Chapter 1
Joyce had been married ten years before she bought her first vibrator. The decision hadn't been an easy one. She had asked herself why a married woman should need a plastic tool when she had the real thing right there in bed with her night after night, but the answer was obvious. She rarely got to use the real thing.
She had become a very skilled masturbator, but her pussy always felt so empty when she jacked off, and she didn't have the nerve to go out and find the another real thing to fill her need. She thought she'd worn out something like a dozen of them over the years, but she didn't keep an exact count. Whatever the number, it was way too damn many!
She named the first one Howie, after the young man who got her cherry, and each succeeding one got the same name, without the Roman numerals. Howie had the proper shape and some veins and bumps along the shaft, but she could never find one with a head that she liked. The man she dated before she met Carl had a gorgeous cock, with an oversized, well-shaped head that turned her inside out, and that became her ideal. Unfortunately, Carl's cock wasn't nearly a match for that one, and she never found a plastic one that came close.
She got her vibrator and lubricated it carefully, turned it on and got on the bed on her back. She held the device in her fist for a few moments, savoring the strong vibrations, wondering why a real cock didn't have a little electric motor built in so it would vibrate.
Beggars can't be choosy, she told herself. A woman has to take what she can get.
She spread her legs and touched the end of the vibrator to the bottom of her slit. As she played the tip of the tool around the mouth of her cunt, she wondered if she would ever have a real cock on twenty-four-hour-call to use when her sexual impulses came on too strong to ignore. Lord, how she wished she didn't have to resort to a piece of plastic! She felt no shame about using a vibrator. It was simply that the real thing would be so much more satisfying. She couldn't suck a mouthful of cum out of a piece of plastic or feel it shooting her cunt full of gooey cream.
She tried to remember the last time she'd had a cock in her mouth, and couldn't. Certainly it had been longer than the time since she'd had one in her pussy, but she couldn't remember when that was, either! She needed to taste cum again and feel a cock squirting her cunt full.
The blunt tip of the vibrator parted the thick lips of her pussy as it moved slowly up her gash. Her clit was standing tall in the top of her slit, virtually begging to be touched, but she avoided it, instead running the supple plastic in a wide circle around it, through the silky brown curls covering her crotch, back between her labia, and down to her hole again.
This time, she pushed the tool inside, gradually slipped the full ten inches up her twat and closed her legs to hold it in. Soon, the persuasive vibrations triggered the ripples of heavenly palpation that would quickly spread across her lower body.
"Ummmm, that's fine, Howie," she mumbled, "do me good. I need to cum and get that splendid relief."
Her hips began their subtle undulations as her body took over and dictated her actions. She spread her legs and slowly, deliberately, plunged the vibrator in and out of her cunt, and her walls instinctively clenched and relaxed.
She had read that developing her cunt muscles would give her and her partner the maximum pleasure. Yeah, right! What partner? She had more hours flying solo that she cared to count! If her luck didn't change soon, she knew she would quite simply go mad.
"You're getting better and better, Howie," she muttered. "Keep up the good work and I just might marry you." She chuckled out loud. "Well, maybe I'll just adopt you. I still hope to find the real thing."
She added a half-twist to the right as she pulled the tool out of her snatch, then reversed the motion and added a half-twist to the left as she pushed it back in. Too bad real cocks weren't so adaptable!
An image of Danny flashed through her mind, a brief image, like a picture in one of those subliminal tests. Where had that come from? Why would she think of her son at this particular moment?
The old familiar feelings infused her pussy, and the thought passed quickly. Her hips lifted off the bed, twirling in wide circles, and she knew it was time to make her move. Easing Howie out of her sopping hole, she pushed his blunt nose up, through her slit, slowly, methodically sneaking up on her clit.
"Aaaahhhhh, yes, you bastard, get it," she moaned, "get my clit good!"
Unable to tolerate the fiercely intense feelings Howie's nose generated directly on top of her agitated love button, she tipped him over and used the side of the shaft. The sensations grew stronger, and her ass lunged up and down and twisted around and around, and she had to use both hands to hold Howie in place.
Her loud moan of pleasure signaled the start of her orgasm ... and just as suddenly, the storm passed. No rocket ride. No bells and whistles and stars. So much promise, so little delivery. She lifted Howie from her pussy and gave him a withering look of disenchantment.
"No kiss for you tonight, buster. No delivery, no reward."
She threw Howie across the room and he crashed against the wall and fell to the floor, lifeless.
She lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. Her past several attempts had ended the same way, leaving her more frustrated than ever, and she was sorry she even tried. It had been that way ever since Carl was late for work and had to chase the bus, and keeled over with a heart attack.
Was she being punished for something she didn't even know she had done? No, she didn't believe in that stuff. She got him up and had his breakfast ready at the usual time. He was late because he dawdled in the bathroom with the newspaper, sitting on the pot, reading the sports page.
Well, then maybe the stars were out of whack and the lion was stalking the ram, or the twins were boiling the crab for lunch. No, she didn't believe in that stuff, either.
Most likely, she'd just plain and simply lost the ability to cum at her own hand. Familiarity breeds contempt and all that stuff, and maybe her pussy and clit were tired of imitations. Maybe she would respond better to the real thing, but she'd never know until she tried.
She stubbed out her cigarette, took the ash tray to the kitchen and washed it, then went to the bathroom and started the water in the tub.
Would Howard give her the real thing? Somehow, she doubted it. Maybe ants could move rubber tree plants, but leopards didn't change their spots. God, she was simply full of cliches tonight!
She wasn't looking forward to her date with Howard with any enthusiasm. He was a bachelor and had been the closest thing to a good friend that Carl had, but he wasn't a prize. Not in her book, anyway, and she wasn't sure why she'd even consented to go out with him. Loneliness can do weird things to a person's mind, and maybe it had warped hers. She thought it was ironic that long before she met Howard, she'd named her vibrator Howie.
One had about as much personality as the other, and Howie the vibrator would probably win in a contest for zest. Howard hated nicknames, and she hoped she didn't slip up and call him Howie. Some Freudian slips were humorous, but that one would probably ruin what otherwise promised to be a dull evening.
Snap out of it, she admonished herself. You're being so sarcastic, the acid would corrode stainless steel, so negative you could turn off a light switch without touching it. Give the guy a chance, he just might surprise you. Yeah, and the cow really jumped over the moon!
She took her bath and went to her bedroom and stood in front her dressing table, mentally sorting through her perfume. Carl always bitched if she wore anything even remotely resembling a sexy fragrance-he called them a whore's scent-and now she owned three different kinds. She chose a subtle, seductive one and dabbed the strategic spots and went to her dresser.
She still had a few pair of pantyhose-Carl insisted they were the only thing decent women wore-but she hated them and chose a white garter belt and sheer black hose. She picked up a pair of white cotton panties, threw them back in the drawer and selected instead sheer black bikinis that barely covered her ass. She thought her ass was too big, but that was another matter.
Should she wear a bra? No, her tits weren't too big, and she was proud of the way they still stood up firmly, even though she was 42.
She went to her closet, and it took her only a moment to choose a black silk skirt, a nearly transparent black silk blouse and black high heel sandals. She had never worn anything so racy, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked pretty damn sharp. Her bare breasts showed enticingly under the sheer blouse, and if she looked closely, she could even see her stubby nipples and faint areolae.
Maybe if she was real lucky, she would knock Howard's socks off and he would get the idea without her having to act like a shameless hussy. For all she knew, he wore white socks and kept them on when he fucked.
Stop it, she told herself. You 're getting negative again, and that's sure to spoil the evening. Give it a chance before you come down on him so hard. Your only option is to stay home and poke your pussy with Howie, and you know that isn't going to do you any good.