November 14th Blog Entry:
‘Tis the season for social outings. Yes, those blessed events where smiles, eye contact, playful touches, and engaging, sincere conversation are required. I’ve told you this before, blog followers, that I don’t enjoy myself socially. I find simulated camaraderie draining and I can’t keep from silently mocking those around me that have perfected their pathetic, faux façades they call life.
I especially loathe my husband Jake’s friends. They are just like him; overbearing, jealous, loud, rude, cocky. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they’re all driven by the same vices; elaborate, status-driven careers, shiny sports cars, mansions, jets, cash, and most importantly … their quiet, submissive, trophy wives.
Jake’s a star in his tight-knit social circle, no … let’s say he’s the leader. He has to have the biggest and the best—the most cash, the fastest car, the most timid wife—and he strives at all times to stay a step ahead of his pack. But you know as well as I do that there isn’t a sports car on the planet, a bank account balance, a watch, or a bottle of whiskey that can make up for an empty soul. Jake’s spirit is gone. I can’t find it. I can’t find the sweet, funny man that I married, and I ask myself the same three questions multiple times a day, every day; can’t he see that he’s changed? Can I find a way out of this? Should I fake another migraine so I can stay home tonight and masturbate in the shower?
And as if my life wasn’t fucked up enough, here comes the season where social outings dominate my every waking moment, one moment to the next.
At least Hillary’s tolerable, I said to myself as we pulled into a massive home owned by Jake’s friend Garret. Hillary, his friendly, beautiful wife wasn’t like me and the other wives. She wasn’t a drone or a fuck-slave to her spouse like I was. And after our initial introduction, I found myself intrigued by her abilities to be married to a friend of my husband’s but still have a voice to call her own.
Jake parked the car and turned to me. “Don’t say anything about my golf clubs. Garret doesn’t know I sold them to Vinny.”
“I won’t,” I replied, staring blankly at the front of the house.
Jake helped me from the car, and as we approached the front door, I could feel his eyes inspect me from head to toe. “I wish you hadn’t cut your hair,” he said before he pressed the doorbell.
I had to turn away to hide the smirk on my face. The six inches of my hair that I had cut off a few weeks before had deeply bothered Jake and it felt good, empowering, to see the discontent he had felt from my defiant act since.
The door swung open and two attractive people greeted us. I found Hillary—a café owner of a year—incredibly pretty. Her gorgeous face, beautiful long curly hair, impressive body, and nice smile were mere compliments to her amazingly genuine personality. Garret was equally handsome and both stepped forward, Hillary hugging me, and Garret grasping and shaking Jake’s hand.
“Hey, we gotta run down to the club. Ian’s new driver came into today and he’s saying he can hit it 400 yards without effort.”
I tugged on Jake’s jacket. “Ian … is he married to the blonde with really long hair?”
“Yes,” Jake snapped, turning away from me. He followed Garret to the garage aside the house and the smirk that was clawing at the muscles in my face was finally freed. I sneered. The condescending grin felt fantastic. The subliminal digs from me to Jake were happening more frequently, and with each successfully executed remark, the stone walls caging my voice were weakened.
“They’ll be gone for hours,” Hillary said, pulling me into her home. We walked through the exquisite mansion and finally arrived at the kitchen. Savory scents—garlic, parsley, lemon, cumin, sage—filled my nose and I stepped up to a large square island placed in the center of the room and stopped.
“Jake won’t stop complaining to Garret about your hair. He’s still bent out of shape that you cut it,” she stated from the opposite side of the island.
“Yes.”
“I saw that … that small jab and the sinful grin that followed.”
I nodded once and chuckled. “Jake could use a little razzing now and then, don’t you think?”
Hillary smiled brightly. “I do. He’s got quite the way about him.”
I nodded again and glanced around the kitchen. Thoughts of my husband, of the kitchen I used to cook for him in my own home and a memory of the one time I had tried to engage with him sexually there filled my mind.
Like most, the memory wasn’t pleasant. Standing in the kitchen in nothing but my favorite pair of red high heels and a sheer, red apron, I had been waiting for Jake for over an hour. I had spent the day in the kitchen making his favorite foods; rosemary lamb, new potatoes, mandarin orange spinach, baby peas and herb bread, and a chocolate cheesecake, all entrees I hoped Jake and I could play with. I was on my third chocolate-covered strawberry when I heard a ruckus from the garage.
His deep, sluggish voice said, “Oh, fuck! It … smells like sh—she’s been cooking.” Jake, hanging in between two of his friends, was being dragged into the kitchen.
I was in shock. I stood motionless, staring at Jake. I wonder how drunk he is this time, I silently asked myself.
“Shit! Sorry, Kate,” Ian said, shielding his eyes with his opened hand.
Jake pointed at me. “Get some clothes on, Kate! F—for Chrissakes!”
I glanced down at my exposed body and gasped. From a closet just around the corner, I grabbed a coat and covered myself and returned to the kitchen.
Ian pointed at the staircase. “Jake’s shit-faced. Should we take him upstairs?”
“No, just put him in the guest room off the library, I guess.”
They pulled Jake through the kitchen and as he passed me, his head bobbed a couple of times and he said, “Nothing but heels and an apron? That’s a little cliché, don’t yo—you think?”
A heated blush took my face, evidence of the shame and embarrassment I was feeling. "Oh God,” I murmured, the memory causing my cheeks to flush with defamed fire in real life.
“Kate, are you all right?”
I looked up at her. “Oh, sorry. Yes. I’m fine.”
Hillary nodded. She waited for me to elaborate and when the silence in the room became uncomfortable, she decided to proceed. “Would you mind helping me with dinner?”
“I’d love to.” I slid a cut board holding a huge head of lettuce in front of me and began to chop the leafy vegetable at Hillary’s request.
We made small talk while we worked. “What’s it like being married to Jake?”
“It’s fine.” I quickly, robotically answered.
“No, I mean … what’s it really like?”
I sighed. I sat the knife down and said, “For the most part, it’s just … fine. Not good, not bad … fine.”
“How’s he in bed?”
How’s he in bed? He’s lousy and boring, so boring I want to slice my own throat at the mere thought of fucking him. He’s a douche bag. Cliché my ass. How cliché is the Missionary position every single GD time? He wouldn’t know how to please me if God hand delivered instructions engraved on golden plates. I can’t stand him or his small prick. I—
“Kate?”
“Sorry,” I said. “He’s … fine.”
Hillary circled the bar. “So, he’s not good, he’s not bad, he’s fine.”
“No,” I relented. “He’s bad.”
I proceeded to tell her of the pathetic monotony of my sex life. I went on and on about Jake and me, about things we hadn’t done, things we couldn’t talk about, and things I so desperately wanted to experience.
Hillary listened intently to me, and at one point, she grabbed my hand. She held it as I spilled my most intimate thoughts, unaware that my mouth was running faster than my brain. I stopped and choked back a gasp. “Oh wow. I’ve said too much.”
“No, no you haven’t. And I’d dare say that you’ve been holding that inside for a while.”
“Yes.”
“You need someone to talk to. I know that you and I haven’t been overly close in the past, but I’d like to change that. I’d like to be someone that you can turn to and trust.”
A red flag created from years of experience dealing with people like my husband went up. “In exchange for what?” I asked cautiously.
“Oh,” Hillary stammered. “I—I also have needs, wants that aren’t being met.”
“What wants?”
“Well, I want to play with my food and Garret’s got a sensitive way about him sexually. Have you ever thought of using food during sex?”
I couldn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry for being so direct, but out of all of my friends I feel that you are the most sincere and the most trustworthy.”
I blushed again, the redness to my cheeks instant, and I had to look away. She’s doesn’t know me, I thought. “Why do you think I’m trustworthy?”
“Because you’re sweet and quiet, and sadly, you’re afraid of your husband. If you ever did anything provocative with another person, say a friend, no one would ever find out about it. You’ll take all your secrets to the grave.” She reached for a huge sweet potato and said, “Besides that, you’re drop dead gorgeous.” She used the potato peeler and swiped the thick potato for a minute and then held it up near her face. “Look. It's a cock!”
I couldn’t help but to giggle. The slick, orange potato did in fact look like a long, thick penis, top and all. She laughed as she worked on the vegetable a little more before proudly displaying her masterpiece. “I added veins and a couple of wrinkles. Now it looks just like Garret.”
The sweet potato was huge and my eyes grew wide. I pointed and swallowed. “Garret’s that big?”
“Yes,” Hillary beamed. She waved the potato peeler over the counter-top and said, “Show me Jake.”
I slowly turned and studied the various vegetables in front of me. I first reached out for a longer, thicker russet and decided not to sugar coat my husband or his somewhat lacking manhood. I instead reached for a longer, thinner carrot. “This is Jake.”
“He’s that long?”
“Long and thin … like my legs,” I said uncharacteristically.
Hillary examined my legs and I watched her tongue lick her bottom lip. “You have amazing legs.”
“Thank you,” I said. I felt panicked. I grabbed the peeler from her and skinned the carrot in my hand as I talked. “Jake loves carrots. I don’t.”
“Garret and I don’t care for them either.” In silence, we both focused on the stalled dinner preparations. When I was done peeling a few carrots, I peeked up at Hillary. She was holding a massive English cucumber in both hands, and I chuckled. “That’s humungous.”
Hillary glanced at the two foot long vegetable. “It is. I was just thinking of …”
She paused and I asked, “What?”
“You have no idea what I want to do with this.”
We shared a stare and I couldn’t keep from reaching out and rubbing her upper arm with my fingers. I didn’t know what I was doing or thinking or feeling, but I suspect that my curiosity and unfounded willingness to reach out and touch her was the source of the moisture forming in my panties.
“Kate, I—I want to try something.”
“Okay,” I replied eagerly.
She pointed at my one-piece, wrap around dress. Cautiously, she said, “You’d have to get undressed.”
“Okay,” I quickly answered. Without truly thinking about what I was doing, I removed my clothes, unaware that Hillary was doing the same.
When my eyes fell upon her naked body, I gasped. Tight and healthy, her naturally beautiful physique was covered in the creamiest, smoothest, milk chocolate-colored skin I had ever seen.
“Wow, Hillary. You’re beautiful.”
I watched Hillary’s unblinking gaze move around my body. She spent a considerable amount of time on my breasts before she seemed to snap out of it. “I think it’s time for a little girl’s only fun.”
I smirked, the expression becoming easier to generate, and leaned over. With the tip of my finger, I flicked her hard nipple. I pulled my hand back and shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“I do. You want a little excitement in your life and you feel safe here with me.”
“Yes.”
She took a step closer to me we shared another, gentle stare. She reached out and I noticed her hands tremble. I grabbed her hands and slowly, we stepped into each other and embraced.
Hillary felt incredible, like nothing I had ever felt before. Her skin was so soft and smooth and was unbelievably warm. I relished in her embrace and quickly noticed that one of us was trembling, but I couldn’t tell who.
“Oh Kate,” Hillary moaned as her hands explored my body. She kneaded my breasts and leaned in for a kiss, and I gladly offered my lips to her. She kissed me, her lips wet, billowy and sweet, and I had never tasted anything so good in all my life. Our tongues got acquainted as one of her hands made its way down my tummy to my privates.
I didn’t know what to do next, and found my hands mimicking hers. Her breasts were firm, indescribably so. Before I could ask her if she had implants, she was turning me around. “Here, sit like this.”
Without much time to react, I found myself lying face down on the cold counter-top amongst piles of chopped vegetables. My ass was high the air, my legs spread apart by my bent knees atop two tall bar stools. Hillary ran a finger down the back of my thigh.
“Wanna have Garret inside you?”
I looked up and watched Hillary dip her carved sweet potato into a container of white shortening. “Um … where do you think that’s going?”
She gently pressed on the middle of my back and spoke closely to me. “Relax and let me show you.”
I felt the tip of the thick, wet potato against my outer pussy lips and I flinched. “Hillary, no. I think that’s too big for me.”
“Relax,” she said, slowly easing the carved head of the potato dildo into my wet, throbbing cunt.
“Ahh,” I cried. The potato was hard and stretched me to a painful width. I was certain it was tearing me. “Stop Hillary. Please!”
“Just relax, Kate. You’re not going to tear.”
I pinched my eyes closed. The sting from my stretched opening was real, intense, and I made a conscious decision to focus on Hillary’s hand on my back. She was comforting me, her soft hand rubbing circles on my skin. I took a deep breath, then another, and finally relaxed.
Hillary could see and feel me calm and once again worked to glide her carved toy inside my taught hole. “There,” she said, the circular strokes on my back temporarily stopping.
I slapped at the granite beneath me and slightly leaned up. “You got that monster spud inside me?”
“Almost. Damn, Kate. You’re too tight. Doesn’t Jake ever stretch you out with his fingers?”
“No,” I said, falling back to the granite and closing my eyes. I exhaled loudly at the same time Hillary pulled the huge potato from my expanded pussy. Just when I thought she was going to pull it out, she urged it forward again, not stopping until she nearly lost the vegetable from her grasp.
In and out she slowly worked our edible toy and I was panting. The feeling of being stretched to a burning degree, was amazing, and her soothing touch was just as intoxicating. A sinking feeling, that familiar sensation that an orgasm was brewing inside me stirred, and I groaned loudly with pleasure.
Hillary slid the greased potato from my tender slit.
