I was so ashamed.
Ashamed, and yet, with the revelation of what I had done, the memories of it – my obsession of it, really – are still as powerful as the sex itself.
I am like a million other women, I think. No matter how we have lived - even those with successful jobs and successful husbands who treat us well and generally behave like gentlemen - at one time in our lives, we begin to feel trapped, unappreciated, ignored.
Unsatisfied, emotionally and physically.
***
In this day and age, every woman I know owns a vibrator (at least one), and isn’t shy talking about it. Many of them were gifts from husbands. Something to play with while he was gone. Something inanimate, but eager to thrill and always responsive. I used to think a masturbation toy was something to hide, not talk about. After its use, it was quickly cleansed and sanitized and stowed away under the panties. A dirty secret, hidden even from my husband.
I was angry when he found it. He acted like he’d discovered a cache of diamonds. He wanted me to use it in front of him! Oh, the humiliation was overwhelming.
At first.
After several weeks of clever (and I must say, good natured) needling and cajoling, he persuaded me to use it, by myself, in my bed. But I would leave the bedroom door open just slightly, and he would be free to spy on me.
***
I tried hard not to look toward the door.
I wanted to feel that I was being watched unaware. The sensation was – well, sensational! I did nothing different in my routine, circled and teased and took my time, luxuriated in the feeling only a woman knows how to deliver to herself. But knowing that he was watching – or even just that he could be watching – sent me over the edge in an unusually powerful explosion. And right at the very height of my ecstasy, I snuck a peek at the door just as the shadow moved by.
The door to addiction had just been opened. I don’t say that as an excuse. I should have resisted it. I am to blame.
***
I wanted him to do the same for me.
I had never watched a man masturbate. Until then, the thought had rather repulsed me. Flashers and pervs jerked off in public. A man exposing himself, body taut while his arm and hand worked frenetically, one rigid piston flogging another. But that was silly, wasn’t it? My husband was an attractive man, in excellent shape for his late forties. I certainly had jerked him off plenty of times – and in some weird places, too. He’d done the same for me, and he was pretty good at it, for a man.
But now, I wanted to be the one to spy on him. I wanted to watch my husband masturbate. I wanted to see him grasp his erection in his hand and work it for me.
***
And he wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t be the exhibitionist, he said. He could only watch. He was apologetic about it, and I understood, sort of. Some people get off on being watched, some don’t. If it wasn’t going to please him, why should I be so insistent?
Still, I couldn’t help being perturbed.
Something I’d never, ever even thought about was preoccupying me, taking over as the single strongest fantasy I conjured when it was time for my vibrator.
***
Jack doesn’t travel that much for his business, but when he does, it’s for a week or more at a time. I like these times, having the house all to myself. I don’t even get dressed, just roam around the house naked, make breakfast naked, do the wash naked. I pause as I pass the mirrors and admire my figure. Tennis is a wonderful sport. It has kept my legs and my butt firm, my arms sinewy and taut. I’ve fought the battle of the bulge, and I dare say most men would think I’ve come out on top. Not the very, very top, but I am pleased to be still turning heads in the village.
Off of my kitchen is a quiet, sedate and very private deck. It perches over an elaborately manicured English garden with a wading pool in the middle. The yard is surrounded by a stockade fence that is overgrown with thick ivy, and on the other side of the fence is a tall, thick hedge belonging to my neighbor.
I like to sit naked on the deck in the morning, getting some of the morning sun before it gets too hot. And I will wander down to the wading pool and slip in for a little skinny dip. Oh, the feeling of cool water on my naked body in the outdoors! I had always been confident in my privacy doing this, but I’d always had a secret fear (or thrill?) that someone might be watching. Now, with Jack gone, I found myself wanting that!
And so, the first morning after he’d left, I’d gone to my place on the deck, and for the first time, I masturbated right there, in my chair, on the deck, in the open air and naked to the world. As I began to build toward orgasm, I stopped. I padded down the steps to the pool, waded in to my knees, set my bottom onto the edge, and with the warm morning sun caressing my body, strummed myself to a sensational, leg-weakening orgasm.
***
There is a pool at my neighbor’s, too, although I only discovered it initially from the sounds of voices and splashing and the thumping of a diving board. My neighbor, Ted, is Jack’s age, and he has a son and a daughter who are both in their early twenties. They were spending some time at home. I’d met them all, exchanged pleasantries, but our neighborhood is into privacy. No neighborhood parties, that sort of thing. Ted’s kids were like him. Attractive, privileged, well educated and, I once had a suspicion, somewhat devious. I should have listened to my instincts.
***
When I heard the playful voices the afternoon of that first day, I worried that they might get it in their minds one day to spy on the MILF, so to speak. But the hedge is very tall, and very thick, and the ivy growing over the fence is as well. This was what I was thinking as I masturbated again, at the pool edge, this time with my vibrator. Still, I used the side of the pool facing away from them, so they could only watch me from behind, if they were. My fantasy this time was imagining the older boy, Zach, peering through the hedge and stroking his young, virile manhood. I came so hard I grunted and gasped and was afraid he might have heard me.
***
Two mornings later, as I had my coffee on the deck, in the nude, I noticed that Ted’s hedge had been thinned somewhat in a spot near the deck, perhaps only thirty feet from where I sunned. I could not see through the hedge, but I could see the sunlight on the lawn and the very edge of the pool. I sat and watched to see what I could see. Around 10:30, Ted’s screen door slap shut and through the thin gaps in the hedge I could faintly see legs and bare feet move across grass, and then I heard a splash. Zach was taking a little morning swim, it seemed.
Suddenly, I was on my feet, tiptoeing down the steps and sneaking around the garden to the hedge. From up close, the hedge gaps were wider, but the view was still not clear. I listened to the lazy sounds of water lapping against the sides and the odd stroke of an arm or kick of a leg. Then I saw the boy’s head emerge above the surface at the edge of the pool, his two hands on the rim, and with a powerful rush, he lunged out of the pool right to his feet, water rushing from his hair and big strong body, as naked as I was. I watched as he grabbed a towel from a chair, buried his face in it and began to rub his hair vigorously. His torso was taut and flexed as he rubbed, but that was not what caught my attention with its movement.
***
I stood transfixed in the dark shade of the bushes, watching Zach dry himself. His towel moved down from his shoulders and belly and then his two strong arms used the towel to give himself a good buffing down there. He stopped, dropped the towel away, and admired himself. Plenty to admire. He took it in his hand, gave it a fondle, smiled and moved toward the house. I heard the door slap shut and his sister yell at him to put some clothes on. I stayed right where I was, put my fingers on my clitoris and came in about ten seconds.
I was never going to get out of this.
***
In the afternoon, I heard the door slap shut again.
I moved down to the pool, slowly removed my tank top and bikini bottom, and stroked myself dizzy. This time, I faced the fence.
That evening, Jack called from Minneapolis. He told me how much he missed me and asked if I had been busy with the vibrator. I told him yes, and we had phone sex. It was quite good, really. But quite good wasn’t cutting it for me.
***
When we were done and I was alone again, I went to the corner of the back yard closest to Ted’s property, to see if there was any spot where I could see the back of his house. There was one spot, up on a big, flat rock, where the second story windows were visible above the hedge. The next morning, I moved one of the lawn chairs from the garden up onto the rock and went to the camera shop to buy a nice, small set of binoculars. That night, I sat naked under the moonlight and watched the lit windows of Ted’s bedrooms. I didn’t see anything, but I did manage to have a heart-stopping rush of multiple orgasms, fantasizing about Zach jerking himself off in front of his window. How ridiculous. Of course he wouldn’t do that. He could have any girl he wanted. Still, at the point of near unconsciousness, the thought I had in my head was that lovely cock spurting cum onto my breasts.
***
Sitting out the next morning, I was certain that the thin spot in the hedge had gotten thinner yet. I could now sit on the deck and see the lawn where it met the pool. But if someone were standing at the edge of the pool and looking toward the hedge, it was doubtful they could see me. Or at least that’s what I surmised. From my deck perch, I watched Zach come and go from his swim. I couldn’t see as much as I did close up, but what I saw was from his shoulders to his knees. So the angle for looking this way was in my favor. Someone would need to be sitting, like on a lawn chair. Then the angles would be lined up. Someone was thinning that hedge. But no one was there now, so I turned my body toward the hedge, opened my legs, cupped a breast and took the nipple between my fingers, and began to play my pussy like a violin in front of a full house at Carnegie Hall.
I sound like a woman who’s lost all modesty – and I confess I have. But if you had seen me going through that series of orgasms, you’d have thought I’d been tasered.
What I remember most is giggling and crying at the same time.
***
Jack called from Minneapolis. Something about a recalcitrant lender.
Truth be told, I was thrilled to learn his return would be delayed. I love the man, and at that moment, I did miss him, truly. But I had something else in my mind.
The lawn chair that had appeared next to Ted’s pool.
***
I didn’t sleep ten minutes. I did nothing but manufacture fantasies and play with myself, only to stop so that I could store up the immense sexual energy as I anticipated Zach’s morning swim.
He put that chair there. He trimmed the hedge. And he was going to swim in my pool.
I was so intent on it, I showered when I got up at five, had a light breakfast of fruit and berries, and applied generous quantities of lavender oil to my breasts and inner thighs. Jack swore it tasted nice, and I know it worked as a lubricant, too.
While I was enjoying my third cup of coffee, well before Zach’s usual wake-up swim, the weather forecast came true, and a period of cool rain moved in. I was furious, then crestfallen. I had to find some way to satisfy this rampant lust.
I found it after dinner, when some of Zach’s friends got a little sloppy with their parking in front of our house. I slipped on a nice tank top and a whispy print silk skirt and wandered next door for a neighborly chat.
It was a typical group of young men gathering at daddy’s house, expecting nothing but a lot of beer and hoping for something more, anything more. When the door finally opened after the third ring, Zach stepped out onto the front porch and shut the door, so I could be heard over the music. He wore a sleeveless tee shirt and gym shorts, and from one quick glance, I was quite sure there was nothing underneath those shorts. I remember this as clearly as anything.
“Hello Mrs. Vern. Is the music too loud?” He was much taller than I’d imagined in my fantasies, and leaner.
“Call me Eden, please. You’re an adult now. I just wanted your friends to be more careful where they park. And make sure no one is driving when they shouldn’t, you know? Staying over is always less trouble than jail, or worse.” I delivered these words with great control, considering what was going on inside me, which was the feeling of a hive of bees busting to get out of my uterus.
He was so cute. “I’m sorry Mrs. V – I mean Eden. I’ll tell them to move the cars right away.” He smiled sheepishly. “And thanks for not callin’ the cops. Dad would be pissed.”
“Hey, no problem Zach,” I heard my voice say, “it’s nice to see you after so much time. You’ve grown!”
Zach grinned, but not like some nasty dog. He was blushing, and gulped a breath.
“Very nice to see you, too, Eden.”
I bet it is, I thought. “When is your dad returning, Zach? How long should I keep an eye on you?”
The red in his cheeks vanished and returned in an instant. “Oh, he’ll be back day after tomorrow. Sis is staying with a friend till dad’s back. It’s just me till then, so I guess, well, huh…”
What a darling boy. “So I’ll be keeping an eye on just you then?” As soon as I said it, I thought, don’t be an idiot, he already knows what you’re saying, don’t be roughing him up like that. How did I know that, I wondered. How did I sense these things with so little experience in seduction, voyeurism, adultery?
I didn’t know. I was in the grip of addiction.
***
After the adrenaline rush of my encounter with Zach and lack of sleep the night before, I returned home ready to drop dead in bed and greet tomorrow’s adventure, whatever it might be. By 1:00 am, no closer to sleep, I took an Ambien, and with the two glasses of Vodka I’d had earlier, I was soon dead to the world, dreaming weird, erotic thoughts with a hand buried between my legs.
I wanted nothing more than for Jack to call me, like he had before. To let me share my intimacy with him. To speak out these dirty things, let him in on them, have him share the eroticism with me. But he didn’t call, and before I took care of business and passed out, I convinced myself he wouldn’t understand.
They can never understand, men.
***
The last of the cars didn’t leave until almost three, and I was still awake till five, dreaming with my eyes open.
So, it’s fair to say, without making any excuses for my conduct, that I should never have messed with that Ambien. So few people take the time to read the warnings.
In any event, when the morning fog finally burned off close to noon, I’d taken care of errands and cleaned the house. I finished the Times crossword and book review section and prepared a light lunch for my deck spot. I spent a bit of time deciding just what sort of lunch should sit by the side while a nude woman stroked herself and watched a boy half her age do the same. No cheese, that’s what I came up with.
I’d feared some of Zach’s friends might have stayed over and spoiled our little private party, but there were no cars left, not even any music coming from the house when I took my place. The screen door slapped shut a few minutes after noon. That bang affected me like I was one of Pavlov’s dogs. As soon as I heard the clap, I became wet with anticipation.
The lawn chair was set up just where it had to be. I didn’t have to move one inch. He was a very considerate young man. When he moved into view and finally reached the chair, I was seated in my spot, tanned breasts with the morning sun shining on them, my feet up on a footstool. I kept my knees together, though.
Zach strolled into my view, the hedge hole thinned even more. He wore the gym shorts, just as he had last night. He wandered by the chair like he’d never seen it before, paused as though considering whether to sit or not, then sat, leaned back deep into it and shut his eyes to the sun. What a beautiful young man, I thought. Take your shorts off.
He enjoyed the sun for a minute and then began his tease. He scratched his thigh, waved his knees open and closed, then slipped his hand under the waistband. I caressed my nipples while the rumble in my womb began to build. He was taking his time, and I was confident he knew I was watching, but I coughed once, and as I did, opened my knees. I imagined he smiled.
Zach raised himself off the chair for a second, slid his shorts to his ankles, and kicked them away with a foot. He had tanned well during the summer. He lounged, played like he was napping, dropped a hand to his crotch, adjusted his equipment.
And his equipment grew. He fondled it like it was his best friend, and when he gave it a few slow, genuine up-and-down strokes, I thought his eyes opened as he looked toward the hedge hole. I let my knees fall way open and gave my kitty a pat. He smiled. He really did, he smiled. I stroked myself quickly and felt a flinch in my legs.
It didn’t take young Zach long to get hard, or to shed whatever modesty he might have held in reserve. He stretched out in that chair, heels dug into the grass, toes pointed out, his right hand gripping his beautiful young manhood, slowly working it, stroking it, admiring it (I thought – what’s not to admire?).
I kept the fingers busy on my nipples, stroking my breasts and tummy, slipping down occasionally to feel how things were doing. I was as wet as Seattle in May. I watched Zach when my fingers did their pass. The pace of his stroke quickened and his head rolled back. My fingers followed, giving a nice strum and jolt of buzz when they passed over my clitoris. His arm tensed and his hand quickened in a fit of intense, fast jacking, and he opened his eyes full and stared right through the hedge, into my eyes. I put one finger to my lips to shush him. He smiled and slowed.
I needed to be closer to him, to see his marvelous body when he let go. I stood up, and knowing he could see me fully naked in the sun, I put my leg up on the table, spread myself open for him, buried two fingers inside and rolled them around the walls. I gasped, and I heard him gasp too.
Zach had found a rhythm, and he kept at it. I moved down from the deck to the shade of the bush, where I could now watch him clearly, and hear the soft sound of his fist pumping that big, rigid, stunning young cock.
He was staring right at me in the bushes, his hand working hard up and down, his body tense. He could see my face, my eyes, how I bit my lip, but he could not see the two hands that kneaded my breasts, my nipples, my clitoris, my labia. My hands worked as hard as Zach’s until I though my wrists would cramp, and then as I heard the sound of my own panting, I heard his too, and then sounds from his throat, gasping and his arm moved like a blur and three fingers went inside me and swirled and reamed and wiggled and strummed and Zach bolted out of his chair and finished his final strokes standing, hips thrust out, and he groaned and muttered, “Oh, yeah,” and I watched that beautiful thing spurt a string of come six feet into the air and then keep spewing down his hand, running onto his testicles. He kept up the stroke until it was done, and then his come soaked hand slathered his cock and balls and he kept stroking and massaging himself.
“Come here,” I heard myself say. He walked to the hedge, his hand still massaging himself, his young face in an erotic trance. He could not see me below the neck, but I could see him from head to toe. “Do it again,” I heard myself say, and at once, my hands worked my own organ as he played his. It popped back up to full throttle in seconds, and as he jacked himself off, he muttered to me how many times he had done it before, fantasizing of me in the lap pool, in the yard, in my bed. And I worked my hands as fast as his, and I muttered obscene things like “I want to suck you off” and “I want your come on my tits.”
I didn’t know myself any more.
***
