General Fiction posted May 3, 2014


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a little soft porn

Sexual Re-awakening

by Spiritual Echo

The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

The therapist sat back in the wing chair and scanned the technician's data. Wayne and I squirmed, trying to look calm, knowing she'd already watched the tape showing our feeble attempts to make love. A camera had recorded our every move.

We needed help. After nine years of marriage, our sex life was almost non-existent. There was no question that we loved each other--none--but we were more like brother and sister than lovers. If you'd have asked me a month ago whether I could picture myself making love in a room while a stranger watched from behind a two-way mirror, I would have laughed. But that's exactly what we did.

Our marriage was solid. Wayne and I are best friends, committed and devoted to each other since childhood. No one was surprised when our relationship led to marriage. We enjoy the same things; share our love of old movies and camping trips with equal joy. Most Sundays, we attend the same church where we were baptized and married. I can finish Wayne's sentences--I know him that well.

The birth of the twins put a damper on our sex life, but neither of us thought that unusual. Running after two very active boys consumed a lot of time. Still, we've never fallen asleep without a goodnight kiss or a cuddle. I suppose we were exhausted, but the boys are seven-years-old now and that old spark is gone.

Between baseball practice and swimming lessons, we'd make jokes about our absent love life.

"Maybe you packed it up with the Christmas decorations and stored it in the attic?"

"Or maybe," I'd say to Wayne," you stuck it in the trunk of the car and forgot about it."

That something so precious as the physical intimacy of our marriage had become 'IT' in our conversation, began to worry both of us. We tried making out in the car, reaching back to the memory of our teenage years when we'd neck for hours in the back seat. We'd wind up laughing, remembering the night a police officer shone his light in the window and caught us; me with my tits on display and Wayne with his pants around his knees.

As close as we were, it got to the point that we couldn't talk about 'it.' I remember catching Wayne watching porn on the computer. Masturbating, your fingers clutched around his shaft, changing rhythms, stroking, then squeezing his penis to avoid ejaculation. He was watching two women pleasure each other. The black woman was a statuesque titan with enormous breasts; nipples that were deep purple. She grazed her tits across the blonde's white teeth, pausing to let her suckle and nibble then arching her back to let the camera consume the blonde's hunger.

Wanting to scream-- feeling betrayed--I was shocked into silence; standing like a spy in the doorway watching the monitor. Mesmerized by the guttural sounds that came from Wayne's throat when he reached orgasm, I ran away, hid in the bathroom until I could regain my composure.

My heart was racing. Tears had sprung into my eyes, but as I stopped to consider what I'd seen and how I felt about my husband jerking off in our basement office, I became aware of something else. My panties were soaked. I'd been turned on by what I'd seen.

It seemed hypocritical to confront him over the incident. How could I? We'd have to talk about 'it.' If we talked about the situation, we'd have to face and deal with our problem. I also needed to deal with my own turn-on factor. Was I a closet dyke? Did I want a lesbian experience? Maybe inviting another woman into our marital bed could resurrect our passions, but the minute that thought crossed my mind, I threw it away. Sure, it was everyman's fantasy--menage-a-trois--but I was a mother, a wife--that would be adultery. I took my vows seriously. No, I would have to be very drunk to do that, and I really don't drink, unless it's a special occasion.

Even though I couldn't blame Wayne for his porno, I found myself getting angry every time he headed downstairs to the computer. I started acting like his mother, sneaking down to spy on him. I'd decided that when I caught him again, we'd talk about it. But every time I'd tiptoe down the stairs, the screen would display our household budget--he'd be paying bills--or Facebook, where he posted family photos.

The images of those two women, naked and proud, wouldn't disappear from my mind. The very thought of them aroused me, but it was the sounds, the moaning, the sucking and licking that made the biggest impression on me; etched in my brain--forever, I thought.

I began to pay a lot of attention to talk shows that discussed sexual issues. I'd sneak books into the house and thought about bringing home a pornographic video that we could watch together. The 'Stag Shop' seemed like a busy store. I sat in the parking lot for a long time trying to work up the courage to walk through their doors. When I saw our neighbour, Thelma, walk confidently into the store I ducked. Thelma? Good Lord, that woman must be pushing sixty. What was she doing in a sex shop? I drove away, too embarrassed to even think about going inside the store.

Part of me was disgusted with myself. It seemed all I thought about was sex. It was only when I realized that both of us were no longer talking about 'it,' that I began to get worried. We weren't making jokes. In my mind, sex had become the elephant in the room. Was it just me? Was Wayne getting his jollies from watching porn and didn't want me anymore?

I decided that it was a hormonal thing, that perhaps I needed vitamins or a B12 shot. I booked a doctor's appointment and returned for the results, expecting a prescription for a cocktail of letters, from A to zinc, to bring me back to normal.

"Jamie, you're in perfect health. There's not a thing wrong with you. Now, you alluded to some sexual dysfunction during the examination. Would you like to expand on your concerns?"

For a moment I was dumbfounded. What could I say and why did all doctors look like my father or the church preacher?

It was so embarrassing, but with a little encouragement I began to explain what was happening--or rather what was not going on.

"Jamie, I've known you and Wayne since you were children. There's nothing you can't discuss with me."

When I finished, even shocking myself by revealing the porn, the doctor was very kind and reassuring.

"I'm very glad you talked to me about this. Most marriages have their hills and valleys, but it's not the end of the world. Women reach their sexual peak in their thirties. There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

I left his office with his final words ringing in my ears and a business card for a sexual therapist. "Sex is a gift from God."

Well, if a doctor told me it was okay to be horny and turned on by watching other people have sex, who was I to argue?

I wasn't sure how I was going to talk about the appointment with Wayne or why I'd had a physical ahead of my scheduled annual, but I knew I was going to. Finally I just wrote the word 'IT' on the back on the business card and gave it to Wayne after supper.

Our first appointment with the therapist was awkward. Both of us were embarrassed to reveal our deepest feelings about sex, but Deborah made it easy. When the therapist noted our willingness to solve our issue, she commended us. "Most of my clients use up a lot of valuable time blaming each other. It's a delightful surprise to meet a couple who take equal responsibility for the sexual problem."

We both reached out to hold hands for the rest of the appointment. Deborah was right. It was our marriage and our problem. There was no question in anyone's mind that we were in her office to find solutions.

We filled out questionnaires and personality tests to determine our compatibility. The second week she gave us exercises--silly things, like calling each other at work and talking dirty. We went on dates, as per our instructions, but we wound up talking about the kids. Knowing that we were going to have to make love in front of an audience was frightening for both of us. That was on the agenda last night.

We were sitting across from Deborah waiting for her comments.

"All right then," she said, putting down the papers and giving us a reassuring smile. "I must say that you both have beautiful bodies, but you were both camera shy, trying to keep yourselves hidden under the covers."

"It was just, er... a little intimidating, you know."

"It is for some, but you'd be surprised at how many people imagine themselves to be actors and give the camera their attention. But, Wayne, you have nothing to hide. Your penis is beautiful."

I watched the crimson flush creep up Wayne's neck, but he didn't say anything.

Deborah seemed unmindful of Wayne's embarrassment and continued without noting our discomfort. "Let's try to think about last night's session as if it was a race. The data we collected from the electrodes told us your heart rate at different stages in your love-making and changes in your body temperature. Guys, even taking into account the strangeness of the situation, the artificial bedroom and the camera, you two barely made it to a trot. I was looking for a sprint to the finish line. Did you have an orgasm, Jamie?"

"No," I said in a quiet voice.

"Have you had difficulty achieving orgasm in the past? Was this due to the circumstances or is it a usual lack of response when you're having sex?"

Even knowing that Deborah had seen both of us nude, making love, a sudden shyness crept over me. It was true. I couldn't remember the last time I climaxed. Did it matter? I loved Wayne. I didn't want to say anything to hurt his feelings.

"Are you reaching orgasm," Deborah repeated, taking my hand and gently squeezing.

"No." It was Wayne that answered, not me. "I want her to come, but she doesn't. I don't know what to do."

Deborah smiled and offered encouragement. "We're going to remedy that."

Before she let us leave, she gave a review to our bedroom performance. I shrank into the sofa, listening as she described out coupling. "It was very mechanical," she said. "You move together like a well-oiled machine, anticipating each other's next move. It almost seemed choreographed, as if you've made the same moves, over and over again."

How could we not? I lost my virginity to Wayne when I was sixteen. He'd had another girlfriend in college. But as for me--he was the only one.

"You're going to stop going through the motions. As of this moment, you will not be having intercourse until you pass my course." She laughed, openly and softly, but reached out and hugged us both. "That's right; I'm sending you two out on assignment. This week, the sexual pleasure will be focused on Jamie."

"I thought you said, no sex," Wayne sputtered.

"No, that's not what I said. 'No intercourse,' is not the same as 'no sex.' There will be sex this week. Lots and lots of sex--but it's going to be Jamie's turn for pleasure.

We left the office not looking at each other and feeling foolish, like kids knowing they were going to get into mischief, but afraid something would reveal itself in our eyes if we looked at each other.

"We're not really going to do this, are we?" I asked.

A sheepish grin began to curl at the edge of his mouth. "We have homework to do. I'm going to try to get an A-plus for my efforts."

I suddenly wanted to kiss him, right there in the hallway as other people walked around us on their way to medical and dental appointments. Then I did, wondering if he could feel my heart racing in my chest.

We pushed away from one another just as quickly. "I'll pick up the kids at Mom's," Wayne said.

"Yeah, okay. I'll go grocery shopping."

Usually my grocery shopping was an endurance test, running down aisles, picking up essentials and trying to get out of the store as quickly as possible. But my senses were heightened, and every aroma in the store sent shivers of delight down my spine. I could smell the fresh dill from across the display of tomatoes and almost caressed the English cucumber as I chose vegetables for the salad. I lingered over melons, feeling the rough texture of the rind, almost tasting the sweet inner flesh, the juices dripping down my chin.

I was sure that every other shopper in the store knew my secret, knew that I was thinking about what was going to happen in our bedroom that night. It was going to be my turn, and only my turn. I was not permitted to touch Wayne, but he could touch me, with his hands, his mouth, his tongue...

"Excuse me. You're blocking the aisle."

I moved my cart and rushed to finish my shopping. Even if I was not permitted to actively participate, there was a great deal to be done to prepare for the night. A shopping list of chores ran through my head. Change the sheets, dig out the sexy nightie, have a bubble bath--I giggled in the check-out line. I forgot about dinner. How could I forget about dinner? I quickly ran back to the meat department to pick up steaks.

The afternoon passed in a normal fashion. I tore through the house doing weekend chores. Wayne took the twins on a long bicycle ride, coming home with two exhausted moppets who could barely keep their eyes open over supper. They fell asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

We tiptoed out of their bedroom and closed the door. Wayne looked at me and there was no hiding the yearning. He took me into his arms, pressing me closer, letting me feel the swelling hardness. "I want you, Jamie. I've been thinking about this all day."

I reached down and wrapped my hand around his manhood, feeling it respond, grow beneath my touch. Wayne grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away. "Not allowed," he said.

"We could just forget..."

"No, I think not." But his mouth said yes. The tip of his tongue traced my gums, sliding across my teeth, exploring the inside of my cheeks, swimming in the saliva that betrayed my lust. He nibbled my lips and sucked the tip of my tongue and then abruptly pulled away--looking deep into my eyes.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

I made a feeble protest, but he placed his finger on my lips. "Shh, go have a bath, I'll be waiting."

I filled the tub with bubbles and scrounged around for the candle I had somewhere in the linen cupboard. Finding it, I realized that I needed matches. I ran back into the bedroom to rummage through the nightstand. I had them here once, I knew I did. Finding a lighter, I went back to the bathroom, lit the candle and turned out the light.

The flame flickered, casting shadows and light across the ceiling and walls. I looked in the mirror as I slowly removed my clothes, feeling as if I was doing a strip tease for myself. I could see the desire in my reflection, the excitement of what was to come seemed to seep into my pores. When I was completely naked, I looked at my body in the full length mirror on the door.

Deborah is right. I do have a beautiful body, but then almost as if on automatic pilot, I turned to look at my butt, then traced my finger down the scar from the Caesarean section--looking for faults--as usual. I touched my breasts, felt the firmness the circle of my areola--feeling my hard nipples.

Adding musk to the bathwater, I slipped beneath the soapy bubbles and felt the emollients seeping into my skin, softening, cradling me in my warm cocoon. I tried to relax, but after awhile my fingers instinctively traced the slice between my legs and found the target. The pulsating need, too hard to resist, welcomed my fingers. I arched, stretched to feel the shuddering pleasure run through my thighs.

I opened my eyes. "That was beautiful," Wayne whispered. "Just beautiful."

He was sitting on the closed toilet--watching me--looking at me the way he did when we shared our vows. He held a brandy snifter and placed it gently in the water, pushing it, letting it float towards me.

Our eyes stayed locked, looking beyond familiar words, into the deep mystery of hidden desire. I stood up from my bath watching rogue foam slide down my legs. Wayne wrapped me in a warm towel. Had he put it into the dryer to warm--for me?

Did I still doubt that this week was devoted to my pleasure? While I bathed, Wayne had prepared the bedroom. Candles burned and the bed was turned back. A dozen silk pillows lay scattered on the bed. I raised an eyebrow, unsure, not knowing what to expect.

He positioned me, posed me as if one of the masters would enter the bedroom at any moment to paint my picture as no model had been ever painted before. All that defined me as a woman was on display. My rear elevated on burgundy cushions, Wayne took his time lathering the lime shaving soap with a sable brush, then slowly and sensuously began to paint his canvas.

"Trust me," he whispered as he began to remove the soap, sculpting a new nakedness. When he was done, he laid the razor aside and tasted his masterpiece.

*****

"You don't have to tell me how this week played out," Deborah said at our next appointment. "It's written all over you face, Jamie."

"I am so happy, Deborah. I can't begin to thank you enough."

"Don't thank me, thank your husband. And, as this week is his turn, let me remind you of the rules."

"That's really not necessary. As a matter of fact, I'm fine with things," Wayne said. "I just want to make love to my wife--the regular way."

"No, not yet. To fully respond to one's own sexuality is as much about giving pleasure as it is about receiving it. You must not deny Jamie the joy of watching you experience ecstasy. Are you up for the task, Jamie?" Deborah asked.

I watched the swell in Wayne's jeans and looked at him with a secret smile. Licking my lips, I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I'm not wearing panties."

Deborah noticed the sudden salute in Wayne's lap. "Yes, I suppose you're both up for it. I can see you're anxious to get started. I'll see you two next week."














 


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