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As I wallow in my celibate divorced life awaiting the onslaught of middle age, my mind often wanders back to earlier, simpler times. To when I was happily married, to when I had my one big affair when I was unhappily married. It goes back to how I went outside conventional sexuality and dallied with other ladies and if I think hard enough I begin to acknowledge that I am bisexual; certainly that’s become the case since Kevin and I parted with me being disillusioned with men.
As I lie naked in my big bed in my unnecessarily luxurious London, Docklands apartment masturbating, more often recently it goes back further and further. To my threesome adventures when I worked in an ad agency that confirmed my attraction to Mandye gender sex and before to my years at university where I found girls. But I wasn’t always bisexual, well I may have been but I wasn’t aware of it, and my meanderings will sometimes go back to pre bi times, back to when I was eighteen and just finding out about men and sex.
Before I tell you about those times let me tell you about me now. No, better still read my bio and look at the photo that’s hopefully there, Lit takes ages to put those up; you could also read my Lit piece The Mirror, that’s me warts and all.
I have changed since I was eighteen, but twenty six years does that. My hair is not that dissimilar, it’s still a rich chestnut colour, ok I help it a little bit, but I am larger all round. Back then I was slim with nicely shaped B cup boobs, and pretty good, slender legs and a pert bum. Now? Oh shit do I have to go there? No. I will just tell you what most men consider to be the good points and when I say there are two of those you will know what I mean. And they are now on a good day D, but in bad times, they balloon to DD, the bastards. I am not by any stretch of the imagination a BBW for I only weigh just over, ok well over one forty pounds; one forty seven to be exact, I just weighed myself for you.
I know how trying it can be to read a Lit submission that is 4 or 5 Lit pages long, so I have submitted this in two parts, but at the same time. So if you want to read it all, maybe Lit will post both parts at the same time. Who knows?
Ok back to 1984 when I was eighteen and in my last few months at school in Essex, just outside London.
During my teens I was a bit of a whiz at tennis. I’d played for both my school and my county and with a little more dedication I could probably have been even better. My coach told me that with a little more dedication I might even be able to get to get into the Wimbledon tournament, but dedication and a teenager finding their way in the grown up world aren’t natural bedfellows. So by the time I’d had my cherry plucked, my love affair with tennis was on the wane. I still belonged to a club and played quite a lot, but not with the ambition of improving. After all I’d found men, well I’d found my cherry plucker, and sex. They were much more interesting.
“We’ve been drawn away to a couple from Colchester” Robert said to me, “I’ll drive you down, OK?” Colchester was about fifty miles from where we lived.
“Sure,” I replied over my shoulder pretending not to be too keen, but quite fancying the idea of three hours or so in his car with just him and me.
Robert was a thirty something, single guy at the tennis club. Quite a good player and an even better looker, we’d been paired up by the club’s match organiser to represent the club in a county mixed doubles knock out tournament.
He was tall, well built and always seemed to have a tan. He was funny and witty and spent quite a lot of time with the junior section, not just the girls but also giving tips and help to the boys as well. Nearly all of the girls, me included, fancied him like hell, but at the dances and parties he always had a cracking looking, sophisticated woman on his arm, who, he is reputed to have told others, “was just a friend, nothing serious.”. Although he flirted quite outrageously with us younger girls no one admitted or claimed to have bedded him.
“Fancy a drink Mandy, or wouldn’t your mum like that?” he asked looking at me and smiling as we bowled along the A12 in his JAGUAR.
“Sure, I’d love to,” I replied ignoring the mum remark.
“You are old enough aren’t you; it’s so difficult with you young fillies?”
Sort of sitting up straighter in my seat and probably pushing my small chest out a bit I said, rather grandly.
“I am over eighteen you know.”
He laughed and glancing across patted me on my knee.
“I know, just joking Mandy, I can tell you are.”
I didn’t quite know how to take him. He was always joking and taking the piss so you had to be both on your guard and on your toes when with him. I really couldn’t tell whether he was sending me up or chatting me up most of the time.
“Are you at school tomorrow?” He asked as we sat in the pretty little bar of the country pub he’d pulled into.
“Yes I am,” I said rather snottily wishing izmir escort he wouldn’t keep saying things that accentuated my youth. I was a grown up fucking woman for Christ’a sak.
“And what time do you have to be home on a school day?”
“Oh mum and dad are pretty cool about such things, so around eleven’s fine.”
He looked at his watch. “Good, we’ve got ages then, so there’s no rush.”
We’d won the tennis match love and love and the whole thing was finished in just over half an hour. We’d had a quick cup of tea and a sandwich with our opponents before setting off for home at around seven so it was now just eight o’clock. As he said, plenty of time, I wondered for what and my heart beat a little faster.
I’d had a shower after the match, even though I’d hardly perspired, but hadn’t washed my hair for it takes ages to dry. I had worn it in a pony tail when playing, but had piled it on top of my head in what I and thought was a more grown up style after the shower. I’d also put on a clean pair of panties and proper bra rather than the sports one I’d worn whilst playing. I didn’t change from the white track suit I’d played in. He was also wearing a white track suit, but other than the tennis shirt I could see, Ihad no idea what he was wearing under it.
“Would you like another?” he asked pointing at the emptied glass that had contained white vermouth and soda, a drink I thought sounded all sophisticated and grown up when I’d asked for it? “Or shall we go and take a slow, lazy drive home,” he went pausing before adding. “As you don’t have to home until eleven.”
As he was saying that his eyes were boring into mine and he had a slight smile on his face. That made me feel slightly nervous, for he was clearly flirting and I knew I was out of my depth.
“Whatever, I don’t mind.”
“You sure Mandy, you don’t mind?”
I laughed to cover my embarrassment. “I’ll leave it up to you what we do.”
Still with that smile on his face he leaned forward, glanced around at the other drinkers in the small bar, put both hands on my knees, lowered his voice and whispered.
“Mandy, if you leave it to me do you know what we’ll do?”
I could hardly breathe let alone talk so I stammered.
“No Robert, no I don’t”
“Shall I tell you what I would like to do?”
“Yes, yes please,” I croaked lowering my eyes so I escaped from his almost hypnotic gaze.
He paused for a while his gaze running over me as he seemed to be deciding what to say. Then again with that little smile and with his fingers pinching my knees he said.
“I’d like us to get in the car, find somewhere very quiet and isolated and then I’d like to kiss you Mandy.”
“Oh God,” I couldn’t help blurting out in amazement, shock and surprise.
He laughed. “It’s not that terrible an idea is it?”
“No, no,” I laughed, “you just surprised me that’s all,” I went on trying desperately hard to appear to be cool about it and give the impression this sort of thing happened to me all the time.
“So the idea’s ok then?” he asked cleverly putting me on the spot. “It’s just the surprise is it?”
I had no idea how to handle this so I had a sip of my drink, completely forgetting the glass was empty.
Again holding my gaze he said. “So shall we then?”
Trying to be smart I said. “What have a drink or a surprise?”
Leaning even further forward and quite unashamedly peering right down the front of my tracksuit top, he kissed me on the cheek.
“No Mandy neither of those, this,” he muttered as his lips found mine.
Jaguars have back seats: big, wide, deep back seats: luxurious, leather back seats: back seats that are big enough to lie out on. And it was on one of those that Robert fucked me. He didn’t just fuck me, though; he taught me and educated me. And I loved every single minute of those two and a half hours on the back seat of his Jag.
I was easy, I guess. I put up only a cursory struggle after we’d pulled into a little car park in some woods just off the busy A12. When he leaned across and kissed me, I did say, “Robert you shouldn’t.” But I knew as his hand so confidently found and so maturely and properly squeezed my breast, my words lacked conviction. He knew it as well for he took not the slightest bit of notice and continued caressing my breast just as if I’d said nothing.
In some ways, no in most if I’m honest, I was pleased he was being so assumptive about me. He obviously thought I was far more experienced than I was for he was treating me so grown up, like a woman, like an adult lover really, I suppose. But seeming experienced and play-acting at it are far different from actually being experienced, for I had no real idea how to act or what to do.
“God I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long Mandy, you can’t imagine,” he breathed into my ear as his hand on my breasts and his tongue and lips on my mouth did such delicious things to me.
I thought I knew about kissing, knew how to kiss and knew what a good kiss alsancak escort from a boy was all about. But I was so wrong, as Robert showed me so quickly. What he showed me was that I may well have known how boys kiss girls, but not men and their lovers.
They kiss with adventure, excitement, confidence and passion. They kiss with mouths wide open, they kiss and suck just the bottom lip and they kiss with tongues deep in the other’s mouth and lips grinding and squirming together. They suck on each others lips, firstly the top then the bottom, they nibble their partner’s tongue, they pull it and the other’s lips into their mouth and they kiss all over the mouth, face, throat and neck. Yes, I soon learned I knew nothing about kissing, but I learned very quickly and soon I was kissing Robert with the verve, energy, eagerness and passion that he was kissing me.
I hardly realised that he’d slid the zip down on my trackie top. That is until I felt his hand right on my thin tennis shirt and that made me jump; with both surprise and pleasure. He didn’t stop there though. No with the assurance of a grown up making mature love he didn’t ‘beat around the bush’ as the boys I’d been with did. He didn’t make several feeble attempts at going further and he certainly didn’t ask for an invitation or my permission. In his world, his adult world, his man and woman grown up world it was taken for granted for it was considered natural. Natural for the man to slip his hand inside the top and natural for the woman to do nothing other than perhaps push her breast back against the hand that was, naturally, cupping her breast inside her bra. So as that was what I thought grown ups did nothing other than I pressed my breast back against his hand. It was clearly the right thing to do for, without further ado, he then slid his hand inside my bra. God it felt so good that I did what I hoped his grown up lovers did; I groaned with pleasure. It worked for he squeezed my boob and then pinched my nipple with just the right amount of.
“Oh Mandy you have such magnificent breasts, I’ve lusted for them for ages.”
God, did adults really talk like that? Did they say such expressive things? I knew they did in films, but in real life?
“I’ve wanted you do badly Mandy is almost hurts. When I see you at the club, especially in your tight tops and that skimpy pink skirt you wear, I get an instant hard on.”
“Oh Robert,” I sighed as I ran my fingers through his long, rather old fashioned hairstyle, “I bet you think that about all the girls at the club.”
“No Amanda,” he said sounding very sincere, “it’s just you.” Then, playing what was probably his trump card, he went on. “You’re different to the others, more adult, more grown up, they seem like little girls, you’re a woman.”
I was gone, he’d got me. I was totally out of it; out of my depth, out of my mind and, had he have asked, I’d have been out of my clothes as well.
“Let’s get in the back?” he asked, saying it, though, more like an order than a suggestion, “I want to be able to undress you, properly.”
‘Oh God he’s going to undress me, and properly, in a car,’ I repeated in my mind, fervidly wondering what, properly, meant when applied to undressing. No ‘may I’ or ‘would you like that?’ No simply, ‘I want to undress you properly;’ making me wonder, whether I had ever been undressed ‘properly,’ but then judging by the number of times I had been undressed, I doubted it. It was all so wonderfully assumptive, so erotically perfect, so shudderingly exciting and so, so, so grown up. It was obviously such a natural and normal thing for two such grown ups to say to each other that I was on my feet struggling back between the seats with no further asking. As I sank back into the corner of the big, black leather, seat waiting for Rob to join me, I realised I’d always preferred Jags over Rovers and the like, although I really preferred beamers, but as I sank into the soft luxury of the Jag’s seat I knew that I might change my opinion. Thinking like the woman I now was and like the mature lover that Robert was treating me as, I mused, ‘They’re so much better to be fucked in than German cars, which have harder seats’
But I had little time for musing, for he quickly clambered into the back and took me in his arms. Pulling me to him, he was half lying on me and half on the seat as we again kissed deeply and, I thought, quite wildly, certainly wilder than any I’d ever done previously. His hand was again all over my breasts, outside the thin bra squeezing and rubbing and then inside pinching and caressing. My trackie top that I’d covertly zipped up as I transferred from the front to the back, came, as if by magic unzipped again and his fingers were easing the bra cups away from my boobs as we continued kissing and kissing and kissing.
He reached up and switched on a dim light in the corner that was presumably used for passengers to read and not disturb the driver. It doubled very well, though, as a light for the driver to look at a passenger’s tits buca escort by.
“Oh God Mandy, your breasts are gorgeous, so firm, so full and so fucking lovely I could eat them,” he moaned into my ear, his words arousing me almost as much as his hands and the large lump of his erection pressing into my hip.
He was fumbling behind me with my bra clasp. That made me smile for the three or four boys and who’d done that to me all seemed to struggle with that and I thought, ‘Even experienced men find undoing a girl’s bra a mystery.’
“Oh fuck,” he said right into my ear, “these bloody clasps, I don’t know why they aren’t made of Velcro.”
“Oh Rob, don’t be silly, they’re easy.”
“Well if they’re so bloody easy you do it.”
I fell for that line, for, somewhat foolishly, I sat up, reached behind me and as quick as a flash undid the clasp. Letting the strap go the cups slithered down my boobs a bit but stayed on them, covering my breasts a little. In a thick voice he croaked.
“Take it off Mandy, please take it off.”
I knew that to get the bra off I’d have to remove the trackie top and that once that was off I wouldn’t easily get it back on and I’d be in the car half naked. Well at least half I thought, for he’d clearly only just started and I didn’t for one moment think he was going to stop there, nor really did I want him to. But it was dangerous; anyone including the police could suddenly come into the car park and catch us. I couldn’t bear to think of the repercussions if they took my address and then told my parents.
I didn’t want him thinking I was a wimp or that I was unused to such things, for so far I think I’d done a pretty good job of giving him the impression that I was far more experienced than I really was. I was, though, scared.
“No Robert I can’t”
“Why, why not?”
“Someone might come.”
“Well I hope we both do,” he laughed pulling the cup away from my left breast so that the nipple was bared.
“Don’t be silly,” I smiled back pulling the track top back around me. “I can’t undress here.”
“But you would if you were sure it was safe then?” he cleverly retorted kissing me and slipping his hand inside the top right onto my boob.
“You know what I mean Rob, what if a police car pulled in?”
“I reckon they’d ogle you through the window as they asked me a few questions, very, very slowly.”
I couldn’t help smiling at both his attitude and the way that he was slowly opening my track suit top again.
“Tell you what,” he said quickly, “if we go right to the far end of the car park, over by that big tree, we can park under it and no one will see us and if anyone drives in we’ll see their lights first. Ok?”
He cuddled me to him as he finished talking, kissing me and caressing my tummy. “Yes Mandy, yes? Let’s do it, I so want you, so want to see you and make love to you. You’re such a totally desirable woman Mandy, I just can’t help myself.”
Again, his choice of words was so perfect for the situation. I didn’t know whether that was purely coincidental and lucky or whether he knew just what he was doing. I didn’t care, though, for he was saying the things I wanted to hear. I wanted to be wanted, I wanted him to want to make love to me, I wanted him to think I was, and to treat me as, a woman, not a schoolgirl.
“OK, but directly we see a car we stop, yes?”
As he clambered back into the front he said over his shoulder.
We were hardly parked up when he was alongside me in the back again removing my top and bra almost in one go.
“Let me have the top,” I said to make sure I could cover myself quickly if necessary.
We kissed again and once more he caressed and squeezed my boobs and nipples before slipping his hand down onto my thigh. My legs were closed, his erection pushed firmly against the outside of my thigh.
I obviously knew what was coming next; after all that’s how seductions go isn’t it? That’s the process. Some kissing, tit caressing, bare them and then check out below. See if she’s up for the whole bit, well at the very least some fingering and if you’re lucky maybe a wank. And of course, if you are really, really lucky you might get a shag. That’s the men’s charter for sex isn’t it? At least that what we girls think and so far Rob had followed it to the tee!
But then suddenly there was a major diversion, a change of rules, a breaking of the procedure. Instead of his hand squirming its way between my thighs, opening them a bit and then sliding upwards to the “promised land,” his hand grabbed mine. I didn’t know why at first, but that quickly and spectacularly became very clear.
It was big, very hard and surprisingly warm. His erection through the thin, material of his track trousers that is, for with a confidence my limited sex career had not yet encountered, he’d taken my hand and put it right on his hard on.
“Oh yes Mandy,” he groaned, just as if I’d put it there myself. “That’s wonderful, baby, stroke it for me.”
I didn’t really know what to do, but now being an experienced woman, a tried and tested lover I let my womanly instincts take over. His grunting and sighing, the pushing of his cock against my hand and the fervid way he kissed me and caressed my chest told me I was on the right lines.
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