Tuesday a.m… Barbara came around; you know how I hate her visits. Why does she call me a friend? Could we be any different? Tall, slim, auburn haired, perfect shaped boobs that men can’t take their eyes off, and a bubbly personality. Then there’s me, short, carrying too much weight, mousy haired, boobs that are far too big, and no personality.
Barbara has a husband that treats her right – he showers her in everything that money buys, overlooks her indiscretions and doesn’t bother what she does all day. I swear he just buys himself eye-candy for social get togethers connected with his business. I sometimes wonder if they ever make love; she always has lovers and he is known to have roving eye.
Do I need to tell you again about Randy? He thinks more of his motorcycle than he does me. Does he get off on the power and vibrations when he rides it?
“Oh Larrie,” says Barbara, knowing that I prefer her to use my full name of Larissa. Larrie sounds like Larry, a man’s name. She said I looked a little down, but no problem as she had her makeup with her. I have a makeup bag that is so little used that the zip sticks. She has a container the size of a small suitcase which contains half a drugstore.
You can imagine how I felt, knowing that, in her perverse way, she always insists on me sitting half naked while she gives me a make-over. I end up looking like a tart… just like her.
Tuesday p.m… I just got ogled by a workman. He knocked at the door and asked if he could get some water. What a dish! Buns like he works out every day. How that would feel, for him to force his way between my legs… Woohoo. And he thought I was made up to go out, said I was gorgeous.
I know I always do it but I can’t help it; imagining how it would be to be taken by the workman. In my kitchen, suddenly, but gently, removing my underwear, unzipping his jeans to reveal whatever he stores in there, ready at a moment’s notice to have sex with such as me.
Back to Barbara earlier, before the guy came; I tried to insist that I didn’t need to be half naked just for her to put the slap on my face. You know how forceful she is, so, as ever I am down to my bra and pants and feeling awful, my muffin top hanging over my panties, my boobs almost on my belly. She claims that it would spoil my clothes if she drops or spills her concoctions. We know, don’t we diary, that I don’t have clothes worth bothering with. Besides, it isn't by accident that she has to scoop from my cleavage something unseen that accidently dropped there. I know when her fingers scoop between my boobs that it’s got to be moist there; it’s so embarrassing. She is forever brushing off my boobs or ‘readjusting’ them in my bra.
And diary, what excuse could there be for her bony, silk-clad knee to push apart my legs then rub along my thighs? No earthly reason or excuse. So then to press it hard against my vulva is disgusting. And I told her so. “Oh Larrie, honey,” she whined, “You're so damned sensual; you ought to be locked away for teasing a girl so.”
I do not tease her!
I am certain he wants to do more, it felt so good, and he said I am beautiful and, get this… shapely. He says that married women are for hugging. And… he smelled so, so, masculine.
Okay, okay, I know, I am married… pffft.
I am actually looking forward to Randy coming home, and unusually I won’t try to avoid his sexual advances tonight. It’s silly but the innocent little episode with the worker guy has risen what little libido has survived my marriage.
Wednesday a.m… I was going to report this morning, a night of fantastic sex with Randy. After the cute young guy got me drooling, or at least the thought of what I would like to happen with him, I was stupid enough to think my husband might be ready to make love, but no, as usual he just wanted sexual intercourse. Barbara calls it f**king, when sex is without love - and boy she should know - but I don’t see the need to use that word.
So I lay on my back, Randy climbed on me, and… just did it. My only comfort was that I was so well lubricated that it was almost pleasurable. In fact I was a little nervous that he might notice how his penis slipped in me, and demand to know the reason why.
You know what is so disappointing? When we met both Randy and I had had previous partners but we decided, on the basis of … I have no idea, Randy made all the decisions, …that we were compatible. Our sex life seemed to cool not too long after marriage and I assumed that I must be some kind of nymphomaniac for wanting more lovemaking than Randy did.
Thursday p.m... Damn, what is wrong with me? I’ve just told Barbara about the young man!
She says I should do something about it. How am I ‘sposed to know what? Of course she had the answer, either go f**k him or satisfy myself. I didn’t ever do that; it’s disgusting… the self-satisfying I mean.
Of course, she had a hidden agenda as always, she said “Babe, Barbara is here to give you release, no need to soil your hands on your own p***y, it’ll be as if Randy himself is doing it, just close your eyes Larrie,”
Randy? My Randy, soil his hands on my p… ah, vagina? Did the world stop spinning?
Oh he did, one time, yes he did, he wasn’t keen, said a good man didn’t need to do it, but that was when he was drunk and we were still dating. But the thought that it was dirty and degrading made me avoid touching – down there – even when I heard others talk about how great it was.
The workers were on the road today, not the young man though; please let him come back.
Friday p.m… He is back! I stood at the window just looking at him; he even caught me staring once or twice. I didn’t get any of the chores done. All I did was to go shower and change into something neat and tidy. Its mid afternoon and he didn’t need water, what can I do?
Am I daring? Am I bad! I called to the young man and his co-worker and offered them a fruit drink. I said it would be better if they come in the house, perhaps to rest as they had been working so hard.
As we chatted I felt like a young woman again, the two young men paid me compliment after compliment. When I said I was too old for them to pay me all that attention, the first guy said that I couldn’t be more than thirty years old!
I wanted desperately to lie and say I was thirty-five but I told the truth. No way, they said, you're never forty-one years old. That made me blush, and boy was I starting to feel hot. I was sitting on the chair opposite them on the couch and I could see their eyes on my boobs and legs.
You know dairy, how sometimes I am impetuous, well I got up and fiddled with my glass then when I sat again I made sure that my dress didn’t fully cover my thighs. The guys noticed straight away and couldn’t keep their eyes off where the tops of my stockings met white flesh. To cover my actions, I talked non-stop, waving my hands around as I am apt to do.
Although I didn’t plan it, honestly I didn’t, I dropped a tissue and it landed at my feet. Naughtily, instead of being a good girl, pressing my knees together to bend to retrieve it, I spread my legs. I didn’t see their faces at that second but I saw that they wriggled in their seat and I knew that my undies were on show.
Their eyes were out on stalks! I looked at their faces then down at my panties, pulled my dress down a little and said how sorry I was, and that they must think that I am so bad to make a slip like that.
They joked that it was fine and if ever I made any such mistakes, be sure to call them, as I had great legs. The second guy went as far as to say that he preferred white cotton undies.
OMG! I went so red at the thought that he saw so much in just a brief time.
Friday, late pm… Damn, damn, damn, Randy has gone to sleep and I so badly need a… to be… well, as Barbara says, f***ed. I am tempted to try self-satisfaction but as I never did it yet I don’t know what to do, so I’ll go sleep on it.
Do I tell Barbara what has happened with the guys? She is bound to come see me tomorrow?
Saturday early… it’s no good, I can’t sleep. I tried rousing Randy but he shook me off; he’ll get grumpy if I persist.
Okay, I have made up my mind to go to the bathroom and try to satisfy myself… whatever it takes ‘cos I can’t stand the sexual tension that has built up inside me. Nothing like this has happened to me before.
Oh yuk, I tried pushing a finger in my vagina but it’s so messy. I don’t ever remember being so messy, not even when Randy and I were dating. To lubricate me Randy would lick his fingers and rub around my – down there – but now just touching my vulva is a different experience. It feels different to when I wash it; more, I don’t know, fatter?
Saturday a.m… I am so tired ‘cos I slept only fitfully. Any time I drifted off to sleep, visions of the two guys invaded my dreams, and what they wanted to do to me, caused me to wake up sweating with desire, making the whole situation so much worse.
I slipped away from the bed and to the bathroom to try again to satisfy myself. I managed to push two fingers inside me, but I felt so dirty and so guilty that I had to give it up. It took ages to wash the smell of my mess off my fingers. In fact I swear they still smell.
Saturday p.m… She claims I am lying – Barbara does, but I am not!
She says nobody these days can be so naïve. Every girl knows how to masturbate, she says. What a horrid word that is… and surely that is for men only? Even so, I never saw my husband do it; I wouldn’t want to either. Come to think of it I don’t remember ever seeing his penis; we don’t bathe together and it’s dark when we… he – does it.
Barbara says, of course he masturbates, I should look in his underpants for stains where… well I don’t intend to write down the gross things she described. Her husband must be very sad to have such a beautiful wife, and possibly lovers too, and yet resort to masturbation.
She had me in tears! Claimed I could never have had boyfriends before Randy and not remember what they did to my p***y with their fingers. Well they didn’t – use fingers!
Other boyfriends use to kiss me so hotly, and I let them, even encouraged them, to play with my ample breasts. In no time at all I was so overheated that my legs were apart, which seemed to be the invitation the guys needed to pull aside my underwear and push their penis inside me.
At those times sex was so good; I assumed that getting married would be just a continuation of those times. But now, Randy even avoids touching my breasts. Pffft.
Monday mid-day… sorry, didn’t get a chance to write yesterday, and Barbara has been here this morning.
I have so much to write that I may have to précis what has happened.
Okay, Barbara was positively drooling to discover what has happened over the weekend, but she only wants to concentrate on the matter of self-satisfaction and how I did it. She made an exaggerated play over my telling her that I didn’t do a thing. I really didn’t intend on telling her about my nocturnal attempts. But you know Barbara, she insisted that I describe all that happened, and I am just too weak-willed not to give in to her demands.
So, and here I am going to hate what I write, my so-called friend said that she insisted on teaching me what to do. Okay, having suffered a long night of unrelenting and unrelieved sexual tension I agreed to her describing what I should do.
Oh no, she said, it has to be a practical. I almost pushed out the door there and then. No way was this female going to get any nearer my sexual organ than that bony knee had when it pressed against my undies-covered vulva.
Well, before I could stop her she dropped the slacks she wore then almost ripped down her panties. I say panties, but there wasn’t enough material to make a decent tissue.
O M G! There are no depths to which this female will not go! Dairy? I did not stare at her vulva deliberately, I did not! But… it had no hair… it was completely uncovered. It looked so gross, so big, so fat, so unbelievably flushed red, and I swear it glistened too.
Monday after mid-day… Sorry for the break, I had to… I was called away.
Unaccountably, it seems that the temperature has risen right now and I felt the need to cool down.
With Barbara now sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her private parts exposed and her fingers in her mouth, I got dizzy and had to sit on the stool just by her. Why did she have to stare at me in such a lascivious way as she sucked at the fingers in her mouth? Then to rub those same saliva-coated fingers over the exterior of her vulva? What was that all about?
The room seemed to get even hotter, I couldn’t sit still on the stool, and my hands kept tugging the hem of my dress down to cover my knees.
Now my beautiful friend began to swirl the wet fingers over the point where her vulva meets her mound. The fingers swirled around then flashed downwards to do the same over the very prominent parts of her vulva. Barbara moaned and for a second I thought she had hurt herself in some way. But her eyes closed and she rubbed even harder, she was so obviously enjoying her attack on her own private parts.
Monday p.m… It must be a change in the weather but the house seems so hot today. I had to go open some windows to let more cool air in. I am determined however, to tell you dear dairy, what awful things my friend Barbara did earlier.
Why on earth Barbara was moaning yet continuing to abuse her privates escaped me at the time. But then came the moment I was dreading, the fingers that had seemingly excited her vulva were pressed to the slit of her labia. These in turn were pulled apart by fingers of the other hand. Then, not just one finger, not just two fingers but all four fingers of one hand slowly and with no obvious difficulty started to disappear into the pink folds of flesh that adorned either side of her vaginal entrance.
Barbara’s eyes widened, and although they looked in my direction they somehow didn’t see me. Her pink tongue swept over her mouth and she moaned louder than before.
I felt so hot, so dizzy, what was going on, why did I feel this way? After all what I was observing was disgusting, an act of gross self-abuse that I would never contemplate. I had to steady myself on the stool where I sat.
My hands wouldn’t stay still, they grasped at my clothing, which felt tight, especially at my breasts. Grasping my boobs and moving them around seemed to help them fit better in my bra… but only for a moment, then I had to repeat the action. I realised that what helped eve more was to cause the material of the bra to scratch roughly over my nipples. Now why were they so seemingly prominent?
Monday early evening… I am so glad that you are unable to mock me as would Barbara, dear diary.
Yes, I am aware that the cause of my overheating is my own text. So okay, it took me a while to work it out!
And yes, if you must know I did go practice what I had witnessed my friend do earlier. Am I disappointed that I didn’t achieve what she did at the culmination of her actions at her vulva? Yes of course, although she terrified me with her moans and final scream; why didn’t she warn me, and why didn’t she explain what she had experienced instead of pulling on her clothes and scooting off?
But I am happy that I have the beginnings of a system of relief for my pent-up sexual tensions, especially as I am hoping that the two young workmen will be around again soon.
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