Part 1b: Jenny’s Story
By K. Finnegan
Feedback most welcome - ---*---
“No, No, No! Don’t you dare you miserable piece of shit! NOOOOOO!” I screamed as I impotently pounded my fists on the steering wheel of my Chevy Malibu.
The steam pouring up from under the hood was growing so thick I could hardly see. I pulled off the road and hit the brakes, sending up a cloud of brown dirt from the packed earth shoulder. I turned off the engine and sat silently as the thick Arizona dust swirled and mingled with the steam escaping from the radiator. After another short tantrum, I leaned on the steering wheel and wept. It wasn’t even noon, and June 21, 1980 already seemed like it was going to be one of the worst days of my life.
---*---
My husband and I had moved to North West Phoenix with our infant son four months ago, after his company had transferred him. At first I was excited to be living close to mom and dad, who had moved to the nearby retirement community of Sun City three years ago. Although it was great being near them – they were a great help with the baby – the sad truth was, they were pretty much the only people I socialized with. I desperately missed my friends back in San Diego, but after Tom and I got into a huge fight when he got our first phone bill, I hardly spoke to them anymore. He told me I needed to make new friends, but how was I supposed to meet anyone here? It’s too hot to go outside, there’s no beach, no sidewalk cafes or street life, and I had a 10 month-old baby to look after.
It was bad enough being without friends in a new State, but my home life had become stale as well. Tom and I hadn’t had sex since I became pregnant. After Max was born, I was ashamed of my body and the weight I had gained. I didn’t even want Tom to see me naked. I got the feeling from him that he didn’t want to either. But even after I lost most of the weight and got my libido back he seemed disinterested, and oblivious to my hints. Then there was the move, the stress of the new job, and the stress of being cooped up with Max and I in the scorching Arizona summer.
My pregnancy had changed my life and my body in many ways. In addition to going up two cup sizes, I had put on about 25 pounds, which really isn’t that bad considering I’m 5’8”. After Max was born I made a great effort to loose weight, exercising at home several hours a day in order to get my beach body back. Before Max I had a pretty awesome body, if I do say so myself; 36, 25, 37 with firm D cup breasts and long strawberry blonde hair. I could turn heads at the beach with the best of them. I managed to lose most of the weight, but my hips, ass and thighs remained curvier than I would like no matter how much I exercised or dieted.
Tom still had a sex drive, but he seemed to prefer to release it by secretly masturbating. I stumbled upon his porn stash two months after the move, hidden in the back of an old filing cabinet in the storeroom by the carport. I was looking for the receipt for our vacuum, which had stopped working, but what I found was shocking. I knew about the stack of Playboys he had under the bed, heck I even read the articles in them myself sometimes. But these magazines were graphic and hardcore; close-ups of oral, vaginal and anal penetration, group sex, and most shocking to me, several pages of girl-on-girl sex.
Having grown up in a fairly religious house, those images traumatized me. I withdrew from my husband even more, hurt that he preferred masturbating to hardcore porn to me. I started to borrow magazines from his stash while he was away and masturbate regularly myself, both to release my frustrated libido and as a form of revenge. I even considered buying one of those sex toys they advertized in the back of the magazines, but I never got the nerve.
Once while Tom was away on a business trip, I woke up in the middle of the night in a state of arousal, with images from his hardcore magazines stuck in my head. I slipped on my robe, grabbed a flashlight and went out to the storage room. I found the magazine I was looking for and took it back to the bedroom, along with a bottle of wine. Like a naughty schoolgirl, I curled up in bed with the porno, reading it by flashlight. I began fingering myself as the wine took hold.
As I felt my climax building, I flipped to the back of the magazine – past the dripping penises, past the semen-spattered blondes - to the pictures I longed to see again. Two beautiful girls, one blonde, the other brunette, were entwined in passion. They kissed, they sucked each other’s breasts, they licked each other’s…! I experienced a sudden climax, and a shudder ran through my body as I moaned and panted in ecstasy. As I lay back and started to fall asleep, I felt ashamed and confused. I told myself that it was just post-natal hormones playing tricks on my mind.
---*---
This frantic day began when my mother woke me up. She had offered to take Max, for the day and had driven out from Sun City to collect him. When nobody answered the door she let herself in with the spare key I had given her and found me sound asleep. I was supposed to ready for work when she arrived, but Max was being a little beast last night, and without Tom to help I was up all night. I was so exhausted I slept right through the alarm. My husband, Tom, was in Nevada on business till Tuesday, and without him, the week had been beyond hectic.
I didn’t have time to breastfeed Max this morning as I usually did - I was due at work in half an hour. I grabbed a few bottles from the fridge that I had extracted with my breast-pump last night, shoved them into one of my small baby supply gym bags and gave it to mom. After quickly bidding goodbye to her and Max, I took a frantic shower, dressed and ran out the door, making sure to grab the small gym bag I kept my breast pump and empty bottles in.
My doctor told me that I was prone to breast engorgement, a painful and potentially dangerous condition caused by excess milk production in my breasts. If I don’t drain them regularly, either by feeding Max or with the breast pump, they swell painfully and can suffer tissue damage. My breasts were already aching due to Max’s missed meal and felt cramped in my 36 DDD bra.
I drove my 73 Chevy Malibu hard, but I still arrived at the dental practice where I worked 15 minutes late. I made my apologies to Anne, a dental assistant who had been filling in for me at the front desk. Tina, the office manager greeted me frostily. I felt terrible, as I had specifically asked her for this Saturday shift because I needed the hours.
I took over the front desk and got to work, but my breasts were aching terribly. I held out as long as I could, but eventually I broke down and asked Tina if I could take my lunch break an hour early. She gave me an icy stare, but agreed. I collected my gym bag full of supplies and went into the female employee restroom, and locked myself in a stall.
Impatient for relief, I dug in the bag for my breast pump and pulled out…a pack of diapers. A sickening feeling came over me as I realized I gave Mom the wrong bag! I frantically rummaged through the bag, but the breast pump was nowhere to be found.
“Don’t panic,” thought to myself, “you used the pump last night in the nursery. Are you sure you packed it?”
I couldn’t remember. There was a chance it was still at the house. I had just under an hour. If I took 51 st , drove like a demon and made all the lights, I might just make it back in time to save my job.
Fifteen minutes later, I was stranded on the edge of town, five miles from home. I was sitting in a cloud of steam and dust, in heat that is supposed to reach 120 by noon. My tits were about to burst, my husband was in Nevada, and I didn’t know anyone I could call for help, even if I could find a pay phone. As I leaned on the steering wheel, weeping and feeling sorry for myself, I noticed that the air in the car was quickly getting warmer as the merciless sun beat down. I had to do something, and soon.
As I morosely considered my options, a shadow passed over the driver’s side window, followed by three loud taps. A young woman with long red hair was peering in with a concerned expression.
“Hey! Are you OK?” she shouted.
I sat back in the seat and gathered myself before opening the door to meet my young rescuer.
Standing before me was a pretty young redhead in a white cotton halter-top, short denim skirt and flip-flops. Her long curly hair was tied back in a black skull and crossbones bandanna, although several long strands fell loosely to her shoulders, framing her cute, freckled face. She looked to be about 5’4”, and perhaps in her late teens. She was slender, but with well proportioned curves in all the right places. It was hard to read her expression, as she was wearing a pair of mirrored aviator’s sunglasses, but I sensed disapproval.
“Hi,” I said, dabbing my eyes with a wadded up tissue. “Do you know anything about cars?” I asked.
She glanced at the steam escaping from under the hood.
“I know enough to recognize a blown radiator,” the redhead said rather curtly. Her voice had a lovely southern lilt that I couldn’t quite place. “Not much you can do till it cools down. Do you need a ride somewhere? Metrocenter isn’t far, and it’s air-conditioned. You’ll bake if you stay here.”
“I live a few blocks north of here, just past Cactus Road,” I said, “If you could take me there, I would be so grateful. I’m having a hell of a day.”
“Sure.” She replied with shrug, “Grab anything you need and lock’er up.