From: renemax6@xyz.au

To: marimclain8@zyx.au

Subject: Have you ever …?

Dear Mari,

First, my apologies for my sudden departure yesterday. And, yes, the lying. I had to be nowhere, and I wanted to be nowhere more than with you. I took flight! Again! And after the way our relationship is developing, it was silly taking flight. We are becoming partners in breaking our demure silences about our real sexuality, aren’t we? Believe me, dear Mari, I want us to continue.

So, it was not your raunchy story about your sexual adventure with Robert the Builder that caused my hasty escape. Mari, I loved reliving with you, thrust by thrust, the searing pleasure from Robert’s magnificent cock. (I’m following your example, Mari. From now on, I will use the too-long avoided ‘dirty’ words!). No, I ran away from your by-the-way question about my extramarital affairs.

I have been in the past badly blocked, especially regarding sex. With you, the main reason was that you were sexually so much more experienced and alive than I. Your so open sexiness both scared and attracted me. And now, as a widow and single like you, I dare to give way to this attraction. I feel ready to embrace sex. Paradoxically, I feel young and, therefore, more like you than I have ever felt before.

I have already actively done something about getting sexually unblocked. You, Mari, I believe, would have approved!

So, dearest Mari, forgive my shying away from your question about my extramarital ‘affairs’. Do not give up on me yet. About my having taken flight ‘again’, I will need to tell you more.

For today with Regrets, Your

Rene.

P.S. - God, I loved your Robert recollections! You were sexy beasts!

From: marimclain8@zyx.au

To: renemax6@xyz.au

Subject: Pussy-Envy!?

My dear, still shy Rene,

The subject tag above means to shock. If it does, read no further and press the delete button. We are going to see each other tomorrow. What I write in this mail would make even me, so much less inhibited than you, blush in telling you face-to-face. After all, I’ve kept silent about it for the last twenty-one years.

Remember the summer break of our Uni-clique in Apollo Bay; the afternoon you and I decided we were getting burned, left the others on the beach, and returned to our cabins? I had left the key for ours with Michael. So, we finished up showering together in your cabin. Afterwards, I had to borrow one of your panties and, for me, too much revealing outfit. I remember every detail of this afternoon because I fell seriously – let’s avoid the cliché – in lust with you!

I had no foreseen lecherous intent. We showered – you first – separately. Some time afterwards, I was struck by the idea of how deliciously sexy it would have been for the two of us to squeeze together into the tiny shower cubicle! When my turn came, you, shy Rene, were responsible for what was building up in my depraved mind.

You stayed in the bathroom with me to chat. Not only, but also! While I showered and then dried myself, we talked. I could look at you, and you were not just naked! You were rubbing cream all over your – I suddenly noticed - sexy body. It responded to your own hands. Your berry-like nipples got nicely perky! When you sat down to apply the cream to your legs, as we talked. You faced me. And God, how wide you spread your legs in rubbing the lotion into your thighs!

I looked closely, for the first time since I was nineteen, at another woman’s vagina. And seeing yours took away my breath. You had the most beautifully formed, kissable, fuckable pussy I could have imagined! It was a pronounced undulating hillock, slightly darker in colour than the surrounding skin. The slit parting down its top glistened like moistened lips and, as your hands massaged your thighs, they slightly opened and flashed at me a glimpse of temptingly luscious red. And my pulsating heating-up cunt signaled desire while my brain was torn by my pussy-envy.

As you remember, my dear Rene, I did not act on being sorely tempted. Neither have I ever confessed my vaginal envy to anyone. Is it now too late, too unbecoming to remember both? As an examination question, it would conclude with – ‘Discuss.’ Shall we?

Much more than just affectionally yours,

Mari.

Immediate Text Replies:

R. to M.:

All the things we missed out on, being ‘good’. I never suspected you as bi; never suspected myself either. I wonder, why not? Well, well! Love, R.

M. to R.:

Am so glad to know now that we were ‘possibles’ even then! Await with bated breath your next mail. Love, M.

From: renemax6@xyz.com.au

To: marimclain8@zyx.com.au

Subject: ‘Hotmail’ Reply.

Dearest Mari,

Have just returned from our afternoon together. Could not wait to get onto my laptop. We avoided, it seemed, talking about what was foremost on my mind. Holding back, my questions almost throttled me. But you were just playfully amused.

I will still not ask my questions. Not because I am too shy. I don’t want to give up the thrill of having to wait for what you will tell me next. I am like a virgin, shivering in expectation of the coming, half-feared but hoped-for, forbidden touch! So, I better mute my inbuilt censor and tell you what I remember about our Apollo Bay afternoon.

Dearest Mari, your confession has delighted me. Reading it repeatedly made me rub my so unexpectedly admired pussy into an alive state. On that afternoon so long ago, I missed out not only on being led astray but on knowing I could have been. My censor only allowed me an unusually prolonged time of nudity with you. Yes, it was hot, we were close friends. Still, unusual for us, we were naked. I was not one of the liberated young women that went topless at the beach or played strip-poker with the boys late into Maryjane- and drink-filled nights.

I was a terrible prude, but - it’s time to confess - I loved looking at you naked. The men in our circle did not think of you as sexy. On one occasion, when you had the better of Michael in an argument about Shakespeare and stalked away, he, your husband, showed his colours. Pointing theatrically at your slim back, Michael declared: ‘Yon Mari has a lean and hungry look!’ Quoting the bard was met by his mates with roaring laughter: Michael’s wit had once again prevailed over his ‘scrawny’ wife!

Mari, I thought the blokes were blind idiots! Didn’t they see your lovely long legs, ending in that beautiful ass of yours? It was a boy-sprinter’s ass that showed the play of every tensing muscle under its soft skin. And I loved the look of your smallish tits with their sexy nipples. And there, in the shower, under your washing and drying hands, they had risen to perky, dark buds. The last but far from least of your sexual attraction for me was your glorious bush. Remember, Mari: It was then the beginning of the Brazilian vogue. However, we intellectual feminists were not going to shave our pubes child-like bare to please child-girl fixated males. The dark triangle, a third up your flat stomach, with your marvellous legs, so kissable tits and proud face completed for me the picture of a desirable woman. I thought my body, compared to yours, was insipidly ordinary.

I am thrilled now that you enjoyed the afternoon we were nude together not only as much as I but more so. After all, I was not conscious of any bi-lecherous intent!? With your focus on my pussy, you must have enjoyed my lengthy search for something to wear in the suitcase and bags on the floor. I bent over a lot and not briefly either. God, did I do it deliberately? Did I stretch my round girl’s ass, my slightly open thighs framing my pussy knowingly in your direction? Did it, for you, so kissable lips show any glistening excitement?

Did it get as steamy then as thinking about it does now? Enough writing for tonight.

Sleep well. Your,

Rene.

Text Replies One hour after.

M. to R.:

Setting aside your possible/likely/drawn-out resistance, I would have tongue-tip-teased your pussy’s already glistening slit slowly open. And then my tongue would have sunk deep into your cunt’s red-hot core. It would have been the beginning of ‘kissing’ at length (breath & depth) - not merely kissing, of course – your so tempting pussy the way nobody has ever pleasured mine! Now, start wondering! And Good Night.

R. to M.:

Wow! Now you tell me what I missed out on. But, why have you, knowing so much about pussy pleasures, missed out on such delights?

From: marimclain8@zyx.com.au

To: renemax6@xyz.com.au

Subject: Why me, indeed.

My dear Rene,

That was a brave, sexy mail for a one-man, widowed woman in her respectable fifties! I loved it! It proved that I judged rightly in seeing in you a companion to keep the threatening boredom of age-related propriety at bay. So, Rene, let us stay as provocatively sexy, with mind and legs open, as we have always wanted to be and never - or too rarely - were. When it comes to it, we both appreciate the brain as our primary sexual organ, even when our widespread thighs occasionally shivered and shook in a cock-induced coming. Remember, mine indeed did, with Robert; bless him!

Now to your query: Am I bi? Although I knew from my late teens that a woman’s physical attractions could sexually turn me on, I never thought so. It was as specific as that. I know now that you have always seen me as sexually adventurous. Yes, perhaps, but I did not like to make the first move. I wanted to be asked and pursued.

In growing up, I was never girlish but rather exceptional as a student and gifted athlete. In appearance, while not ugly, I was for a girl too tall, too lean, and too underendowed with boobs and bum. Being unsexy, I was not drawn into my fellow students’ first frenzy and turmoil of teenage hormonal rush. While not an outsider, they thought, I suppose, that I was sexless.

This was not the case. My parents had treated me as an intelligent adult. They made sure that I was in sexual matters informed and shared in their open-minded outlook. I was sexually aware and interested in sex, but nobody seemed to want to have sex with me. There was something about me that stopped others of my age from wanting me.

During my teenage years, I competed as a runner and Netball player. Still, I was never sexually propositioned by a fellow athlete or coach, either male or female. I was, on occasions, seriously attracted but could not bring myself to make the first move.

With one of my Netball teammates, I became sorely tempted. I was then in my first year at University, nineteen, and playing in the top competition. On one of our frequent interstate trips, I began to share a room with Karin, a recent addition to our team. She was twenty, even taller than I, but a voluptuous, Nordic beauty. Her parents were Danish, which could have been why Karin had such a relaxed attitude on nudity. From then on, we always shared a room. Therefore, I saw Karin often and for long stretches in her naked glory. And nature had blessed Karin in all the parts it had neglected me.

I was not a prude. For my parents, nudity was not a shameful issue. I was also relaxed about the unavoidable nude exposure of myself and others in the dressing-sheds and -showers of the sporting clubs. In the group- and mostly hurrying-through situation, I had never looked with genuine curiosity at the tits and bums and pussies of my teammates. With Karin, it was suddenly different; very different!

Notably, just the two of us were often in the undisturbed privacy of a hotel room. Karin slept in the nude, enjoyed staying nude after her shower. In the warmth of Queensland or the comfort of well-heated hotel rooms, she would lounge on her bed to read or chat on the phone. Sometimes we would talk, for what seemed hours, before Karin slipped into bed under covers. For her, it was a natural way to behave.

Karin had, I believed, no idea how her Nordic, goddess-like beauty was disturbing me. Everything about her was perfect: Her skin, her beautiful long legs, her round firm breasts, womanly hips, and shapely, dimpled ass. She was a straw-blond, down to the silky-hair triangle that, to my eyes, accentuated her shapely pubes and pussy. And I suffered. I tried not to stare, to control the shaking in my voice. I had to resist the urge to touch Karin, to get too close to draw in the beguiling smell of her naked body. And, of course, I never let her know how much I wanted to make love to her. It was the first time in my life that I felt like that about anybody, boy or girl.

Besides shyness and fear of rejection, a further hindrance was that Karin was engaged and in love. I still believed, in my then inexperience, in the exclusivity of one-on-one relations. So, I watched on more than a few occasions Karin on the phone, talking and flirting at length with her lover. She had told me that they had regular, fantastic sex.

Often when she rang him, Karin was lying naked on the bed. He must have been quite a talker. He made Karin squirm and shift as he poured his sexy talk into her ear. Karin would look at me, smile and grin as she whispered back. Sometimes she would laugh out loud before switching into Danish and a sex-charged timbre in her voice. I could not help but watch her hardening nipples and the way her legs clasped together, with her fingers wandering into her bush. Or she would throw herself on her belly. With her thighs opening, her feet would angle up, and her toes curl in excitement. All this was, I believed, natural and spontaneous for Karin.

I became aware that Karin enjoyed me watching her making love on the phone. Every look and smile, wink, and gesture in my direction told me so. And Karin, I thought it was purely accidental, did much to turn me on. In twisting around on the bed, she frequently flashed her lushly lipped, long-slitted pussy with its glistening pink centre at me. God, Rene, how that beautiful pussy of Karin tempted me to join her on the bed!

I never ceased wondering if Karin would have responded? Was she, perhaps, quite willing to turn bi if I had decided to be lesbian? So, my dear Rene, you have my confession. Your beautiful pussy on that magic afternoon in Apollo Bay was not the first one I have lusted after.

My dearest Rene, I better stop. I have, at least, made a beginning in explaining my ‘fixation’ on beautiful pussies. I never have, except for these two encounters, come close to being tempted. So, no affairs with women in my past. But yours and Karin’s sexy, lusciously tempting pussies could have turned me bi or sapphic on the spot!

You were both saved, whether you wanted to be or not.

Love, (may I say so after this?)

Mari.

Text-Exchange 30 minutes after:

R. to M.:

Dearest Mari, your Karin was and is, for me, in your description, a major turn-on. And God, she showed you how much she wanted you as a bed-ready add-on to her fiancé on the phone. What a bi! After her, I was easy to resist, being married and sooo innocent. But hell, I believe now that I would have wanted you then as much as Karin!

M. to R.:

Your text made my night. With Karin, all that is left for me is regrets. But with you? We could now, finally, bi together! Sweet dreams. Mari.

From: renemax6@xyz.com.au

To: marimclain8@zyx.com.au

Subject: My running away.

Dearest Mari,

The titillating sexual pleasure our exchange gives me is irresistible! That this could be so is no surprise. I had - Yes, your ‘shy’ Rene! - once before sought a relationship, not unlike ours. It was with a man and well on the way to become all-consuming. And Mari, ours seems to become a full-blooded, sexual affair too, isn’t it? And I wanted it with him, a very sexy man. But I, now 137 days ago, fled and ended our affair.

About a year ago, I sampled the offerings in several relationship sites on the web over several weeks. Very few attracted my interest. The ones that pretended to seek a digital relationship saw it clearly as a preliminary opening for a ‘real’, body-to-body meeting in the shortest possible time. My problem was that the mind-sex relationship I was looking for was just not in fashion.

Then I read Mark’s ad. In sixty-three clear, unambiguous words, he stated precisely what he wanted. I knew immediately that he and I were of one mind and replied. Mark’s answering mail arrived in my additional set-up web address six hours later.

It was lengthy and exceptionally well-written. It removed many of the barriers that I had erected around me. Mark informed me that he was my age, lived in Hobart. I could reach him anytime at his mail address. Beyond that, he did not want me, for a start, to know more, nor did he want to know anything about me that would allow him to contact me except through email. We were not to exchange our mobiles’ numbers. All brief texting – and he hoped for a lively, arousing exchange – we would strictly do through emails. He hoped our sexual attachment to each other would grow, step by wanted and willingly taken step. Building up our sexual intimacy and arousal levels, Mark said, will require courage: First, to ask the question and then answer truthfully. He suggested that we include in each of our mails at least one challenging query.

I could, therefore, ask the first one. What I wanted to know was if Mark’s ad had attracted many replies. His answer was truthful and matter-of-fact. He had received more than thirty responses. Some were from young women who attached sexy photos, more from middle-aged women. All of them ignored what the ad stated but responded to its promising tone. The girls looked for an affluent sugar daddy and the women for a suitable, compensatory marriage prospect. They thought he was a possibly well-of, respectable gentleman that hid his carnal desires behind supposedly mind-only interests. And all of them tried to lure these, to them understandable, carnal desires into the open. In often graphic detail and photos, they offered Mark the only sex they knew: The prostituted bitcoin of sex as a means to material ends.

Anyway, dear Mari, you will be able to read in detail what happened between Mark and me over these wonderful weeks. We will be taking our laptops up to your sin-pad in Smoko, won’t we? It is just the place to read such things! I have the complete record of our affair - from the first word in Mark’s ad to the final question that made me flee - in my computer’s memory.

I suspect that reading it will turn you on. If it does half as much as it did me, you’ll have a wow of a time! The day-by-day, often night-by-night, Q&A progression made me known to Mark in a way that nobody – including myself and, foremost Martin, my husband of twenty-eight years – had suspected. And I got to know Mark equally well.

God, Mari! By letting you read our mailings, you will too! About me you will know, for instance, that Mark induced me to trim and shape my bush and that I masturbate now in front of the mirror. By the time I gave these answers, Mark and I were already some weeks into our nicely heating-up sexual relationship. Mark had refined our Q&A game by listing with each ‘Would you …?’, ‘Have you ever …?’ question up to five likely answers. It forced us to be brutally direct in choosing a number as a reply.

Mark, as you will see, Mari, asked me after my ‘No’ to the Brazilian question if I would give my bush a sexy trim for him? The answers were one for NEVER, two for NOT YET, three for GLADLY! Mari, I not only answered with a highlighted three!! I had my unruly triangle professionally tamed within days. And God, the fashion-trim looked sensationally suggestive in the mirror! But, when Mark quickly followed up with the question, ‘Would you send me a photo of your pussy?’ it put my mind in a spin. This was new and risky. We had, in the beginning, agreed not to use Skype so that seeing our aged appearance would not contradict our promiscuous minds. Thinking it over for two days with ever-growing excitement, I posted Mark a two for ‘Not Yet’.

But Mari, your no longer so shy Rene was not tossing up between a ‘Never!’ and ‘perhaps someday.’ She wanted to shout ‘gladly’ and not just because she wanted only Mark to see her now so sexily framed pussy! God, your Rene wanted to flash it! She actually took some snaps! And what stirred her pussy-juices was that she could follow up her highlighted ‘Gladly’ and photo. She would demand from Mark a snapshot that proved what her display did to his lust-engorged cock!

What had brought me, Mari, to this state of shameless horniness? It came from the essays Mark and I had written and exchanged. Mark had suggested we set aside a fortnight to write how we imagine our love-making in our first night together.

It was a task I failed. I wrote an insipid account of kissing, groping, kissing some more during a shy first fuck, ending in a thoroughly unlikely orgasm for both of us. It was just me. I knew already that with Mark, our loving would be very, very different. However, as I composed my essay, I did not yet dare imagine how he would take the lead.

Then his essay arrived. And Mari, did he take the lead with a disturbingly real, quivering flesh-and-blood me! We were in this hotel room. He sat on the bed while I stood, somewhat uncertain before him. He told me to undress, slowly, garment by garment. Every piece of my clothing dropping to the floor, Mark matched with one of his. Then I stood there naked before him! I drew in and tensed my stomach to hide my belly-folds and pushed back my shoulders to show my tits in their upright, pointy-nippled glory.

Mark opened his arms, and I moved into his embrace and his kisses. He placed them over and up and down my belly and midriff. And then my breasts: - God, how he aroused my tits as I pressed them in his face! When I bend down to search out his caressing lips, they met mine half-open. Mark breathed into my mouth, whispering how beautiful and sexily delicious I was and how he would feast on me.

Without releasing me from his embrace, we rolled onto the bed. Lying side by side, Mark’s hand, barely touching, stroked up my side, over a tensing buttock, over midriff into my armpit and the bulge of one breast. Whispering, he told me how he would make love, first to my hungry mouth – sinking in a probing tongue – and then to my delectable pussy and sexy ass.

The hinted prospect made my head spin even before he turned me on my belly. And then his lips began their journey from neck and shoulder down my side to the top of my thighs. Slowly passing to-and-fro my frantically shut thighs, Mark placed kiss by teasing kiss. God, it was so close to my quiveringly hidden pussy! Eventually, his lips moved up the other side of my shivering body, feeling my goose-bumps under his lips and tongue. It was not the cold!

And then Mark’s tongue began to move down my spine to lick through the crack of my in-panic cramping together buttocks and thighs. When Mark, starting in the hollows of my knees, began his journey north, my body, all aquiver, knew! I stretched my arms as far as I could reach, and my fingers and nails dug into the sheet. And Mark, with hard-marking kisses, began to kiss me open. And yes, God, did I gasp when his tongue slid through my pussy’s opening slit. And then I just whimpered as Mark slowly licked his way through the quivering cleft of my ass and up my spine.

With every one of the five or six repeated passages, my legs spread wider, my ass lifted higher, and its crack awaited more eagerly the passing of the tongue. And Mark’s lips lingered longer on my pussy’s swollen crest, and his tongue had stroked its lips already well apart. When on the last passage, Mark sank with his tongue his thumb deep into my pussy’s heat, it gushed. I cried out a breathless ‘Yes! God, yes!’ as my groin and ass, shaking and shivering, ground into Mark’s face.

I could not help myself. I cried out: - ‘Mark! Mark! Fuck me! God fuck me now!’ And Mark lifted my ass even higher than I had stretched it. And then his deliciously knobbed, thick cock rammed into my red-hot, slippery-wet, already wildly climaxing cunt.

My dear Mari, all the above happened in Mark’s story. It left me convinced that his cock alone surpassed in beauty and what it could do to my pussy the cocks of the three - make it four - men that ‘I have known’. I did not; get to know them like this. Neither did they - God, no! - know me! We were never more strangers to each other than when we fucked!

Mari, I read Mark’s essay repeatedly. I felt we knew each other down to our deepest sexual core. Sometimes, after another reading, I stripped naked, went to bed. Then I stretched out, and one hand tore at the sheet until I came.

Now, Mari, you are probably wondering what made me run and end this so fulfilling sexual affair? I still haven’t found an answer that convinces me that I had to end it. I was aware that my now so appreciated single, independent life could be in danger. If Mark had asked me to come to Hobart to realise our first night, would I have said NO? And what then? But there were no indications that Mark wanted the mind-nature of our affair to change. I was also determined no hint would come from me. But Mari, my pussy itched for his uncircumcised, eight-inch by five-inch-circumference cock!

Following our exchange of First Night Stories, we refined and expanded our Q&A game. The idea of combining the question of ‘Do you like … ?’ (e.g. ‘being tied up?’) with ‘Your Experience:’ (from ‘Never’ over ‘Rarely’ to ‘Often’) was insidious. It not only widened our knowledge of our respective, hidden sexual tastes and experiences. It seduced us immediately into acting on what we learned and into an outpour of heated, pornographic mails

Mari, let me confess a suspicion. Let’s leave aside your reputation as a published author on Australian Literature and your unblemished record as a retired Associate Professor. The way I begin to know you, I believe you have a taste for pornography. So enjoy! I am pretty sure that some of these emails, especially Mark’s, when you read them will make you as hot under your panties as they continuously made me.

While I could not match him, I was pretty pleased with one of mine. When he answered my query about whether he liked to be tied to the bed and how often it had happened with ‘No’ and ‘Never’, I followed up. God, the things I did to him to make him change his mind and to make his agonisingly frustrated, so beautiful cock rise to burst. Its size and description I’ve given earlier.

However, in our Q.&A. gambits, I so often had to answer truthfully with a ‘Never’. I followed it up, honestly again, only rarely with the No of not wanting. Mark could respond, therefore, and take me from peak to unfamiliar peak onto, hitherto, unimagined sensual pleasures. And I not only submitted in dozens of different ways: I hungered for more! Were there no limits?

Then one evening, a mail arrived with a question-set that brought me to a boundary I could not cross. Within the sexual mores of today, the question was neither unusual nor more outrageous than the ones I had happily answered and ‘Likes’ I had admitted. So why did Mark’s question, ‘Would you like me to fuck you in the ass?’ and the associated five grades of the possible responses so unsettle me?

I was in turmoil. I tried for two days to formulate dozens of replies. The fact was I could not put down any of the numbers demanded and risk having to respond to Mark’s possible answers. So, I mailed him a shockingly undeserved ‘Sorry, Mark. I cannot take this any further. It’s my fault, not yours. Forgive me.’

I pressed ‘Send’. Then, crying, I cancelled my Web Address and with it the most fulfilling sexual relation I had ever enjoyed.

I better stop now!

Love,

Rene.

Text-Messages, two hours later:

M. to R.:

Wow! What a tempting introduction to what I will devour in Smoko! I’m sure it will appeal greatly to my, I happily admit, pornographic tastes. Also – no, foremost – I am thrilled to learn so much about your hot-glowing, sexy, smouldering longings. These, with Mark gone, now really stoke my less than innocent interests in ‘shy’ Rene. I have not overlooked that you still have not convincingly told me why you ran, only when.

P.S. Would you post one of your pussy-snaps to me? If not, why not?

R. to M.:

Am so happy about your response and less than innocent interest in me. After what I’ve let you know about me, what other interest would be fitting or could I want? Also, you are right: I have not yet told all. Neither have you!

P.S. 3 – ‘Gladly’. See photo attached.