We met later in life. He was a very experienced man of the world. I knew I was out of my depth. I had only slept with two men before. Both were in long-term relationships. I had been celibate for a while.
Two weeks after a mutual friend introduced us, he was in my bed. He’d charmed me with his good looks, blue eyes, and confidence. He was good, never openly groping, kissing me seductively, and stroking. I felt the old desire coming back.
One night, after a very steamy, long kissing and fondling session, I became aware that my bra was unfastened. How had he managed that? He still did not stay over.
The next night, I had a feeling would be the night. Dinner was made, lamps were low, scented candles lit. Mood music played in the background. The doorbell sounded. I had butterflies and a tingling in my breasts and pussy which had been absent for a while.
After kissing me, he smiled and went straight to the kitchen. He took two glasses from the cupboard and poured from the chilled bottle he had brought.
We moved through to the lounge and sat together on the sofa. We drank slowly and talked. Eventually, he put both glasses down and kissed me slowly and seductively, but became more determined. His hand caressed my leg, moving further up inside my dress. I could hardly breathe. His thumb stroked my slit through the material of my lacy pants which were wet. Then he took my hand and led me into my bedroom. He knew I was feeling nervous; he left me to undress and went to the en-suite.
When he re-emerged, he was naked and confident. I tried not to stare. I had only seen two penises before. He got into bed beside me. Dinner was forgotten.
He was slow and steady in his caress. I felt myself relax, and old feelings and reactions returned. He moved my legs apart and fingered me gently to begin with. I gasped. I was very tight. It had been a while. I felt like a virgin again. His hands were sure and confident, massaging my tits and nipples. I already knew he was a boob man. His other hand was pushing further inside while his thumb rubbed my now awakened clit. Tentatively, my hands reached for his erect cock. Slowly to begin with, then as I realised how aroused he was becoming, I got more confident. When he finally entered me, I was wet and eager. The feel of him filling me, the continuous thrusting, and the eventual climax were overwhelming.
How had I gone so long without sex? The sheets were wet and tangled. He did not go home. My education into a more adventurous sex life had begun. That night, I had several lessons. I was a good pupil. He was an excellent teacher! Gradually I became less uptight, I even introduced the word Fuck into my vocabulary. Billy Connolly nailed it when he says he knows thousands of words, but he still prefers Fuck. It is all encompassing, don't you think?
I digress… I often do. The point is, my whole personality changed. Like a hibernating seed bursting into bloom. Enough of that flowery nonsense. I learned about wines, I had rarely indulged, I loved the effect it had, how horny I felt, the fabulous sex that followed. I dressed differently too, encouraged by my partner that actually showing some cleavage didn't mean I was touting for business. I stopped buying pretty but chaste underwear from M&S. His favourite was red, so I bought red, purple, burgundy, and, of course, black. Yes, my education was progressing. Over a period of time, I got bolder, even sunbathing topless. I loved knowing that other men were looking.
It was after this holiday that I had an idea. Our anniversary was approaching. I wanted something special. I arranged a photoshoot. I chose an all-female studio that specialised in shoots mainly for brides-to-be as a gift for their husbands. Surely a Fuck, there's that word again, on the Wedding Night is a better gift? The results surpassed my expectations. They had done a wonderful job. No naked shots, but some were posed with no underwear, with a piece of fabric, or an object placed strategically. My partner was stunned when he unwrapped the glossy album. He had wanted to take intimate pics, but thought I’d refuse and head for the hills.
Gradually, he built up quite a portfolio. The photos became more daring; I posed naked. There were none though that I considered really porny, leave that to the young gorgeous, professional models, who frequent all the amateur adult sites, professing to be bored housewives. I had browsed a few sites to get ideas for poses and lingerie. Some shots were so explicit, you could practically see their tonsils! I digress again!
One night, we both had a fair bit to drink. He was talking about a golfing acquaintance who was sex mad. He was on wife number four. He constantly sent humorous pics to my partner, always involving naked or semi-naked goddesses. I had never met him, but he had been very keen to meet me. He always asked my partner about our sex life. He got told to Fuck off. There's that word again. We joked about sending him one of my pics. Partner wanted to shut him up and show me off. I have to stress that alcohol was involved! We scrolled and selected a favourite of his. I was sitting on the stairs in a red lacy body, my tits were out, the fastening underneath was undone and rolled up to reveal my smooth pussy. My legs were apart. To crop my face out of the photo was the only question? Fuck it, brilliant word, send it. Whoosh! Delivered!
My Education was complete. My reward was a night with little sleep…
And a massive hangover the next day, in more ways than one!
