it removed many of the barriers that I would have erected around me. Mark informed me that he was my age, lived in Hobart, and I could reach him, 24/7 at his mail-address. Beyond that, he did not want me, for a start, to know more, nor did he want to know anything about me, that would allow him to contact me except through the mail-address. We were not to exchange our mobiles’ numbers. Our brief texting – and he hoped for a lively, arousing exchange – we would strictly do through e-mails. He hoped, our sexual attachment to each other would grow, step by wanted and willingly taken step. In building-up our sexual intimacy and levels of arousal, Mark said, it will require courage; both to ask the intimate question and to truthfully answer. He suggested that we include in each of our mails at least one challenging query.
I could, therefore, ask the first one. I badly wanted to know if Mark’s ad had attracted many replies. His answer was truthful and matter-of-fact. He had received more than thirty responses, many from young women with alluring photos, others from middle-aged women. All of them ignored what the ad stated, but responded to its cultured tone. The girls were looking for an affluent sugar daddy and the women for a suitable, compensatory marriage-prospect. They thought he was a respectable elderly gentleman that hid his carnal desires behind supposedly ‘intellectual’ interests. And all of them tried to lure these, to them understandable, carnal desires into the open. They offered Mark, in often graphic detail and photos, the only sex they knew: The prostituted bitcoin of sex as a means to material ends.
Anyway, dear Mari, you can read up on what happened between Mark and me over these wonderful weeks in detail. I suspect that some of it may turn you on. If it does half as much as it did me, you’ll have a wow of a time! The day-by-day, often night-by-night, Q&A progression made me known to Mark in a way that nobody – including myself and, foremost, Martin, my husband of 28 years – had suspected. And I got to know Mark equally well.
God, Mari! By posting you this copy, you will too! About me you will know, for instance, that I’ve begun to trim and shape my bush, and that I often masturbate in front of the mirror. By the time I gave these answers, Mark and I were already some weeks into our nicely heating-up sexual relationship. Mark had refined our Q.&A. Game by listing with each ‘Would you …?’, ‘Have you …?’, etc.- question, up to five likely answers. It forced us to be brutally direct in choosing a number as a reply.
Mark, as you can check-up, Mari, had asked me, after my No to the Brazilian question, if I would give my bush a sexy trim for him? The answers were 1 for NEVER, 2 for NOT YET, 3 for GLADLY! Mari, I not only answered with a highlighted 3 but had my generally neat hairy triangle professionally trimmed within days. And God, the fashion-trim looked sensationally suggestive in the mirror! But, when Mark quickly followed-up with the question: – “Would you send me a photo of your pussy?”, it put my mind in a spin. This was new and risky. We had, in the beginning, agreed never to use Skype, so that seeing our aged appearance would not counter our promiscuous minds. Thinking it over for two days with ever-growing excitement, I posted Mark a 2, for ‘Not Yet’.