An Erotic Story Changes My Life

Six or seven years ago, I was browsing the Internet and came across Saragirl's "A Change in Our Marriage" on some random erotica website. Reading the story of Sara and John led to my epiphany...

Sara told John that he never made her cum when he made love with her as a man... Sometimes she just wanted a man to bend her over a chair and fuck her... And make her cum...

Shameless plug here, Saragirl!

Later, I found Sara Desmarais on Amazon and the rest was history. The story reached into my soul and forced me to confront myself in a lot of ways. I read and re-read A Change in Our Marriage all the time.

Confession time: I've had sex with a grand total of two women in my life. I'm not very experienced. When I was married to "J" I thought I was an adequate lover and I always tried to "give as well as I got." But now, many years later, I'm absolutely certain that I never made her cum when I made love with her as a man. She led me to believe that she too was inexperienced, but the things she did and the things she wanted us to do together when we made love convinced me that she was far more experienced than she said. Perhaps that's why she cuckolded me and we separated.

It took a long, long time before I screwed up the courage to ask, but about 4 years ago I finally asked "M" if I've ever made her cum when I made love with her as a man. She hemmed and hawed around it for a long time - months in fact - but I was persistent.

She finally confessed that the answer was that I've never made her cum when making love with her like a man. But when I make love with her like a gurl I make her cum often.

"M" told me a long time ago that she had one boyfriend before we met - in college (I did say she led a conservative - read "cloistered" life - didn't I?). While not a sex fiend, she and her college boyfriend had sex routinely, and yes, he did make her cum when they had sex. Not all the time, but (in "M"'s words) frequently. When she first told me that, I found it quite depressing. Needless to say, this had a pretty significant effect on my self image.

She shared with me some of the positions they had sex in, and it became pretty apparent to me that there's no way she and I could have sex in those positions given my size (or lack thereof). She was pretty serious about him, but they broke up when she learned he was cheating on her.

When we were dating, I went down on "M" several times, and somehow got the impression that she didn't care for it. To this day I'm not sure where that impression came from though. Silly me! Fast forward several decades, and she told me that she DID enjoy it... A LOT... but was too afraid to ask (I did say "cloistered life" didn't I? She was of the impression that "good girls" didn't ask for things like that...

I routinely kick myself whenever I think of that. All that time lost! All those years of sexual satisfaction for her... WASTED! I felt absolutely TERRIBLE! Lower than low.

Fortunately, I'm making up for it now! But now when I lick "M"'s pussy, I consider myself a true maestro! I derive true bliss from spending hours at a time gently teasing her with my tongue. And when she finally DOES cum, it's earth shattering for her and intensely satisfying for me.

Acknowledging Who I Am

My wife had very little lingerie that one would consider "sexy." Most of what she wore would be considered "granny panties" or plain bras. She rarely wore pantyhose, and never wore stockings.

I've read - over and over again - tales about what it felt like that first time... That very first time... When you put on that very first pair of panties or that first time you draw the stockings up your legs.

She had one pair of panties that I considered (at the time) sexy. A pair of white, lacy bikini panties. She kept them separate from all her other lingerie. 

Of course you know what happened.

And yes, it made me feel EXACTLY like all the stories say.

I remember the feeling when I first took them from her drawer. I remember the feeling when I first pulled them up my legs and felt the material against my skin.

Until that moment, when I looked down, this is what I saw. Not shaved, but from a size perspective, this is exactly what I saw. This is exactly how I felt. I didn't know I was a sissy at the time, just different.

But in that moment. In that glorious moment... I was transformed. The most incredible feeling. My entire world shrank down to a tiny sphere of awareness around me alone and exploded in a sense of "rightness." As I write this, I think of a supernova... Of a star being pulled in by its own gravity... Getting smaller and more intense with each passing second... Then exploding...

That was me. That was my emotions.

I knew. I KNEW who I was. I understood finally. FINALLY.

The style is different, but for those of us who wear panties all the time, you'll understand exactly what was going through my head when I looked down and saw this...

Perfection...

I didn't wear the panties all the time. It took a while before I tried on her pantyhose. But of course I did. And of course I occasionally wore both the panties and the pantyhose to work. 

And it made me feel glorious! It made me feel "right."

And then came the miracle of the Internet. 

And I learned that while I might be different, I wasn't truly alone. There were others like me. Just like me.

M

A few weeks after the wedding, I "M" for the first time. This was in a time before eMail or texting, so it was a phone call or nothing. It turns out that "M" was living about 80 miles from where I was living in California. She had recently moved there from the midwest and was living in an apartment and working in a company run by a college friend.

Very uncharacteristically (for me), I asked if I could see her and she agreed.

That first call led to a first date, which led to a second date. And so on. Our relationship progressed slowly. She was recovering from a bad relationship, as was I. For my part, I was still sorting my way through all of my feelings of being cuckolded by "J" and, while I didn't think about it every day or all the time, the feeling - the emotion - was always in the background.

"M" was a pretty conservative girl. Very inexperienced sexually (or so I thought until much later in life). Our sex life while dating was very conservative. None of the "hot monkey sex" that "J" and I had engaged in. "M" dressed comfortably and conservatively. Her parents, living an 8-hour drive to the north, were staunch conservatives. She slowly brought me back to life again. I liked her. I liked her a lot. She slowly pulled me out of my shell. She repaired me. She saved me.

Six months later I asked her to marry me. And later that year we married.

Life was good. Life was very good.

About two months after we married, we moved to Florida for my work, and "M" settled into more of a homemaker role while I went to work every day.

And thus we spent the next few years... Moving periodically for work, kids, trips for business. About as "boring" as you can imagine.

And all the time, there continued in my mind this nagging question... "Is this who I really am?... Is this really my life?" The question... The always-unanswered-question.

Always the frustration of not being able to answer the question. As I write this, why am I reminded of the interplay between Trinity and Neo at the start of "The Matrix?"

Remember, this was still before the Internet became what it is today. Well before Blogspot, Tumblr, and other media sites came into being. I just knew in my heart that something wasn't completely right. Something was missing.

A New Chapter Begins

So there I was... Going to work every day. Living day to day. Going to happy hour every Friday night. Basically, just goinog through the motions of life. Nothing monumental going on at all.

So several months went by and I finally got on with things. A very good friend and colleague invited a bunch of us from work to go to his wedding, which was going to happen in a town about 400 miles away from where we all worked. So the group of us decided to rent a motor home and "road trip" it to the site for his wedding. I guess we figured it would be a lot less expensive than flying there or driving up individually. So the day before the wedding, we all set out on the most incredible road trip. We partied all the way there (except for the designated driver who remained - thankfully - sober). I don't every remember - before or ever since - consuming so many margaritas.

So we pulled into town, all falling down drunk, and met up with the groom, and got ourselves set for the night.

The wedding was uneventful (at least for those of us who were spectators). But it was the reception where we pulled out all the stops... My roomie and I made a vow (in a drunken stupor of course) that we would dance with every woman at the reception. I think... I THINK we succeeded.

But over the course of the evening, I met HER. I met the woman who would fundamentally change my life. The woman who saved me.

I Wonder if Anyone Even Reads This...

I read some blogs. There are perhaps 4 or 5 that I read regularly. I get the impression that there are many people who read them other than me, at least based on the number of comments that I see.

But nobody has commented at all to my posts.

Perhaps it's because my blog is relatively new.
Perhaps it's because my life - while interesting to me - isn't interesting to others.
Perhaps it's for some other reason.

Don't know...

I guess it doesn't really matter. I'll continue to tell my story, because it's important to me. Perhaps some sort of catharsis for me.

You May Have Noticed

So far in my (short) blog, I've recounted some of the story of my life. It's interesting how the act of writing things down forces you to think of them. For some of my posts, I've started out with something short, but that initially short post explodes into additional details and ends up being pretty long. And even as long as some of my posts are, they pale in comparison to the actual details of what was going on in my life at the time.

But at the same time, I am intentionally being vague in some details. A lot of the details in fact. To understand why, you have to understand that I am an intensely introverted person. I simply don't share details about myself very often or very openly. If you met me on the street, and if you got to know me, you would never, ever know that I'm the person writing this blog. It would seem so uncharacteristic of me. I have to smile to myself as I say that I'm probably a marketer's worst nightmare. I don't shop online very much, I don't give out identifying information when I DO shop, I'm not influenced by commercials or advertisements at all, I buy only what I really need, and only when I really need it. More often than not, I pay using cash. Living in an urban area as I do, I live pretty much under the grid. I don't avoid it completely, but I minimize my exposure to it. Social media? Nope. Don't trust them. Credit cards? Minimal (and rare) use. I don't trust government and I don't trust many of the big companies out there. As a result, those around me - family, friends, work colleagues, and others might think they know me, but they really don't.

It has been perhaps 10 years or so that I've begun to explore the person I really am. I can honestly say that it has come as a breath of fresh air. Liberating? Emotionally freeing? Yeah. Those things. And much more I guess. On one hand, that newfound emotional freedom cries out to me... Demanding that I share my story. On the other hand, there's this introverted side of me. This fear of discovery. So I AM sharing my story, but slowly and carefully. I WANT to share my story, but at the same time be completely and absolutely protective of my privacy.

So as I go forward with my history, you should expect that I'll be very, very careful in my choice of words. There will be a lot of details that I intentionally leave out. I'll probably focus more on how I felt when things were happening, and less on the prurient details of what happened. I hope you'll forgive me for that, but if not (shoulders shrugging) it's my blog.

I Thought We Were a Perfect Fit...

I was living on the west coast in southern California. "J" was just outside Atlanta. We got married in the city where we had gone to school... It was a very nice wedding. I was in Heaven. We had our honeymoon in the Virgin Islands. "J" had a big issue with swollen ankles during our honeymoon, which really put a crimp on our sightseeing - it was just too painful for her to walk around a lot. So we spent a lot of time hanging around. No, we weren't sequestered in the hotel the whole time, but it's not like we spent a lot of time exploring.

When we got back, she moved to California with me. My job was about 30 miles from our apartment in one direction, hers was about 30 miles in the other direction. We saw each other in the evenings. I knew that our first couple of years would be like that while we got our feet underneath us.

But everything seemed to be going very well. We loved each other - at least I thought so. Maybe I was blind.

Our sex life was very good. At least I thought so. Of course I was inexperienced (relatively), having only been with "J". She told me that I was her first, and (at the time) I had no reason to doubt her. In later years, I came to believe that "J" was a whole lot more experienced than I was. At the time, it just seemed like she was much more sexually aggressive than I was. It seemed like she took the lead all the time with everything we did. Not that I minded... Not that I minded at all!

After several months, she started spending more time away from our apartment. Given the nature of her job, that wasn't completely unexpected. But it also seemed that she was distant even when she WAS home. Of course you know where this ends up, right?

I found it... She wrote him a letter in which she told him how good he made her feel. She told him how unsatisfying I was. She told him how she thought of him when she was in bed with me. All the things you would expect to see in a letter from a woman to the man she's cuckolding her husband with. Remember, this was decades before the Internet and eMail. Decades before Tumblr, Wordpress, or Blogspot. I hadn't even heard of the word "cuckolding" at that point in my life. All I knew was that she was having sex with another man. All I knew was that my beautiful, loving wife was willingly giving her body to another... And her she was, telling him how much better he was in bed and how much she wanted him to make love with her... Seeing the words written down... Thinking of her SAYING those things to him... I could almost hear her saying them to ME. Telling ME how much better HE was in bed...

What I remember most was the shot of adrenaline that flowed through my body at the time. I remember that for several days after I learned she was fucking a man and I confronted her that I couldn't sit still. I was jumpy. I was in incredible emotional turmoil.  I strongly suspect... I'm almost certain... That on more than one occasion I got sloppy seconds... That I cleaned "J"'s pussy after she fucked her lover. Remember, I KNEW that I was smaller than other males. Remember, I was a very emotionally insecure person... Knowing that my wife was fucking a man reinforced all my inadequacies from growing up...

We separated almost immediately. I saw her a couple more times after that, and went over to her new apartment after she moved out. It was pretty obvious that she was getting along just fine without me. I didn't recognize it at the time when I saw her new apartment (a lot close to her work), but reflecting back on it now, it was obvious that her man was there regularly.

Emotionally, I was devastated for months. The legal paperwork came through and I signed it. The legal separation was as amicable as it could be I guess... I was going through life in a daze. I moved from our shared apartment back to the apartment I was in before, with the same roommate I had before "J" and I got married and tried to piece my life back together again.

It was slow.

As I think back on the whole thing now, decades later, my wife "J" cuckolded me with a man because I was incapable of fully satisfying her as a man. I guess that just reinforced my perception of myself...

My Heart Goes Out...

I've lived in the Houston area... Many years ago.

I worked in an office building where I could see Buffalo Bayou...

I've seen Buffalo Bayou flood... When a normally placid, 20-foot-wide stream turns into a ravaging torrent of brown destruction...

I've driven past the Addicks and Barker flood control reservoirs...

I have lots of friends in Texas, even today. They're safe and safely evacuated.

My heart and prayers are with you Houston.

Why am I NOT surprised to see Texans helping Texans? I don't think you'd see that outpouring of neighbor helping neighbor anywhere on either coast. But in America's heartland? I can't see anything else in America's heartland.

Texas strong!

Fast Forward

Now I understand...  I understand what all bloggers go through. You start this blogging thing with all the best intentions of posting every day (or nearly so). But then after a firecracker start, life just gets in the way and it gets harder and harder. You find yourself saying "I'll just wait until tomorrow..." And the first couple of times you say it, you really mean it and you actually DO post something a day or two later. But then you find yourself slipping.

Yep. I could easily see that happening to me.

So I graduated, and a few years later "J" graduated as well. I was out in California when she graduated, she was still on the east coast. A long distance relationship if there ever was one. But somehow it seemed to work. We were in love, and we were very passionate in that love. She taught me everything I knew about sex.

The she moved down to Georgia for a few months, and got a DUI. I showed up in time to go to court with her, and while the judge didn't exactly "throw the book" at her, he definitely read her the riot act. It was about 4 months after that when we got married at the school we both went to, and then moved back to the west coast where I was already living.

Everything was great. Or so I thought....

Dum De Dum Dum....

And I hope to decipher that ominous music in my NEXT post...

And perhaps some pictures as well.

I'm Baaaaccccckkk!

Senior year...

Where to begin...

Top of the heap. Life is good. Life, in fact, is great.

"J" and I were roomies again. We partied hard. We drank incredibly. I evolved from beer to gin and tonic. Cheap gin and tonic. Happy hour for me was a weekly occurrence, and I spent much of every weekend in a drunken stupor. Then ran like a mad dog during the week to flush all the alcohol out of my system. I lived life like there was no tomorrow. I studied hard during the week.

I made it through. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and - lo and behold - it wasn't the train coming the other way. I recovered from my broken leg and gradually got my life back in order.

I was about halfway through my senior year when I truly got to know the female "J" who was to change my life... Whenever I refer to "J" now, I'm referring to her.

I first MET "J" when senior year began. I'd say that it was love at first sight, but it wasn't. Not at all. I was a senior, she was a freshman. She lived 2 floors above me. Dark brown, relatively short hair, about 5'4" tall, with a round face and a bit of weight. She wasn't thin by any stretch of the imagination. Not fat at all, just "solid." But her smile and attitude were magnetic and I felt myself being drawn to her. Slowly, of so slowly.

It was somewhere around the beginning of my second semester of my senior year that one of "J"'s friends invited me to a party. Interesting party. I think almost all of the women there were lesbians. Not all, just... Almost all... "J" was there too. Her friend invited me because - I think - she had a crush on me. I felt nothing for her though. So I went to the party and drank beer with a bunch of women (who outnumbered the males by probably two to one), and had a good time.

On a whim, and completely out of character for me, I took a chance and asked "J" to come sit down with me. Miracle of miracles, she agreed. We sat on a sofa in a darkened living room, drank beer, and talked. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I put my arm around her. No resistance. I kissed her... No resistance. In fact, I thought I felt her reciprocating. Encouraged, I got a bit more aggressive with my making out... All indications were very, very positive.

I asked her if she had a boyfriend... She said yes...

I told her that I wanted to be her boyfriend... She said that she would break up with her current boyfriend...

We continued to make out. It was surreal for me... Magical almost...

Our relationship grew quickly. I'd liken it to flare. One moment it's not lit, the next it's burning furiously. But it was only making out for a long, long time. Months. I think I was frustrated, but the problem wasn't HER, it was me. I was too afraid to take that next step. I had gone from nothing to first base to second base almost overnight. But I couldn't get to third... For months.

Then it happened...

No, it wasn't sex. It was another accident. Not a major-injury-inducing one, and I was by myself in the car, but it DID total my car. And man did it piss me off. Guy ran a red and T-boned me a month and a half before graduation. Totalled my car... TOTALLED MY CAR! AARRRRRGGGGHHHHH. Note that I said that it wasn't major-injury-inducing. But I was concussed. And THAT's what led to my having sex for the very first time. That's how I popped my cherry. Second semester of my senior year of college.

So after taking care of all the police and insurance stuff, I made my way back to the dorm. Got in touch with "J" and told her what had happened. Of course my brain was still fuzzy. Her roomie was there, as was mine, so she told me to meet her in one of her friends' rooms. Both her friend and her friend's roomie were away. So we showed up at her friend's room, and she held me and kissed me... We ended up on one of the beds, and she began undressing me, then herself. She continued kissing me and telling me she loved me. She positioned me on my back and straddled me. I was hard... I was excited... I was completely caught up in the moment. She reached down and took me in her hand, then guided me into her and sank down on me. I remember that she just stayed like that for a moment... Completely motionless. Straddling me, me inside her, and her leaning forward so she could kiss me. I remember thinking to myself how warm she felt. How good she felt. How safe I felt.

And then she started moving. Slowly. Cautiously. And about 10 seconds later, I squirted. I remember that feeling. So incredible.

That event broke the dam. We were like bunnies. We had sex everywhere. And I do mean EVERYWHERE. She introduced me to the marvelous mysteries of oral sex... MMmmmm Gooooddddd! No kidding, we "did it" about everywhere you could imagine. Car? Yep - of course. Hotel rooms? Yep. A closet next to the reception area in the main reception area? Of course! I went from no sex to being a sex-crazed maniac literally overnight. Life was GREAT!


And then the magical day... I graduated.