DISCLAIMER: This is not my typical post. It is X-rated and should not be read by the faint of heart (or by any of my friends and loved ones who might hold it against me). I am not responsible for where my muse takes me. I saw a beautiful woman on the street who looked homeless. My mind drifted to how she might have ended up that way. The idea came to me fully formed and I wanted to try a new genre. This is the result.
Mattie sat gazing in the mirror stopped in mid stroke while putting her eye liner on. In that split second she flashed back to the exact moment when her life had changed. It was a Monday morning in April and she and Timothy were having yet another fight. She couldn’t remember what started it but she did remember that was the morning she finally said what she’d been trying to say for months. “You don’t desire me anymore. I need you to want me, not just as a social partner, but as a woman.”
Timothy looked at her enraged and yelled, “If I’m not man enough for you, Martha, why don’t you go find someone who is!” He walked out slamming the door behind him and left her standing in the entry way with her mouth agape. Moments later she heard his car peel out of the driveway and hoped he’d slow down for the light at Midway.
She drove to the club in a thoughtful mood. She pulled up front and handed her keys to Jimmy who was deferential as always. “Good Morning Mrs. Medford. Have a good workout.”
The Olympic-size pool was always empty this early in the morning and she drove herself to swim faster and faster trying hard to tire herself out physically so her body wouldn’t ask for anything more of her.
Afterward she dressed and waited patiently for Jimmy to bring her car around. She got in and drove to her volunteer job at the city museum. It was a small museum, not busy at the best of times, but the city was proud of its history and of housing the bell from its first church built in 1810. No one worked with her on Mondays, the slowest day of the week at the museum, and today was especially quiet.
With no museum visitors to occupy her mind she sat in the front office contemplating what Timothy had screamed as he left that morning and browsing online for a dress to wear to the country club annual dance. On the right of the screen an advertisement caught her eye. “Are you lonely? Are you wishing you had a man who truly desires you? Join thousands of other women like yourself whose lives have changed for the better. Click here to learn more.” What could it hurt, she told herself, to just take a look?
They wanted her to sign up and she chose the user name JustLookin and put minimal information in her profile. She was just clicking through looking at the hundreds of different men of varying ages and types when a “chat” request popped up on her screen.
CoulditB_U?: Want to chat for a bit?
She looked at the box on the screen. CoulditB_U? hadn’t posted a picture but it said 32, 6’2”, physically fit. Why would a 32 year old man want to chat with her? She’d listed her correct birthday which made her 45 next February. But, what could it hurt to just chat?
CoulditB_U?: Rod here. Are you enjoying your day?
JustLookin: It’s going okay.
CoulditB_U?: Just okay? Are you bored?
JustLookin: Not bored, really, more in a thoughtful mood.
CoulditB_U?: What are you thinking about?
JustLookin: I’d rather not say
CoulditB_U?: Want me to tell you what I’m thinking about today?
CoulditB_U?: I’m thinking I’d like to meet a woman who’d like to chat a while and see if we have anything at all we could offer each other. What are you looking for?
JustLookin: I’m not looking for anything, really, I’m married actually.
CoulditB_U?: Happily married?
The screen blinked his question at her. Happily married? Happily married? For some reason, maybe the anonymity of the computer chat, she replied honestly:
JustLookin: Not lately.
CoulditB_U?: Let me guess. Your husband doesn’t make love to you like he did when you were first married, right?
JustLookin: My husband doesn’t make love to me at all.
CoulditB_U?: And I’ll bet you’re still an attractive woman.
JustLookin: I try very hard to take care of myself.
CoulditB_U?: Why don’t you give me your email address and I’ll send you a picture of me so you’ll know who you’re talking to and you can send me one of you?
JustLookin: I can’t do that. I’ve got to go now. Bye.
CoulditB_U?: Send me your picture if you change your mind. After all, we’re just talking. Coulditbu@gmail.com. I’d love to hear from you.
That night Tim and she had sat quietly through dinner. It seemed even the pretense of talking about their day was too much trouble any more. After dinner Tim went into the library and she could hear the television probably tuned in to the History channel.
She went in her small office off the kitchen to pay some bills online. At least that’s what she told herself she was there for. She found herself looking through her laptop for a photo of her alone, without Tim or one of their friends in it with her. She found a photo of her at their pool party last summer in a short aqua shift that she thought showed off her long legs and her great tan. Her long blonde hair was piled high on her head and small wisps of curls fell down around her face framing her deep blue eyes. On a lark she logged in to her email account and sent the picture off to CoulditB_U?. Then she went upstairs and read until she fell asleep.
The next morning she lay in bed with no reason to get up. Normally she scheduled activities so that she was always busy but this morning her tennis and lunch date had cancelled saying she was sick. So she simply lay in bed thinking about how when Timothy and she were first married how he’d rush home after work just to be with her. She heard the ping of her phone on the bedside table telling her she had mail and she reached across to grab it and check her email.
I don’t know how I knew you would be a beautiful woman, but I just knew. You’re stunning. My photo’s attached. Please say you’ll meet me for coffee today? Starbucks on 5th Street? 11:00am? I’ll wait for you. You won’t regret it.
She clicked on the attachment link and his photo was displayed on the screen. He was handsome, with a quirky smile, dark tussled hair and brown eyes.
She got up and went into the bathroom and started the shower. The entire time she spent getting ready, choosing her clothing with care, taking extra time on her hair and make-up, she told herself she was not going to meet him. When she was done she went into the garage, got into her car, and drove to 5th street.
He was sitting at a small table in the rear and when she entered. He got up smiling and greeted her. He pulled the chair out for her to sit down and got her the latte she requested. They sat and talked, smiling and flirting, him gently brushing his hand against hers, briefly touching her arm or her thigh sending ripples of electricity through her.
And then he asked her, straight forward and simple, “Come home with me?” It was as though she was in a trance, or a dream, as she replied, “Yes.”
She followed him to a small bungalow on the east side of town. Once there, they didn’t talk. He closed the door behind her and immediately began kissing her. She realized she craved his touch and pulled him tightly to her. He whispered in her ear telling her how beautiful she was and how much he wanted to please her. Almost before she knew what was happening she found herself leaning against the wall with her skirt hiked up to her waist and a man she barely knew kneeling before her gently removing her panties and using his tongue on her clitoris. She had never done anything like this in her life. The only time she’d ever had sex was with men she was in a serious relationship with. It was exhilarating.
After the first time they met once a week. He would text her every day between meetings telling her in very specific detail what he wanted to do to her the next time they were together. He begged her to write back and say what she wanted. The first time, she was embarrassed to write anything so seemingly crude, but she did it and realized as she wrote the words how hot it was making her. As time passed the texting became as exciting as her time with him. She seemed to be in a state of heightened sexual awareness and spent hours each day aroused to the point of distraction. She would open her messages and read his words: “I need to see my hard cock disappear into some part of you. I don’t care where. Everything is good.” Immediately she would feel herself getting wet in anticipation of their meeting.
Each time she thought she’d gone beyond anything she could ever bring herself to do with a man; Rod would ask for just a little bit more. Things she had heard about but would never have shared with her husband or any other lover. Things that previously she had thought strange, had believed only perverts would ever think about, she did for him. She seemed unable to deny him anything he wanted from her.
She was desperate to have more time with him and began cancelling dates with her friends at the club. After a couple of months passed she stopped volunteering at the museum. Timothy asked her why she wasn’t getting out more often and she said something vague about not feeling well. They had stopped fighting. As soon as she had stopped asking him for more of his time and attention things quickly went back to the way they had been between them, polite conversation, retiring to separate rooms after dinner. She’d be asleep each night before he ever came upstairs to bed.
At the end of three months she’d lost ten pounds and they were seeing each other whenever she could get away. She began to take more chances, staying longer at the bungalow than she should, twice getting back barely in time to take a shower before Timothy arrived home from work. She’d had to order Chinese and make some lame excuse about having to run a lot of errands that day.
Rod began asking her if he could come to her house. He told her what a rush it would be for him to make love to her in her own bed. How much hotter it would be. How much harder it would make him. After a few weeks she had succumbed and let him come over. She was completely addicted to being naked with him and she found she was incapable of saying no to him. She didn’t think it possible but the increased risk of being caught heightened the pleasure for her.
That afternoon Rod lay on her bed and she was sitting on top of him with his young, hard cock deep inside of her lost in riding the waves of pleasure as they rippled through her.
“OH My God, Martha! Get off him! Get him out! Get him the fuck out of my house!”
She stopped; stunned. Rod had pushed her off of him; jumped up, grabbed his clothes and run out past Timothy without looking back. It was the last time she had ever seen him. She’d tried to reach him texting and emailing incessantly the next day but he no longer answered. When she went to the bungalow there was no sign anyone had ever lived there.
The stipulation of their pre-nuptial agreement was that if she was ever unfaithful she would get nothing, leaving the marriage with exactly what she’d brought in to it. Timothy had thrown her out that same day. He had let her keep the BMW and her clothes but he’d only given her 24 hours to get out of the house.
After 19 years of marriage she was no longer Mrs. Timothy Medford. She wasn’t welcome at the country club. The women with whom she had played tennis and cards, had volunteered and lunched with no longer took her calls. She had no friends, no income, and no marketable skills. She’d given up the life she knew to feel the excitement of a stranger’s touch.
Max stuck his head inside the curtain and spat out, “Pick it up Mattie, there’s a big crowd out there. And for God’s sake shake some tit tonight. These guys didn’t come down here to see St Theresa.”
Max’s barking snapped Mattie out of her reverie and she finished applying her eyeliner; lined and polished her lips. She stood up tall to her full 5’8” (6 feet with these heels on), pulled back the curtain, held her head high and walked slowly toward the stage entrance.