Chapter 1
How shall I begin?
In the most mundane way possible? Telling you that it started out apparently as a day like any other in the life of a middle-class suburban housewife?
Yes, I believe I will. The more routinely I commence my tale, the more vivid the contrasts will be.
The contrast between those exercises which we think of as everyday living and the shockingly unexpected.
The contrast between those who live within the rules and those who exist to break them.
So, it was a sunny day-no morning fog as there had been for a couple of weeks and the sun shining through the windows. Since I had been depressed for several days, the change in the weather should have lifted my spirits.
In fact, the cheerful climate paradoxically worked to lower my spirits even further.
Sometimes it seemed as though being a housewife was a lot like life in prison—no matter what happened, nothing ever seemed to improve.
My source of consternation now was that the rays of the sun picked up the dust fragments which existed in my carpet and furniture. A sunny day revealed just how filthy my house had become.
A dirty house probably doesn't sound like the end of the world for someone who has never had the responsibility of keeping one. But for a housewife, it's murder. Dust is a badge of failure.
Just one of the badges, though. A housewife's life is full of little reminders that she's not doing a good job.
Besides, hovering dust, there's waxy yellow build-up on the kitchen-floor to tell you that you've been shirking your wifely duties.
And dirty laundry that billows out of the clothes hamper like a greasy cloud to remind you you've been putting off the wash for a week to watch soap operas.
However, all badges of failure do not come from simple household tasks. There are other things that can make an ordinary housewife feel like a slave.
The bedroom. A husband who can't be bothered to take his time.
Everything is over too quickly. You're left high and dry while he rolls over and goes to sleep. You feel nothing. Sex, for all its storied promise, provides nothing but more than frustration in an already frustrated life.
Frigidity.
... Yes, that was my most glaring badge of failure.
My husband couldn't make me come. I had never experienced a sexual climax with Bill.
For years I had accepted this sensually barren condition as the way it should be. If my husband couldn't bring me to orgasm, then I must be incapable of the sensation.
But something happened to change this point-of-view. A simple library book.
It was one of those explicit new sex manuals. I checked it out because of curiosity—and became more and more curious with each page after I had it home.
It was hard to believe they were putting out such stuff for consumption by the general public. Not only was the text replete with the vernacular for the organs and functions of sex, the pictures were totally candid. In other words, when the author referred to a couple making love, there was an accompanying drawing of the act. The pictures were so life-like they looked as though they had been painted by Norman Rockwell.
Nothing was left to the imagination. If the other referred to some specific position of intercourse, you saw it; the prick going into the cunt and everything.
I tried not to get horny while I was reading it, but I couldn't help myself. Those cocks were realistic; the cunts so hairy and glistening... Pricks and cunts I started calling them in my mind. Cocks and pussies.
Then I started saying it. "Look at that big prick in that tight pussy," I heard myself drooling.
I found myself touching the obscene drawing, imagining I could feel the turgid organs throb with arousal.
"No, no!" I abruptly chastised myself. "This is wrong. I musn't do this."
I closed the book and put it aside. However, as I leaned over, my thighs came together and told me I couldn't turn it off just like that. They were damp and hot.
Feeling uncomfortable, I squirmed in my chair. There was a tell-tale squish.
My pussy was sopping wet.
I tried to fight it, but it was no use. Sighing with defeat, I picked up the book again.
It happened to open to a section I hadn't yet seen. Masturbation and Its Uses, it was called.
The only thing bad about masturbation, the chapter boldly began, is all the silly guilt that has been associated with it down through the ages. Masturbation is not only a perfectly acceptable practice, masturbation is good! It feels good and it's good for you.
The adjacent picture bore this opinion out. A naked woman was lying with her legs spread so the reader could see everything. She was playing with her pussy lips and clitoris and obviously moaning.
I suppose on the next page there was a pictorial representation of a man stroking his hard cock, but I didn't go on. I was mesmerized by the sight of a naked woman actually bringing herself to orgasm, without a man in sight.
When I put the book aside a second time I had no further idea of ignoring its contents. On the contrary, I was determined to try out what I had just seen.
My clothes were off within seconds and I was lying spread-eagled on the couch, peering down at all of my gaping cunt that I could see. My hand fell between my legs and I began massaging my fingertips into my tender patch of flesh.
The lips of my pussy were moist and rubbery. My clit was like the tip of a nail.
I climaxed almost immediately, gushing the creamy contents of my cunt down my quivering thighs. I had come! Made myself come! I was hooked.
On almost any boring day around the house-and they were almost all boring—I would find my mind straying from the multitude of chores at hand. Rather than concentrating on dirty laundry, dusty furniture and all the rest of a housewife's responsibilities, I would discover myself obsessed by sex.
I'd try to fight it in various ways—watching soap operas a lot of the time; sometimes actually doing my work-but nothing seemed to work. Always, in the end, I was back to day-dreaming of sex. Anticipating how wonderful an orgasm would feel in the midst of another boring day.
And, if ever there was one of those days, it was today. Despite the renewed presence of the sun. things looked bleak. The slightest stress pushed my mind into the well-worn groove of sex.
I forgot about the cleaning that needed to be done and started concentrating on the itchiness of my cunt. It was tearing me up with its insistence to be stimulated to the the bursting point.
All at once I thought of a good use for the sun. I'd strip and lie in it, positioning myself so that a particularly glorious ray would strike my pussy.
I'd watch myself masturbating with a mirror. With that sun glowing between my legs I'd be able to see everything even better than usual.
I didn't just take off my clothes, I did a strip-tease. Humming the music, I did all the bumps and grinds in the right places, turning myself on with my provocative dance. Maybe my husband didn't appreciate my charms, but in these stolen moments I was my own greatest fan.
Finally I was down to nothing. Going into the bedroom to find the hand-mirror, I passed by the larger mirror on the dresser and got a full-length view of myself. Spontaneously I ran my fingers up and down my naked form, tingling at my own touch.
"Whatever it is, baby, you've got it," I sighed to my twin in the mirror. My mouth was watering.
I found the hand-mirror and left the bedroom for the kitchen, the room in the house where there was the most sun at this time of day. I was thrilled to see it pouring through the window that overlooked the kitchen-table.
Without hesitation I was up there, spreading my legs to the sun on the smooth surface where the family had eaten their breakfast only a couple of hours before. The sense that I was doing something outrageous added to my arousal.
The sun struck me right where I wanted it to. There was an immediate warming trend in the already tepid region of my crotch. When I held the mirror down for a peek, my flesh glowed and the curly hair seemed like spun gold.
The finger of my free hand quickly deposited itself between the folds of my pussy lips. I began vertically stroking it... Up and down. Up and down. Mmmmmmm, it felt so good.
My thumb entered the picture, finding my clit. Big fat thumb-pink little clit.
But then my clit was growing. I could see it happening in the mirror. Getting redder and fatter, until it seemed like a miniature version of my thumb.
Letting out a long throaty moan, I experienced orgasm for the first time. In the beginning of my experimentation this might have been enough. But not now. The more I felt the more I wanted.
Now it was time for penetration. Sticking one finger and then another inside my twat, until all five of them were in there. A cunt full of fingers.
It's amazing how widely a woman's cunt will stretch. This was a little phenomenon of which I never deprived myself.
I liked that whole hand in there. When I drew the fingers up into a fist it felt as though it were the stony head of the biggest cock in the world. The monster prick that is the dream of every woman's fantasies.
Maybe I hadn't found the man of my dreams yet, but with my fist banging away in my pussy I had the perfect replica of his hard-on. If nobody else cared to fuck me properly, I'd just have to do it myself.
And, best of all, the mirror and the sunlight contrived to show me everything in the most intimate detail. Not only could I fuck myself, I could be a voyeur at the event.
My fist was in my cunt all the way to the wrist. My pussy lips sucked at the beginning of my forearm, begging for an even more devastating insertion. There was no way I could get enough.
But I sure as hell tried. The only thing for which I was willing to go the limit anymore was an orgasm.
My fist whammed into my cervix, telling my cunt that all bets were off. I was beating myself internally, going all the way with the tools of sex I had at my command.
"Faster! Faster!" I urged myself on. "Harder! Harder!"
However, if I was a stern taskmistress, I was an even more willing disciple. Doing as I instructed myself, I ripped my knuckles into the secret caverns of my pussy. The results were golden—a rich mother lode of orgasm at my innermost depths.
I was going crazy with desire. Dropping the mirror, I used my free hand to attack my second hole while I was still in the throes of reaming my cunt.
My anus was moist and puckering for my poking fingers. Three of them were immediately within, maddeningly teasing the ultra-sensitive lining of my rectum.
Now I was coming in both orifices. Orgasms in my ass and pussy. Enough double- pronged thrills to make me cry out in ecstasy. Anything could have been going on right under my nose and I would have been too far gone to notice it.
You know, I've often wondered what their first reaction must have been when they walked in and saw me there. Writhing and screaming in the nude on the kitchen-table, with one hand up my cunt and the other working on my ass.
I mean, it only stands to reason that they sneaked in through the kitchen door because they didn't expect to run into anybody that way. Boy, how must it have hit them when they ran smack dab into me?
Especially with all of them just getting out of prison and everything.