Friendly Wendy

wendy52   February 19, 2024   | 2705 Views
It was a recurring vision and for reasons unknown the young man in my mind would always be either a black guy or a well-hung Hispanic. I had no idea where that came from but for sure it made my fantasies even more intense. stepmom

If I’ve learned one thing, just one thing, in life it’s be kind to people when you’re on your way up because you never know if you might meet them again when you’re on your way back down! It’s a philosophy that has always stayed with me and I’ve applied in whatever walk of life or job I have been in and it has served me very well. Not for nothing am I known by many who I have met on life’s journey as ‘Friendly Wendy’. Indeed a lot of them will also remember me affectionately as ‘Bendy Wendy’. Call me what you will, I’ve had a lot of fun and intend to keep doing so for as long as I am able

I’m retired now after having had a fulfilling career in education. I’m told that I don’t look my age but then again it’s very rude to be asking a lady her age so suffice to say that I am not going to see 50 again. Whether the reason for my apparent youthful looks is that since my teenage years I have been a devotee to sex is a moot point but I like to think that my being in a constant state of arousal and my need for gratification in one way or another may have something to do with it. I’m not sure if others regard me as a prowling cougar but I guess that might be a fair description.

I wasn’t always like this, being on the prowl, looking for young guys to have some fun with for my husband provided me very well with every need and I had no reason to go seeking cock outside of the marital bed. He was a good lover and he had no trouble in making me pregnant twice and giving us two lovely boys. (They’ve long since fled the nest.)

We were the perfect family unit but that all changed when my dear hubby was killed in an auto accident and I was left bereft and at a loss of how to get on with my life. After a decent period of mourning I was left with a dull ache inside which somehow morphed into a realization that I had to find sexual satisfaction for my needy body.

I didn’t instantly go out searching for a sexual partner, although in retrospect I discovered that it would have been an easy task to fulfill, and I took solace in masturbation or rather as we refined ladies prefer to call it, Jilling.

There was nothing I liked better that at the end of day when I had returned home from work that I would draw a hot sudsy bath and then sink down into the bubbles and lazily stroke myself to a satisfying orgasm ... or two. I would close my eyes as I pleasured myself and always there would be visions of some young man with an erect cock who after letting me suck him would then push that rigid prick into my gaping pussy that was inviting him to fuck me senseless. It was a recurring vision and for reasons unknown the young man in my mind would always be either a black guy or a well-hung Hispanic. I had no idea where that came from but for sure it made my fantasies even more intense.

For a while I remained the ‘respectable Mom’ and never took my fantasies out of the house. Rather I enhanced them by using toys that I bought by mail order. Initially I purchased a realistic looking dildo and for a color choice I selected black. Oh my goodness, an inspired choice for to see that big black vibrating tool sliding in and out of my wet pussy did wonders for my imagination and laying on my bed with my legs spread wide as I tried to take the slippery length caused me to have the biggest screaming orgasms. It’s a good thing that my house is on an isolated plot otherwise neighbors might have thought there was murder being committed!

The on-line mail order catalog became a source of fascination for me as there were toys and aids that had been previously unknown to my previously sheltered life and upbringing. Now that I was living on my own meant there were no inhibitions or restrictions to prevent me from exploring this intriguing world and soon I had a regular supply of plain brown paper-wrapped packages being delivered to my door. I became quite proud of my collection and my nights were never lonely as I made friends and played out my games and fantasies with one or another of my trembling toys.

However, the penis look-alike toys for all the satisfaction I gratefully received didn’t provide me with complete gratification and I was always, figuratively speaking, on the lookout for more. I still wasn’t brave or confident enough to go out dating and I certainly wasn’t the type of girl who would turn to the internet and chat rooms in the quest of finding a new soul mate (least ways, I wasn’t then!) but then relief came in the form of a flyer that accompanied my latest mail order purchase. It was an ad for ‘Ben wa balls’; hollow silicon ‘eggs’ with weights inside that could be inserted in your pussy. The pamphlet explained that as you moved the weights rolled around and, like it or not, you would find yourself being pleasantly stimulated to the point of orgasm and beyond. Who knew? I’d never previously heard of them but apparently they have been around since time began; nobody told me!

From the day that that particular package arrived I’ve had a smile on my face. People I meet have no idea what I am so happy about and I’m thinking that perhaps I owe it to my jiggling little rubbery eggs for my reputation of being regarded as ‘friendly Wendy’. If only they knew that as we walk and talk together that in point of fact I was constantly in a state of being close to orgasm. It was, and is, delightful.

The time came when my mourning for my departed husband abated to the level where I started to think about getting back into the real world and for me to look for a job. If for nothing else, the insurance payout following the accident wasn’t going to last forever and I needed to earn a living.

I trawled on-line to see what work was available in my locality and was intrigued to find there was a vacancy at the local Community College that was looking for a suitably qualified person to fill the new post of Guidance Counselor. I certainly had all the required qualifications to meet the job description and following my application and a short interview I felt very pleased with myself when I was offered the job.

The job required that I provide advice and counseling to the male freshmen students on funding and what classes were needed for different majors. Given the fact that the college served the less academically gifted boys and those from the poorer part of town it wasn’t rocket science to observe that this meant that the student body demographic would be predominantly from the black and Hispanic communities of the area. For me this was a bonus and I was very happy to think that my fantasies would be well served by being in the company of such young men.

It was a momentous day when I was shown my office and the prospect of working with a lot of young men; needy young men who didn’t fully appreciate that I had needs of my own and that in one way or another we would be helping each other out!

It didn’t take very long for me to settle into my new job and the college management was quite content for me to set my own goals and put in place processes that would allow me to fully engage with the students. One thing that I insisted upon was although I adopted an ‘open door policy’ which allowed anyone to drop by as they wished it became a rule that whenever I was ‘interviewing’ or counseling that my office door would be closed and the panel with the sign that read ‘Occupied - do not disturb’ was strictly observed. It was soon accepted that whenever the sign was illuminated that no one unless previously invited dare knock!

It was a few weeks into the new job when I began to feel confident enough to make my first move. I always ensured I was dressed a little provocatively with short skirts and a blouse that showed more than enough cleavage which soon attracted the attention of my target audience and soon I had a stream of young men, mostly black, making appointments to seek my advice, ostensibly advice on how to fund the courses they were considering taking or for some other related business.

It didn’t take long before I gained a reputation for being a very sympathetic counselor who enjoyed her job and I had become known as being an approachable, friendly person who once the door was closed would emphasize her empathy with whatever the problem was by becoming overly tactile with frequent touching such as holding the hand of the student while he explained his problems or patting his thigh or arm.

For the student it was a welcome relief that the intimacies were far from what he expected and often my attention would be reflected by the growing bulge that developed in his sweat pants or shorts (they always seemed to be wearing such sportswear!).

For myself it gave me relief of a similar kind to see that my touches had bought about such a response but I had a more violent reaction for inevitably I would be squirming on my seat and the Ben wa balls in my pussy did their thing and I would have to pause in my dialogue and let the orgasm wash over me as I imagined what the black cock beneath the fabric looked like.

However, it wasn’t enough to satisfy my urges and I determined to take matters to the next level. It wasn’t difficult for at the end of the school day I would get to the parking lot to find one of my black students who I had counseled earlier waiting by my car and ready to take advantage of my offer to give him a lift home.

“It’s no trouble; it’s on my route home,” I would have told him when we had been talking in my office.

We both knew that the offer was conditional (or at least, I did!) and there was no objections made when I pulled over into some parking lot at the mall or at the local park and he would lay back on the back seat of my car and let me pull down those sweat pants to reveal a beautiful stiff black cock. The first time I did it I literally shuddered at the sight and the Ben wa balls did their job and I came without hardly making a move. I caught my breath and leaned over and without any hesitation I opened my mouth and sucked at that thing like I was a starving person who had just been offered a delicious sausage. Unlike the toys at home which I had ‘trained on’ this was an experience on a much higher level. His cock was warm; it twitched when I licked a little harder with my tongue; it caused him to moan the more I sucked at it as I stroked the impressive length; eventually all my practicing with my toys when I would take a ‘penis’ balls-deep into my mouth paid off and finally a fountain of cum from a real cock would gushed into my mouth. None of my toys did any of that and they certainly never thanked me after I had bought myself to a simultaneous orgasm with my free hand.

We tidied ourselves up and I moped off the cum that had spurted onto my blouse before I regained my rightful place behind the steering wheel and we completed the journey that took him home. I dropped him off and we parted company both very satisfied.

It was taken as read that what had transpired between us must not be made common knowledge although I did indicate that if some of his more well-hung friends might like to take advantage then I would be quite happy to give them a lift home after school and provide similar ‘extra-curricular counseling’. The message was discretely passed on and soon it seemed that at the end of the school day I had one young stud or another loitering by my car waiting to take up my offer. Some of them were boys that I had previously seen in my office; others were young blacks who I had noticed had been eyeing me up as moved around the college during the course of my working day. I would be especially delighted if it was one of the innocent looking ones who was waiting for me for there was nothing that got me more excited than to think I was going to be sucking one who might be getting his first blowjob or having a mature lady stroking him off; every young man’s dream!

As much as I loved feeling a young guy cumin over my pussy or into my mouth; loved giving handjobs to young guys and watching them cum; loved edging the guys by tickling and tugging on their balls, I was forever frustrated about just giving blowjobs. As I saw my efforts bring about yet another impressive climax all I could think was that the young fat black cock should be inside me filling my womb; more and more my resolve weakened and I began to plot how to go about being properly fucked rather than just being a spectator who masturbated. As time went by and I became more confident that I wasn’t going to get caught or ratted out by my clientele to the authorities I willingly let some of those who I liked (and had potential) take further liberties with me and let my resolve weaken further.

I never wore panties and I can’t describe the thrill I felt when I allowed a black hand to wander its way up between my legs and to feel the touch of his fingers brush and probe around the waxed lips of my shaven pussy. Invariably I had my mouth full of cock which made it difficult to gauge his reaction but for me it was heaven indeed to feel the touch of a hand after so long after being on my own. His fingers would probe deeper and as I squirmed with delight the Ben wa balls took no time at all to work their magic and I would be overwhelmed by the most delicious climax. I don’t know if it was coincidence or whether my squeals had the right effect but invariable my orgasm would be rewarded by yet another gush of cum from the cock I was holding. Bliss indeed.

Weekends and school vacations denied me easy access to the source of my newfound games but now knowing the minds and needs of young men, especially black young men, I developed an alternative persona to the schoolmarm-type of term time.

I guess it was from looking at the on-line sites that were the source of my extensive collection of toys (ahem, ‘marital aids’ as the catalog charmingly described them) that I also developed an appreciation, fascination and love of fine lingerie and provocative clothing. Not being brave enough (at that time) of going to stores like Victoria Secrets or some of the more down market establishments that catered for such wear I soon found myself clicking and filling the virtual shopping cart with all manner of lacy, see-through underwear and the plain paper wrapped packages at my door were soon containing crotch-less sexy underwear, crotch-less panties, thongs, crotch-less teddies, black pantyhose and garter belts, half cup bras; the variety was endless.

My solitary pleasures went to another level and there was nothing I liked better to do in the evening or on a weekend afternoon than to have a leisurely bath, shave any stray hairs from around my swelling pussy lips, douse myself in expensive perfume and body lotions then dressing myself in a provocative combination of my frilly things, the sluttyer the better, before stretching myself out on my bed and letting my imagination run Wild. Sometimes I would have my TV tuned to the internet showing me yet another movie that involved black men and their impossibly large erect black cocks fucking the life out of a willing white female; other times I would just fill my mind with images of the black cocks of the young boys that I had recently enjoyed in the confines of the back seat of my car. Either way I would have my shaven pussy being attended to by one or another of my dildos stroking in between lacy edges of my crotch-less panties and the lips of my now very wet pussy. I lost count of the number of times I’d cum dreaming of young black cock filling me dressed like the slut I wanted to be.

Even so, it wasn’t enough for me. I began to go for drives thinking maybe I might find a young hitchhiker or some such fantasy but invariably I would end up going to a skateboard park where young guys go and I would watch them from my car or from a bench doing their tricks. It didn’t take long to catch their attention as I always dressed for the occasion by wearing a short dress, heels and stockings along with crotch-less panties ... if I wear any panties at all. I would park where I could be seen deliberately flashing my legs and pussy getting out of my car leaving them in no doubt that our interest in each other was mutual.

My visits to the skateboard park which was way over the other side of town became a regular thing and, I’m guessing, was eagerly anticipated. I’m not sure if any of the boys were students at my school but I took measures to dress so that I would not be easily recognized as ‘that crazy teacher’ and my disguise seemed to be effective for nobody made any comment that indicated I had been recognized. I would park my car to one side of the lot where it was mainly hidden from view and I left the boys no suspicions as to my reason for being there when I would wink an eye, tilt my head and invite one of them to join me on the back seat where he would get a satisfactory blowjob. God, how I came to love the taste of cum.

A variation on the games we played was when one of the boys pointed out that the structure of one of the ramps had a series of holes in the side. The naughty boy said that if I would care to hide myself inside the space that the ramp provided then the set-up would serve as a ‘Glory Hole’. I hadn’t heard of the term before but it was soon explained that if I went inside that one boy after another would push their stiff cock through one of the holes and that I would be able to suck it off and have no idea to whom it was I would be giving a blowjob. I soon came to learn and appreciate exactly what a glory hole was and the added spice of sucking on an anonymous young cock made me look forward to my visits to the skateboard park with even more relished!

I’m in danger here of giving the impression that all my free time was spent in pursuing and pleasuring young men (and myself) but this was far from the case for I have other passions one of which is my determination to keep fit. I still go to the gym at least 3 times a week, workout at home and try to take care of myself in every sense and I have to admit that it flatters me that I appeal to young and old when they see me dressed in my gym clothes as I exercise. I have always adopted the outfit of a crop-top sports bra which shows off my breasts most effectively and I have close-fitting lycra leggings over which I wear a baggy pair of shorts. The shorts are supposedly worn for modesty but I make sure that the leggings are always pulled up tight so that the resulting camel-toe of my pussy lips can be plainly seen whenever I lay down on a mat or sit at some apparatus. I deliberately position myself for maximum effect and it never fails to give me a thrill to notice that my ‘charms’ are being observed by others doing their keep fit exercises. (What they can’t see is my lovely Ben wa balls which are providing their usual stimulus as I work out!)

My workout regime was, and is, designed around toning up my muscles and burning off as much fat by doing mainly cardiovascular exercises. I also have a separate thing going to help in keeping my pussy tight so I do kagels as often as possible and as an added extra I insert a small dildo so that as I walk around I have use my pussy muscles to keep it in place. Nobody knows the reason why I always have a smile on my face as I work out.

However, it was the gym that provided much more than just exercise and an excuse for my exhibitionist fun; it was there that I met a man who was to become my second husband. Whether or not he knew what I was doing with regard to showing myself off in such a blatant and provocative manner or, if he did, that he didn’t care is something that I will never know or understand for he has always been a little vague as far as sex is concerned. I didn’t appreciate it at the time and maybe if I had then I wouldn’t have entertained the idea of getting hitched for the second time but, as they say, hindsight is 20-20.

He is a good man and I do love him dearly but it is now more a platonic partnership that we have and looking back it has really been like that from the day we first met. He, like me, went to the gym ostensibly to keep fit but he had the underlying reason of wanting to make friends to fill the void in his life that followed the death of his wife from cancer. He wasn’t always there for I discovered he had a job that took him away for periods of time but he struck a sad figure in the cafeteria whenever I saw him after I had finished my session and it didn’t take long before we did indeed strike up a friendship which brightened both our lives considerably. He was witty, intelligent and desperate to meet someone. I was charmed by this likable man and it didn’t take too many meetings over a post-gym cup of coffee before we moved onto properly dating; the rest was history.

To be honest my main motivation in encouraging my new boyfriend was a desire to have regular cock invading my ever-needy pussy. His desires must have been elsewhere for I soon discovered that he wasn’t all that interested in what I had to offer. For sure in the beginning after the marriage we went to bed quite often and I gave him every encouragement to use me. In truth it wasn’t a great success or very satisfying. He was, how can I say politely, not very well endowed and tended to get over-excited so that he soon spurted his meager load and his little cock would quickly become no longer ‘fit for use’. Having been used to a variety of young cock that never seemed to lose its stiffness even after I had encouraged yet another fountain of cum from the hanging balls, I was, let me confess, a little less enamored and disappointed in how that aspect of my new marriage was working out.

However, he didn’t seem to find his performance lacking and once he had shot his load it was to roll over and continue to be ‘Mr Nice Guy’ and to let me find my own amusement thereafter. Not that he was ever aware of how I found those amusements. My collection of toys and the wardrobe of lingerie was kept hidden and my pursuit for young black boys was also never revealed.

After the honeymoon period life morphed into a new understanding between us. He was good provider and with a very responsible job with an oil company his salary meant that I didn’t really need to work. However, for my own reasons I chose to continue!

As an specialist engineer he had to go off to maintain and fix oil installations at refineries around the world. Sometimes it would be a couple of days that he was away, other times it would be a week or more, sometimes even longer. Given his failure to provide me with my required level of satisfaction his trips away gave me every opportunity to continue with what I had become so adept at doing, the pursuit of young black boys and their ever-ready cocks.

I don’t think my new husband at that time had any idea what I did in his absence, he was totally absorbed in his own world to notice, an attitude which suited me very well and it occurred to me that I was to him a ‘trophy wife’ who could be shown off on occasion to prove that he had achieved contentment. His indifference gave me every confidence to continuing with meeting these willing young men to the extent that I took every opportunity to invite them back to my house whenever my husband was away. I felt no shame in doing so, in my mind it was his fault for having tasted the feel of his insignificant cock in me just gave me the desire to have something more substantial to satisfy my urges and I really needed more than just sucking and giving blowjobs and wanking boys off.

Then there was the other thing that gave me a incentive to do much more than just giving oral and handjobs. Without going into too much detail I had for a while been having trouble with my ‘lady parts’ (men have no idea the trouble and discomfort we women have to go through!). My last pregnancy hadn’t been easy and I had been left me with needing treatment of which the ultimate fix was to have my tubes tied. I had been counseled that the simple operation would result in my no longer being able to conceive and have c***dren. It was difficult to hide my elation to hear that advice. Now I would no longer have to fear that having a stranger’s cum in me would result in awkward explanations.

I’ve lost count of the number of times over the years that I have taken a trip to our local shopping mall complex to hunt down a willing partner or two. The best hunting ground has always been the arcade area which has a branch of ‘Victoria Secrets’ on one side. It amused me to watch young guys loitering around getting their kicks from furtively looking at the displays of flimsy lingerie hanging on the mannequins in the windows. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what they were thinking and they had an even greater thrill whenever they might look my way and glimpse, ‘the lady sitting over at the cafe, sipping her coffee, reading her book and not realizing that she had her knees apart and was exposing her shaven pussy’!

Oh, but this lady did realize! Indeed, I took great pains to make sure that I was positioned just so and gave the impression that this lady might be available. Out of the corner of my eye I would sense I had caught the attention of one of the ‘window shoppers’ and if after first glance I considered him to be cute and had potential I would give a smile, open my legs a little further and with a wink and a nod send the message that perhaps he might care to come and join me.

It worked every time.

I never bothered to ask their names; it gave me an added thrill not knowing. I would gather my things, abandon my coffee and we would go off to the parking lot and once in my car I would give the lucky young man a quick blowjob just to show him I was serious. If his cock came (pun intended) up to expectations I would invite him back to my house with the promise of giving him much more than my mouth to fuck.

It worked every time.

I always made sure that they showered and cleaned themselves up before we went any further, after all I have my standards and I knew from experience of being a mother to boys that they could be nasty, grubby things if left unsupervised. No way was I having a dirty boy anywhere near my most precious possessions. I also made it very clear that there was to be no going anywhere near my ass. There’s something about anal that has never appealed to me and, as I say, I have my limits, so there.

I have a large en-suite bathroom with a wet-room shower and there is plenty of space for two. I liked to take the boy who I had selected at the mall, strip him off and once I had divested myself of my own clothes take him into the shower and, just as a Mom should do when looking after her ‘little boy’, I would wash and soap him all over paying particular attention to that troublesome penis which with little encouragement had already regained its strength following the tongue-lashing given in the parking lot. I would let him return the favor and allow him to wash me with his soapy black hands and invariably with him caressing my soapy tits and smooth pussy lips I would bring him off to another climax with my hand clasping and stroking his thick fat shaft. It was an ideal introduction to what would follow.

I would leave him to dry off while I went through to my wardrobe and where I would select a tasteful outfit. I did so love an opportunity to share the delights of my lingerie drawer and to display the likes of that which the impressionable young man had been looking at through Victoria Secrets window. I had told him to call out when he had finished drying up and when I gauged he had made it back into the bedroom I would make my grand entrance knowing he would be thrilled to see me dressed like a slut.

It worked every time.

I never cease to be amazed at the stamina and ability these black boys have. Their cocks never seem to lose their hardness and it seemed that no sooner had he fucked my willing pussy to ecstatic satisfaction and shot his load deep inside me that after getting his breath back he was ready to go again. I didn’t object for half the time I was thinking that I was making up for lost opportunities and in my own way was gaining a reputation for being insatiable.

I would encourage the boy to treat me like a slut; to call me names; to talk dirty as if I was some kind of trailer trash. I used to give an impression that I was concerned that not using a condom or other protection with him riding me bareback and cumming in me might get me pregnant. I never let on the truth but the very idea invariably drove them wild and spurred on their efforts to ‘seed’ me.

It worked every time.

Soon I didn’t need to go to the mall to get my needs satisfied. I had attracted a faithful clientele and we worked out that if they saw the drapes of a particular upstairs bedroom were drawn open that it meant that my husband was away and that I was available to entertain. Word was passed around and I was very satisfied at the new arrangements which meant I no longer had to put myself at risk of being discovered pursuing my passions.

I wouldn’t say that whenever my husband was away that I had a few young guys at the front door but there were times when it felt like that. Indeed, there came the time when for variety’s sake I began to have more than one boy come by the house. I would go through my usual routine of making them shower and getting themselves good and clean (and hard) and then I would delight in having not one mouth but two kissing my tits; not one tongue but two lapping at my wet cunt; not one cock but two fucking my face and then, the ultimate, one time when I was astride one boy feeling his stiff cock buried inside me I was aware that the other naughty boy had knelt on the bed behind me and managed to slip and stuff his equally stiff cock in alongside his friend’s. I was being double penetrated for the first time and it was glorious when I felt them both cum and add their slippery spunk to my well-filled pussy. I play acted and told them in my refined accent that they were very naughty indeed and that I wouldn’t be surprised if they had literally ‘knocked me up’! They loved to hear that just as much as I loved to be called a ‘dirty slut ... a whore ... a cum dump’ and so their insults piled up.

I’ve long given up tallying the number of young black cocks I have let fuck my insatiable pussy. Indeed, it’s not only been blacks for I also developed a taste for the Hispanic variety. The change of diet became very easy to fulfill for my hubby insisted that we employ a local firm of gardeners to take care of our lawns and flower beds given that with him being away so often he wasn’t able to care for them himself. As is the nature of the business the gardening contractors in question employed mainly Mexican workers and it didn’t take me long to discover they were also very good and very willing to ‘plant their seeds’ in a garden of a different kind. For me the pleasure and benefits were twofold for at the end of their working day I would invite one or another (or both!) into the house and be properly pleasured by a Latino cock; the other benefit was that I didn’t have to bother with finding small change to tip them...

... same thing applied whenever I had a delivery of fast food; the pizza boys were never left wanting!

This has been my life for the past 15 years or so and although I shall be soon retiring from the college and my work as ‘special counselor’ there has been no let up in my desires or the means to satisfy them. My husband still travels and is absent for periods of time; I still maintain the exercise regime at the gym and, dare I observe, am a pretty hot looking lady; I still buy from the on-line catalogs and have an impressive collection of ‘aids’ and slutty lingerie which amuse me very much to use either when I am entertaining my young boys or when I am alone.

There have memorable moments in my pursuit of pleasure. I purr with delight when I recall the gang-bang I had with four boys in the RV that one of them had borrowed from an uncle and we took a weekend trip.

There was the time when the black janitor at the gym had noted what I got up to in the parking lot with some of my pick-ups and he literally begged me to take care of his three young grandsons who he wished to be safely initiated into the ways of the world. He was a sweet old black guy and when we met at his place I took care of him as well.

Summer times if I knew my husband was going to be away I would organize a small ‘pool party’ and it was lovely to have a few of my favorite boys over when I would tease them by wearing a skimpy string bikini and encourage them to go naked. Our pool is well hidden and they always responded to my suggestions. Such fun.

Has anything changed since I’ve been on this pleasurable journey toward my honorable retirement? Not really or that I have noticed but there is just one thing that bothers me.

Whenever my hubby has been home and I have to curtail my extra-marital activities we have had the usual and, now very rare, coupling in bed. It is always with the lights out and always a very quick affair that does nothing for me.

That’s not what has been bothering me. Here’s the thing, it’s the evidence that I know he has discovered my secret store of toys and I am also aware that he must have been riffling through my dresser where I have discretely folded and stored my special lingerie collection.

Nothing has been said but there is also this other thing. I, in turn, then did a little investigation of my own and in the back of his desk drawer I found some porn magazines that he had clearly been reading. The pages were stained with what was clearly dried cum and he had even, how dumb is this, left some discarded tissues on the floor beneath the desk and in the wastepaper basket. I gingerly turn the pages of the magazines and saw they all had the common theme of a white woman being fucked every which way by black guys. Clearly, my dear inadequate hubby was getting his rocks off to the sight of interracial sex and by the evidence of the stained pages and the crumpled tissues lying around it was a frequent event.

Now I have the dilemma. Do I confess my own interest in black cock; do I invite him to watch the real thing?

Let me think about it.


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