A note from Jayne.
This is a regrettable, though not unusual story. More often it is the man experiencing the situation but not always. Sometimes, as it is with me it's the woman who has the problem because it's the man who has lost his sex drive.
This story is about how I coped with an unsatisfactory sex life. It's what I did to fight the temptation to go elsewhere and not be physically unfaithful to my husband who I love in every way other than sexually, but with that he won't let me love him as he has lost interest in sex.
I thought long and deeply as to the possible reasons for this including my ageing. As women move through their forties, many undergo changes, both emotionally and physically which leads to their libido reducing. Also, with many their bodies succumb to the challenges of middle age and are beset with appearance and weight issues.
I didn't feel that I was guilty of any of these 'sins.' I had put on hardly any weight in the past ten years and was still around one forty pounds, my breasts, although of ample D cup proportions had not sagged significantly and my butt had by no means fallen. The attention I got from guys of all ages at the tennis club and other places confirmed to me that men still found me attractive and wanted me.
So, I concluded that it was him and after many false starts we talked about it and he broadly agreed it was him and not me but with the proviso, 'it'll get better soon.' This is the story of that soon!
Part 1 Masturbation.
I desperately didn't want to be unfaithful to my husband. It was morally wrong; it was breaking my marriage vows and the bond between us. John and I had been together for over twenty years and not once in that time had I thought seriously about another man in any romantic or sexual sense. That was until recently and when it happened, I could hardly believe it.
John was away as he had been increasingly in recent years. I was ok with that but after the children had left home not only was I lonely but he was away for longer periods and worked even more hours when not away. That led to the inevitable I suppose. The two or three times a week sex had already become weekly at best and was now becoming less than that. At forty-four I was too young for a once or twice a month sexual arrangement. So, I masturbated to compensate. At first that was just now and then usually when he was travelling. But like a drug or an alcoholic the 'once when I really needed it' slowly became an 'I was gagging for it' regular and frequent event.
And that night I really needed it. He had gone off on a two- week tour of the Far East and Australia without making love to me the night before he travelled as he usually had. I was a little disappointed that he had not initiated anything. I had made it as obvious as I could without saying 'please fuck me' that I wanted sex. As we got undressed, I lingered taking my bra off and after dropping it into the basket, I cupped each D cup sized breast and lifted them to apply body lotion hoping he was looking. I went into the bathroom wearing just the flimsy black thong and sat on the stool knowing that as I brushed my spiky, blonde hair, my full tits would wobble and jiggle. Through the wide-open bathroom door, I glanced at him several times as he undressed, hoping he would say or do something or, as he removed his boxers I might see some sign of interest. There was nothing. No suggestive phrases, no compliments on how good my bum looked in the thong or how my jiggling tits got to him and certainly there was no hint at all of any hardening of his quite gorgeous cock.
This was so different to how it used to be. Up until a couple of years ago, which I think coincided with him turning fifty, John would have been all over me and I doubt that I would have had the chance to brush my hair before he would have been behind me cupping and squeezing my tits.
Tonight, though, my husband of twenty-two years was more interested in getting to sleep than getting to me!
For the first few days he was away my frustration slowly increased and on the Thursday mid-afternoon, five days after he left, I was 'gagging' for it and masturbation became essential.
Over the recent past I had developed and refined my masturbatory techniques. I had two. One, my quickie for when I needed it badly but had little time revolved around my vibrator. Sometimes partially clothed with my knickers still on I would use the throbbing surrogate cock on my breasts, clit and pussy until I had a climax. And that didn't usually take long.
Then there were times when I was not rushed and I could have my 'relaxed jerk off' as I called it! And this was one of those.
I started by taking a large vodka with lemon, ice and water upstairs where I parked that on the bedside table, his side not mine. I undressed and had a shower. Why? I have no idea but it had become part of my ritual. Clean, warm, relaxed and naked I would spread one of those very large beach towels on our marital bed. I would never do it on one of the other beds in the house, always ours. Maybe symbolising the closeness we no longer had sexually or, perhaps as a wish and hope for that to return. I laid it right in the middle of the bed, the area that of late had become a no man's land between us!
Placing the big vibrator, the one that John didn't know I had on the towel I got the lube that I kept hidden with my cosmetics and womanly lotions. It was in a plastic bottle with a top that you pushed thus squirting the lubricant. With that in hand, I stood before the full-length mirror. My spiky, blonde hair was slightly damp as I hadn't bothered using the drier just the towel after showering and my glasses had steamed up a little so I wiped those and looked at myself in the mirror. Fuck something was missing, part of the ritual, an aspect of my masturbatory ceremony wasn't there. Naked with my double D cup boobs jiggling I crossed our large bedroom and went into my dressing room. Looking in the mirror again I smiled as I saw how, the four-inch-high, strappy heels made me taller and my legs look slimmer and shapelier, I liked the look and smiled thinking how John just wouldn't get it if I wore them to bed as I did in my jerk of ritual.
I started with my upper chest between where the swell of my breasts began and my shoulders. The lube felt beautiful. Soothingly smooth and caressingly cool I had squirted it from the plastic bottle onto both hands that I then ran over my chest covering that with the erotically smooth lotion. I went near, but not quite on, to where my boobs flare out from my chest and where the normal feelings when touching one's body becomes sexual sensitive. But as I refreshed the lube on my hands, I felt my heart starting to pound knowing what was coming next. I put both of my hands under my boobs, lifted them and slowly slid my hands and the lube along the undersides then upwards past and over my nipples that naturally were stunningly hard and onto the tops of them so that I covered each breast with the slippery lube. My eyes were half closed and my mouth was slightly open I noticed as I continued anointing my breasts until all of the flesh, was shiny and slippery. I didn't linger too much as I had done that before and given myself an orgasm standing up and that's hard to handle. Hence, I didn't press them together or pinch and squeeze the luscious flesh but instead I moved downwards and covered myself down to my waist where previous experience had taught me that I should stop.
Taking another largish swig of the very large vodka I laid on the bed on my back in the middle on the towel with the lube in my hand. I had bought it online and it was as the ad promised sensual and smooth and unlike oil that I had used in the past this washed off quite easily.
Now I was to attend to the below the waist area including my thighs. I rarely went any further down my legs or round the back though I had fondled my bottom a few times including the crease between my cheeks going as far a couple of times to gently finger myself and use the small vibrator there experiencing a surprisingly strong anally induced orgasm. That was not for today though, no today was to be straightforward, well as straightforward as my ritualised masturbation could be.
I moved to my tummy. As usual, I put a large blob on my navel and then squirted downwards in a straight line into and through my then trimmed, landing strip of pubic hairs. Again, loving the feeling as the cool lube went onto my flesh I paused for a moment or two and then smoothed it out across my entire stomach from my waist to my crotch and from hip bone to hip bone. The sensations as my hands slid down into the hairs and onto my mound were sensational and I knew then that tonight was going to work, though it doesn't always!
I then started to masturbate, slow, gently and purposefully. Using both hands I covered my stomach several times with languid sweeps going nearer and nearer to, but avoiding touching, my clit although that was pounding with need for attention. As well as that, my breasts generally and my nipples in particular were bursting with the need to be pinched. Each boob felt so full and large and heavy and to my touch warm and throbbing. I moved one hand, I can't recall which, to my breasts and squeezed, fondled, pinched and pulled the pliant so sensitive flesh and nipples of each one. At the same time my other hand that had now completed its massage and fondling of my stomach and inner thighs which I had made available to it by spreading my legs, slid further down and cupped my vulva.
I was now fully into my masturbation and was writhing against both hands with my back arched and legs now clamped round the one between my legs. The fingers on that were focusing more on rubbing my clit than going inside me although they did run around and between my lips which, of course were soaked with a combination of the lube and my own juices.
I started to cum. It began in the pit of my stomach and my breasts almost at the same time. At first it was just an irritation, a bit like an itch but rapidly it became a warmth and a tingling that grew in intensity until my entire body felt alive and my mind was filled with such a desire to reach the peak of the orgasm. Half of me wanted it to go on and on and the other half wanted the climax to explode to let my feelings out.
Lurid thoughts were going through my mind as I was wishing so strongly that I was being fucked, that it was not my hand down there but a cock. My cunt felt so alive, so sensitive and so in need of being filled. My breasts wanted a mouth to suck and kiss and bite them and my body wanted another pressed against it with a pair of strong, muscular arms round me. My entire being wanted to be fucked, hard, deep and long. Yes, as my mind and body roared towards that emotionally, majestic peak of an orgasm I was being fucked, arms were holding me, a mouth was on mine and a cock was buried deep in me and that was fucking me. Suddenly, out of the blue that until then anonymous cock belonged to someone I knew, my tennis coach. I was imagining being fucked by a younger guy who I had said jokingly to a friend that I fancied and that was the start of my quasi unfaithfulness and search for sexual satisfaction by means other than my husband
That was the start. The beginning of my adventures into an alternative sex life. The commencement of my attempts to remain faithful to my husband yet gain the sexual satisfaction I so desperately needed.
Obviously, I had masturbated quite frequently when I was younger but when John and I became a 'number,' got engaged and then married it seemed unfaithful to him to give myself orgasms especially thinking about others so I stopped. But now I was back into it again and I needed something to help me. Something other than imagining it was my tennis coach making love to me.
I had always enjoyed writing and in the past I had started several novels each of which included some steamy scenes. That made me think why not carry them on? I still had the incomplete stories online and I pulled them up and read them. And to my amazement they turned me on so much that I masturbated. That happened numerous times until I ran out of the 'online steamy scenes.' So, I wrote some more and that led to me writing complete stories; not novels but 4 to 5000 words of sexual escapades. The writing itself was a big turn on and reading them when finished was even more so. But then there was a big come down. I'd written the bloody things which, even though I was thinking it myself, were pretty good and it seemed such a shame for them to then just be filed back on my hard disc. Then I found Literotica and I published one. Seeing my story online on an erotic story site was one hell of a buzz and when I got feedback and comments that was multiplied many times. That hooked me and I wrote more, I replied to comments left on the site, I entered into email exchanges and then I started to use the chat rooms.
At first, I merely exchanged views on my Lit submissions and then one or the other would say. 'Tell me about you' and we exchanged hobbies, work, partner status and the like. As I progressed down that path many would drop by the wayside, largely because they had difficulty expressing themselves in writing. Some though survived and I developed some really interesting online relationships. As time went on, the chat obviously I suppose became more focused on intimate and sexual matters which was not surprising considering it was an erotic chat room.
Often, I would discuss sexual matters very frankly with strangers, including our likes and dislikes, experiences and our fantasies. I loved how open the net enabled us to be and how the anonymity encouraged online relationships to reach a stage of frankness so much quicker than reality could ever permit. I'd been hesitant at first, but after a while I have to admit that I took to exchanging very frank stuff with near strangers like a duck to water.
Also, I started writing collaborative stories with a few guys. We would agree a back story then we would take it in turns to write a part, send it to the other who would add some more, return it and so on. With others I had exchanges of emails that went on for several weeks and reached such levels of frankness that I found myself describing my orgasms in greater detail than I did in chat or I had ever done with anyone.
The combination of the story writing in each of its forms, the chat and the, now, extensive, masturbation that was happening most days and occasionally twice a day were becoming my alternative sex life; in fact they were replacing John, as my sex life, not that he was concerned but they were saving me from being unfaithful to him!
Having 'got to know' a guy through email, perhaps even exchanging a photo or two, and then extending that written relationship into a role-play, or even more, a story was an amazingly exciting and interesting adventure for me. To write such phrases as 'when your cock sunk into me' and 'the feelings your fingers gave me as they slid into my soaking wet cunt' were serious turn ons. With the email exchanges, it wasn't just the writing of erotic phrases it was the knowledge that my 'pen pal' would soon be reading them. I loved the thought of him doing that, getting hard because of my descriptions and then masturbating over me and what I had written.
Sometimes, as I composed the stories and emails, I would touch myself, undo buttons, slide a zip down and slowly undress. Rarely did I complete a writing session fully dressed. Almost as equally rarely did I finish one without masturbating, or at least trying to; like many women, sometimes making love to oneself just doesn't work and certainly not as easily as it seems to with men.
So I started wearing little, just panties, a silk, shorty dressing gown or nothing as I wrote my stories. I found the most sublime pleasure and enjoyment from this. Feeling my body react to the words flooding around my mind was amazing and almost always led to further masturbating.
John's frequency of wanting sex with me stayed roughly the same which was not very often, about twice a month on average. I had now pretty much given up trying to get him to change and trying to seduce him. It was a sorry state of affairs and I felt incredibly disappointed and, of course, hurt that my husband no longer really wanted me sexually. However, I was still loath to do what featured in many of my masturbatory images or what was described in words in the role-plays and stories and that was to take a lover. So, in my way, I remained faithful to my husband.
Matt was all the good things I look for in an email mate. Articulate, bright and quick witted with a self-deprecating way about him and a great sense of irony. He could chat easily on most topics, was an avid golfer, had a worldly-wise approach to chat rooms and a wickedly naughty sense of humour. He was clearly up for anything on-line, but wasn't assumptive or overly pushy. We were soon exchanging views on a wide range of topics including, of course, those of an increasingly intimate and personal nature.
He was married and, unlike most men I 'met' in mail, claimed to love his wife. True, he said things were a little difficult at times, but he never pushed to meet so I believed him when he wrote 'I just like chatting to women.' I believed him, for that was exactly what I most enjoyed, well with men mainly. We got on too well really. We were so easily able nearly every time we 'talked' to turn the conversation to sex; easy, comfortable, relaxed, non-threatening, flirty sex-chat. Not heavy, come-on, demanding stuff, but nevertheless stuff we admitted turned us on.
As I had with several others, I was honest with him about my personal and marital situations although I didn't go too far into John's and my sex life and Matt didn't push.
I'd explained earlier when we were talking about being aroused that I didn't cyber. I wasn't totally sure what that was exactly, but assumed it was masturbation by at least one if not both parties. Since starting with him I had chatted to a few other men, well quite a few really and I never could work out how they found me. Most, though, were after just one thing, not much difference to reality there then!
"Don't or haven't?" he asked during an email exchange that had lasted for over an hour during which we exchanged photos.
"Cyber" was his one word reply
"Both I guess," I replied feeling the need, as I so often did on there when with a man I liked, to be totally honest.
I changed the subject and like the gentlemen he was he respected that and didn't mention it again, well not for some time that is.
We'd been exchanging e-mails for almost a month. He wrote well. Not with classically good grammar, punctuation and spelling but with clear, picture painting descriptions and forceful narrative. I enjoyed reading his mails and, increasingly, I enjoyed composing for him. And of course, by both of us the writing became steamier and steamier. He told me in wonderfully graphic, but not pornographic, explanations exactly what he'd like to do to me. As I read them, I could imagine him doing them to me so clearly that they became my masturbation material. Just as my replies that described my feelings as he did those things to me, became his wankfest as he termed them.
"Are you sure?"' he typed.
"Yes, yes I am."
When we'd last spoke on a Friday we'd got very steamy.
"God I so want to fuck you," he'd typed near the end of the session.
This wasn't completely out of the character of our chats but was, probably a little more intense and direct than most.
"Don't you feel it Jay? Don't you feel that need?"
"Right at this moment," I typed one-handed as I pinched my swollen nipple. "There's nothing in this world I would like more than to be fucked Matt."