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Let me makes something very clear, I am old enough to know better. Me, Wendy, the well endowed unlucky too many times woman who only gets noticed for my boobs, not my brains. It is not like I am a 20 year old kid, some stupid innocent. A whole lot closer to 50 than 40, to be honest. This girl has been around the block no matter how you define that block. Around as many times as it takes to know that night I was about to be felt up.
It was not dinner at a five star, it was not an evening out clubbing, it was just two people in a living room watching an old movie on the cable that set the stage. Watching, laughing, talking and, slowly but surely, moving closer and closer together. Physically closer, we already had the emotional bond it took to get me out on a date. Several dates, even though nothing had as of yet happened between us. We are not virgins, either one of us, that was not the issue. More like timing and on this night, the time was right.
I felt good, warm, soft and so secure, I know that. I know I tilted my head over as the movie played, resting on a nearby shoulder. An arm slipped around me, there was a nuzzle to my ear. I felt good, it felt right, we kissed. Soft, slow, tender, two sets of lips met. A simple peck, we linger and then I giggled. Again soft, slow, tender. Oh, Sweet Jesus, so tender.
A mouth covers mine, my arms envelop another. A hand strokes my hair as our lips search for something only romantics can find. A tongue slips in, I return the favor. Soft, slow, lips so sweet in a kiss that could last forever. A kiss on my lips, my cheek. A gentle hand caresses my hair, my face. China blue eyes before me twinkle. So soft, so sweet, lips cover mine. I am old enough to know better. I have been around the block. I know what is happening and I am loving every second.
A hand slides to my shoulder, gently caressing. A giggle and then a finger traces the pattern of my bra strap down my chest. I do not resist, I will not resist, not if I might have these tender, sweet kisses. More, give me more, even as a hand caresses my breast, softly at first, tenderly massaging my badge of womanhood. The sweet kisses continue, the hand rises slowly. I have been around the block, I know. Yes, I know.
I can still remember the first time I was felt up, a month before I married for the first time. Only a month, I had protected my honor, my virtue, my flower as if it was Fort Knox’s gold. Soon I would realize how foolish I had been, my wedding night, my virginity gone and I laying in a bed wondering if it would ever get better. It did, but canlı bahis şirketleri not from my first husband, gone and forgotten.
The kisses on my lips draw me back to the reality of the moment, so tender and yet so demanding as well. Demanding I respond in kind, letting my heart slip from my soul into the mouth of another. Now I stroke a cheek, skin so wonderfully alive. I am a woman, I could kiss for hours and still need more. More of this sweetness, more of this excitement that only two bodies entwining can bring. Excitement that once sent me over the edge.
Not with my first husband, certainly not on my wedding night, nor with the second husband did I come to cliff’s edge and tumble. It was another, a most beautiful man, a most incredible man I met when I was married to Number Two. A man I became friends with, a man I fell in love with while married. A man who came to visit me, in the privacy of my house. A man who seduced me even as I seduced him. God, he was perfect.
I raced back into the reality of the moment, my lips still searching for even more as my tongue darted in and out. As gentle hands caressed my face and hungry lips sought mine. Beautiful tender kisses and my mind raced backwards in time. God, so perfect. It wasn’t supposed to happen and it had. It was just to be a kiss and perhaps a walk, not Wendy stripped nude and him pleasing us both as only lovers can. He was a perfect man, making love, never screwing, every time he came to me. Every time I came to him. A beautiful man who got away.
Reality. Kisses are on my throat, driving me wild. A gentle caress brushes my cheek. I kiss the top of a head, a forehead, drawing this delicious mouth up to mine again. Wallowing in kisses, my body electrified by my heart. My heart pounding, my joy immeasurable. A laugh. A laugh but it is not mine. I stop, are my kisses that amusing? Am I unworthy?
Another laugh as blue eyes twinkle. I am puzzled, I am not a clown. A laugh and then a finger points. Points downward. My God, I have given it all away. My nipples stand erect, through my bra, through my shirt. Yes, my dear, I am hot. Yes, my darling, I am electrified. Yes, I am totally, completely turned on. Yes, dearest, you may undress me. Now.
No husband ever undressed me, a God’s true. Both my lovers did. My lovers before. Four men I have laid with, am I a whore? Is that what I am, my dear, am I a tramp? A head shakes, blue eyes turn tender. I was, I am, a woman. I was not a whore. I am not a slut. No husband ever, it was always me. I fought the urge for tears to flow. canlı kaçak iddaa No husband. Hands were at my top button.
I look downwards, watching fingers opening my top closure and slowly beginning to peal back the lapels of my blouse. Four more buttons and I will be open. My girlish thoughts take over, I should have worn a pretty bra. I didn’t expect to be bared. Felt, yes, but as a teenager would, fully clothed and groping for momentary pleasure. My woman near 50 thoughts prevail. I am who I am and another button opens by foreign hands. Slowly, tenderly. I close my eyes and tilt my head back.
No need to watch, I can feel. No need to think, I am going to be felt. Indeed, I know, I have been through the drill. My blouse will be opened enough and a bare hand will explore first my chest and then each breast inside my bra. A gentle hand, massaging me until I ask for mercy. Not consent, not on this evening, simply another step in the paths of lovers. No need to watch, I feel another button open and hands peeling back lapels. Hands stopping as blue eyes admire.
Yes, I am a big woman. Yes, my darling blue eyes, I know you have described me as huge to your friends, that I know. These are 40 DD’s, now swollen by my own lust for your kisses. For your touch. I feel a gentle hand slip under my bra strap and begin its descent to pleasure. The pleasure of a bare breast. Yes, blue eyes, I do enjoy the attention, but only in the intimate moments between a couple such as us. I am not to be ogled or the subject of crude remarks. I am to be worshipped. Worshipped as that perfect man did once upon a time.
God, that first night in his arms remains branded by the fire iron he carried between his legs. Not once, not twice, not three, not four but five times he came after me as a man should have a woman. Five times he took his pleasure, giving more in return. Treating me as a woman, as a lover, as the goddess I deserved to be and I lost him. I pressed too hard, I wanted too much, I demanded what would and could not be mine. Once upon a time I was a foolish woman. I felt realty slowly withdrawing a hand as a memory rushed away.
I stare, blue eyes now sparkling as my buttons all open. As my lapels are pulled back, my blouse slipping off my shoulders. Hands slip behind my back. Oh God, why didn’t I wear something pretty? I am unhooked, sweet Jesus I am being made bare. Jesus, I am so silly. God, I am embarrassed. I am turning so red, even with all the love I have for you, darling blue eyes. I am still so backwards, not the harlot of literature or film. canlı kaçak bahis A deep blush and I know I am being stripped to the waist. My blouse gone, my bra tossed away, I close my eyes, shyly cover my breasts with my hands and fall more in love.
Gentle hands take my wrists, drawing my hands away. I opened my eyes and felt my heart pound. Yes, I am bare to you. You, sweet blue eyes, letting my hands go as you gently caress my shoulder. My chest. Slowly, surely, caressing each breast. Yes, I am bare to you. Yes, I know my nipples stand to salute your tenderness. They are hard, darling, hard to your touch. Take, darling, take.
I reach down, drawing my left breast up. Take, sweet blue eyes, drink as if I am the goblet of life. Of love. Take to your heart’s content. I watch, the smile growing from my heart to my lips as a head lowers, kissing my chest. My breasts. A hungry mouth that finds my nipples. That drives me wild.
Only one man ever drove me to orgasm this way, even with 40 DD’s. That may change quickly. A hungry mouth yet so gentle, suckling as my womanhood comes alive. I cradle a loving head close, knowing my woman scent is escaping. Knowing gentle hands are unsnapping my slacks. I am so bare, so electrified, so in love. Feed, my darling, feed and drive to a woman’s pleasure. Even as in love I feel you slipping my slacks down. Slipping my panties down slightly. Oh God, driving me to where I so needed to be and the first gush of lust exploded inside my body.
For six months I was married before the first climax escaped my soul. Now, first time bare and willing to my blue eyes I have come again. My panties are soaked and I am not even bare. That gentle mouth keeps feeding, my body explodes again and my love sweeps from my soul. Oh, sweet Jesus, I come again but I must not be selfish. I was just going to be felt, to bare my breasts and let this one, the one I truly love, touch me as only lovers should. It was not supposed to go this far. It must not.
Never have I given my body in anything but total love the first time. No man has ever taken advantage of my lust, he must always earn my love. I have never loved like this, loved first and then the lust has come. Still, for all the beating of my heart, for all the pleasures that have escaped, it cannot be, not now. Not on a couch, not from the heat of the moment. Only when I have thought, thought long and hard. Not now, not now.
With all my strength I press a loving head away from my breasts, sitting up slowly. I am bare to the waist, how beautiful it would feel to have my darling blue eyes bare against me. Not now though, in this moment of passion, a glimmer of reason. My God, I hope my beloved, my darling who looks at me with such tenderness will understand as I say the only words I can think of.
“No, Jane, we can’t.”
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