“Girlfriend, what’s the matter?  You look like you lost your best friend!  What’s up?”  My best girlfriend’s face was full of concern. 
I hadn’t realized that I looked so morose.

She kept looking at me, waiting for me to talk.  I felt that if I did, I would burst out crying.  Finally I got up from the table and motioned for her to follow me.  I hurried to the Women’s restroom, hoping I would get there without seeing someone I knew. 
When she was inside with me, I locked the door.  She hugged me as I sobbed.
 “What is up hon?  Did Les leave you or what?”
I shook my head, still unable to talk.
 “That son of a bitch cheated on you, didn’t he?” 
 “No no no!” I sobbed, shaking my head vociferously.
 “What then baby!??  Tell me!  I can’t help lest you tell me baby!”
I finally was able to calm down long enough to talk a bit.  “No, Les is still dumb fat and happy.  It’s just that, well, I, you know . . . .”  I looked at her, feeling like such a waste of human tissue.
All of a sudden her face filled with comprehension.  “Oh my god, you took a lover and he dumped you?”
At that, the blunt blatant truth, I sank onto the filthy floor of the rest room and sobbed my heart out.

My best friend helped me get up off the floor and lean against the dirty sink as I cried like the jilted lover I was.  She held me tight, not trying to get me to talk yet.  Finally I sniffled and grinned sheepishly at her.
 “Did you love the asshole?” she asked, trying, like the wonderful friend she is, to figure out how she could still help my broken heart to heal.
 “No, he was just a warm body to play with.  I didn’t love him or anything.  It’s just that . . .”  I started crying again, but not as harshly.
 “So if you didn’t love him, what did he do to make you feel so bad?”
 “He dumped me cause . . .”
 “Cause?” 
I certainly was making no sense.  I knew that.  I took a deep breath and exhaled. Then I confessed my shameful shortcoming.  “Cause he said I was the worst lay he had ever had.  He said . . . . I was terrible in bed.  He said . . . . he said . . . it felt better to jerk off than do me.”  I wailed in my shame, then tapered of slowly until I was sobbing softly again.
My girlfriend was too shocked to speak.  She stared at me long enough to realize I was serious.  Finally she took my hand, unlocked the door, then lead me out the back door of the pub, guiding
me to her car.

When we had closed the car’s doors, she turned to me and commanded me to “Spill it.”
I confessed to her how he had wanted me to suck on his thing, and how he had wanted to put his thing in my bottom, and how he wanted to show my chest off in public.  And wear no panties.  All of which I had refused to allow to happen.
She looked at me, a bit shocked.  “Why wouldn’t you suck his cock hon?” she asked, mystified.  Looking seriously confused, she thought about that for a few moments.  Her eyebrows winkled into thought.  “Have you ever sucked a man’s cock before?”
I shook my head.
 
 “Oh my GOD!  . . . . . Suz, we have got to get you WITH it!  You are stuck in the fifteenth century hon!  Girlfriend, you got some LEARNing to do!”
I was stunned!  My girlfriend was taking that nasty, awful man’s side!  She thought I was wrong!  My face must have belied my hurt, my shock at her callous comments.  How DARE she take that awful man’s side in this!
She started to giggle.  “I guess those granny pannies of yours really do portray your attitudes toward sex!”

 “GRANNY PANNIES!  How dare you!”
 “Suz, no one wears those white baggy, monstrous things any more.  My god woman!  Get WITH it!”  She started the car.  “I am taking you shopping.   You have worn those ancient outmoded things for the last time.  We are buying you some real underwear, thongs and bras that are sexy and ‘in’ toDAY!”
I crossed my arms, furious with her uncaring attitude.  I was both hurt AND pissed as hell now!
She pulled up in front of Victoria’s Secrets, grabbed my purse and yanked me into the store.  We spent way too much money.  She made me try on some sexy negligees and see-through tops, and a bunch of other expensive clothes.  She piled everything she wanted me to buy on the sales counter and handed the sales clerk my credit card.
 
We walked out with a bunch of sacks clearly labeled ‘Victoria’s’.  From there she drug me through an upscale clothing store where she spent another couple of thousand dollars on exterior daytime clothing.  I was glad that I was the one that paid our bills.  Les would have slipped a lug nut if he ever saw THIS bill!  But then again, maybe I should make him see them!  It would serve him right!  The old putz.

Tiff looked at me.  “Les know anything about this at all?  Any inkling you are out fucking around on him?”
 “TIFF!  Please don’t use those words!  They are gross and ugly!”
She gave me one of her looks.  “Answer the damn question, miss goody two shoes.”
 “Well,  . . . . .  no . . . . .” I replied, a bit cowed by her indignation.
 “So let me get this right.  You’re a married woman.  You go to bed with a man you have no feelings for.  You have nothing but contempt for your husband.  I bet you two don’t even fuck each other any more, do ya?”

I started to protest her accusation, especially using that awful word, but realized she had made a valid point.  I shook my head, feeling cowed again.  I felt my cheeks blush in shame.  She had summed it up too well for my fragile sense of well-being.
She poured it on.  “So how long has it been since your husband fucked you, anyways?”  She watched my face as she drove along, making me fearful she would wreck.  Finally she looked back to where she was driving.  I exhaled and answered huffily, “We don’t ‘F’, we make love.”
She laughed uproariously.  “Oh BULLSHIT!  You don’t suck his cock; I bet you won’t even let him eat your damn pussy!  I bet you make him be on top in the staid and boring missionary position while you fuck.  That is NOT making love.  That is just boring pigeon sex!”

I had no idea what pigeon ‘S’ was, but I was not going to ask.  I clamped my arms tighter across my chest.
Tiff laughed at me.  “You actually have your bottom lip stuck out, Suz!  That is hilarious.  I hit it right on the head, didn’t I?”
I HATE it when she’s right!
 “So how long, you little miss goody-two-shoes?  Spit it out!”
I had no idea, but to admit that was too much for me to eat crow about. 
 “You actually do not know, do you?”
I started to cry.

 “So let me try to summarize.  You refuse to fuck your husband because he wants sex that isn’t boring.  You refuse to have unboring sex, so he just watches television and then whacks off when you aren’t home, probably to some porno web site.  You have to wear granny-pannies and huge white boring bras, because if you wear sexy stuff, he might think you want sex.  But no, you can’t act like you want sex because then you might have to act like you’re turned on.  If you act like your turned on, you might actually GET turned on, and have a damned orgasm.  And you can’t have that cause then you would be a slut in your own mind.  So in your warped mind, being a slut does not include fucking around on your bored-out-of-his-mind-but-still-not-cheating-on-you husband, but that does not stop you from fucking some cutesy stranger who expects you to be openly sexual while you have your extramarital affair.  You even refuse to be sexy with HIM, but when he complains that he wants you to be sexy, you adamantly refuse and he finally says ‘fuck you bitch’ and goes to find a woman to play with that actually ENJOYS sex!”  She chuckled sardonically.  “Did I get it right?”

I had never thought about it like that, but I still could not admit that this was MY problem.  It had to be somebody ELSE’S!  If it were mine, I would have to face my inner stingy, inhibited self, and go to all the trouble of kicking my mother out of my sex life.  That was a scary thought.
My silence was my answer.  But, my eyes tearing, I could not deny it to myself any more.  Even though every pore in my body wanted it to be the other person’s problem, my husband, my jilting lover, my mother . . . .

I started sobbing again.  I hate self-honesty.  And I hate people that swear.  And I hate the ‘F’ word.  And I hate people that want me to move outside of my dinky, cramped comfort zone.
But mostly I hate feeling inadequate.  And I am clearly inadequate when it comes to sex.  To be dumped by a guy that I had given my body to because I was such a bad lay was too much for me to get past.  And . . . . . I had NO idea how to get past it!  I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to get past it.  I visualized my life continuing on like it was, and decided that was not acceptable either.  Les made too much money, and bought me too many nice things to even consider a divorce.  I liked the benefits of being married to my boring husband.  I just hated not having any one to cuddle with at night, and kiss and talk to about my intimate inner feelings.

Tiff then said, “Lady, I am coming over to your house tomorrow at three o’clock.  I am going to dress you up and take you out tomorrow night.  It will be Friday and you damned well better be ready to do what I tell you to do.  We are going to pop your top and teach you to fizz!  Tell Les you are staying the night with me and won’t be home, got it?”  She put her hand on my arm and said, “Hon, I am going to help you learn to like yourself.  Now wouldn’t that be a novel thing?”
I nodded slightly as I felt some sort of strange tingling ‘sinsation’ between my tightly clamped thighs.

Tiffany did indeed show up at my house at three o’clock, to my chagrin.  Tiff took the time to help me find clothing that was, in the final analysis, slightly suggestive but not lewd.  Looking at myself in the mirror in my closet, I had to admit that I did look intriguing.  I did not look like a naughty woman, which was what I was most concerned about.  And even though I was wishing I could wear my cotton underwear that I was used to, the tiny little thing she did let me wear was not THAT uncomfortable.  I worried that my exposure would be observable, being covered only by those tiny fabric panels . . . and that silly string down my backside.
The mistake I made was letting her take HER car.  I was her captive.

She drove about thirty minutesbefore she pulled into the parking lot of a country and western bar.  The music was blasting when we walked in.  I felt out of place in my intriguing clothes.  I wondered if Tiff had deliberately dressed me so that I would not blend in.  I tried not to be suspicious of her motives.  After a long hard thinking session, I had decided that, MAYBE, her un-asked-for analysis of my self-serving attitudes were partially responsible for my predicament MIGHT even be partially true.
We quickly ducked into an empty table in the corner of the bar.  As I surveyed the room, I had to chuckle over the hats and clothing of the ‘locals’.  They really did look like they had come from the farm.  I thought I could even see some barnyard excrement on a few of the boots they were wearing.  It seemed like they were ALL wearing boots, even the women!  Everybody but Tiff and me, that is.

But when the music started up, I was really intrigued by the various dances that they did.  Some of the men (and the women) were really very good at the dances where they were swinging their women out and back in and twirling them.  The line dances looked like fun, and when the slow music came on, I enjoyed watching the couples dancing closely.  I have to admit I love to dance.  But for the first time since skinny, braces-on-my-teeth childhood, I was not asked to dance by anyone.  I was disappointed, to say the least.
 
After two hours of watching everyone else have fun while I watched, I was more than ready to go home.  But I couldn’t find Tiff.  She had been dancing with lots of guys all night.  It escaped me why SHE was dancing, had LOTS of requests, but I had none.  We were dressed quite similarly, and I was prettier than her, I told myself, trying to assuage my growing anger.  I had been sipping the same stale weak beer I had ordered when we got here.

Out of the crowd she appeared, grinning and giggling, a cute cowboy in tow.  She pulled the guy to a chair then plopped down on his lap wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek.  He was staring at me, his grin gone.  I wondered how her husband would like seeing at a picture of her perched on the cowboy dude’s lap like that.

“This is Gary, Tiff!  Isn’t he a doll?”  She turned her head sideways and kissed him full on his lips. 
His eyes stayed on mine.  He didn’t even blink.  His cobalt blue eyes just stared.  I could not take the directness of his stare and looked down.  When I looked back up, Tiff and he were kissing, obviously using tongue.
“I’ve gotta piss, sorry ladies, be back in a couple.” 
Tiffany giggled as she leaned over and asked how come I was not dancing with anyone.
“Cause nobody asked me,” I replied huffily.
“You know why?” Tiff asked, not even denying the obvious.
Now I was really upset.  Here she was again indicating this was MY problem, not the men’s.  I wondered, self defensively, how it could be MY fault when it was the man that always was supposed to ask the lady to dance?  Mother had said so many times, indicating I was a slut if I asked the guy.
Realizing that thoughts of my mother had flooded my head when I was thinking of excuses for my own inaction, made me flinch mentally. 
My mother. 
Again!
I shook my head.

She blustered on.  “Have you ever in your life flirted with a man?  If you don’t flirt, they are not going to risk asking you just to have you turn them down.  If EVERYone played your game of disdain, the men would eventually take the risk. . .  maybe, . . . . but most of the women here know how to flirt.  Flirting tells a guy you will accept his offer to dance.  Flirting lessens his risk.”
My mind was instantly flooded with the words of my mother castigating me because I had smiled at a guy at church.  I knew exactly how old I was at the time too, I was six years old.
My mother again.  I was beginning to pick up a pattern.

Gary came back to the table, sat, and immediately had Tiff on his lap again.  They kissed sensuously as his hands began to roam.  I could hear Tiff moan slightly as they kissed, and his hand began to fondle her buttocks.  His cobalt blue eyes were watching my brown eyes staring at his hand on my friend’s bum.

In my mind, loud and clear, I heard my mother express her indignation at my friend’s lack of reproof of the man’s lewd actions.  I found myself getting a bit tired of my mother controlling my thoughts.  For the first time in my life, I was able to “hear” her words of condemnation as I felt myself responding to what I witnessed around me.

It was about then that the light of understanding finally came on in my head.
A man walked by our table.  I took a huge risk, deliberately closed my ears to my mother’s voice, and smiled at him, looking him in the eye.  He stopped and asked me to dance!  I could not believe it.  All I had to do was smile at him, and he instantly asked me to dance!
And oh my goodness could he dance!  I had more fun than I had had in years!  When the slow dances came around in the song rotation, we danced sensuously.  Working hard at leaving my mother at the table, I felt myself hoping he would pull me tight to him, but he didn’t . . . . until I stepped closer on my own volition.  Then his arms encircled me, holding me as if he cherished me.  I found myself wishing, as we danced, that Les would hold me this tenderly, . . . . . would even TRY to dance with me.
 
I tried to remember the last time I had flashed him a huge smile like the one I had enticed my dance partner with.  It must have been a long time ago, because I could not even remember the last time I had wanted to smile at him.  I felt a tiny tear in my right eye.
Another slow dance and my partner pulled me close during the first few bars.  After a few moments, I could feel his manhood pressing against my tummy.  My mother started to scream at me, but I told her to shut up!  Then I concentrated on what his member felt like as it announced its desire for me.  I felt beautiful for the first time in a very long time.  I felt desired.  I looked up at his face and smiled as I pressed my tummy onto his bulge.  I felt honest to god tremors low in my body.  I actually felt my body freshen. 
It felt fantastic!

My dance partner had to leave, so he guided me back to my table.  Once there he sat down beside me and told me, “You are a lovely, gorgeous sexy woman.  I wish I could spend more time with you.  Perhaps next time we are both here?”
Close to tears, I could only nod.  Then I kissed him.  Softly . . . I let my lips caress his.  He smiled as he kissed me back.  He then caressed my wedding ring and looked at me questioningly.
I blushed, but told him that I was indeed married.  He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask about my tummy pressed against his bulge.  I smiled.  “I am searching for the real me,” I explained.
 “I sincerely hope you find her, and that you like her when you do,” he replied.  One final soft kiss and he was gone.

I was dreamily remembering our dancing when the waiter arrived with four shots of tequila and four wedges of lime.  Tiff arrived a few seconds after the tequila. 
 “Bottoms up, girlfriend, I am going to get you laid tonight!”  She picked up one of the shot glasses and tipped it back, drinking the whole thing in one fluid gulp.  She then bit the lime and grimaced.  When she opened her eyes again, she stared at me.  “I said, bottoms up!” 
I shut my mother up and did what she had done.  I am not sure how, but I fell off my chair.
Talk about surprised!
Tiff picked up her second shot glass and I picked up the last one.  Together we drained them.  My god did I have a funny feeling in my head a few seconds later!  I realized I probably should have eaten something.

I was grinning from ear to ear.  I got another offer to dance.  I accepted, it just happened to be a slow dance, and my partner’s bulge was pressed against my fluttery tummy almost instantly.  I found myself wondering what it looked like. 
Steeling my nerve, I looked up at him and smiled as I again pressed my tummy against his wedge.  He smiled back at me, obviously thinking something profound in his mind.  When the dance was over, he lead me back to the table and ordered more shots of tequila. 
He egged me into drinking three of them before we again danced.  His bulge was insistent now.  I pressed my breasts against his stomach and just swayed against his erection.  I felt his muscular thigh between my legs, and I loved the sensation of the teasing touches of his thigh on my body, down there.

He took me by the hand and led me outside.  He lit up a cigarette as I stood there awkwardly.  When he tried to kiss me, I could not handle the smell of his smoke.  I smiled sadly at him, shook my head, and returned to my table.  There were four more shots sitting there.  I was buzzed, but I was also bummed.  I downed two of them, then smiled at another man.  We were dancing in a heartbeat.  I can clearly remember just how huge this man was.  His stomach was almost at the level of my head.  My chest was right at the height of his unmentionables.  I shoved mom back in the closet and kissed his bulge!  I felt free! 
I was fully giddy now.  I looked at him and blurted out, “I wanna suck your big cock!”  I could not believe I said that, but I was glad I had.  He instantly led me from the dance floor and out behind the bar.  He sat me on the top of a barrel and put his hands on both sides of my face.  He began to kiss me. 
I kissed him back.

I felt his huge hands on my breasts.  I could not wait for him to take advantage of me further.  I felt my hand touching his bulge.  Then he unzipped himself and put my hand back on his nakedness.  I learned what “He made me wet” meant at that instant.  It felt so good in my hands.  I stared at it, trying to learn by heart every single thing about it.  I kissed it.  I reveled in its slight masculine scent.  I licked its ice cream cone head.  I put the ice cream in my mouth and pulled my head back, letting the soft smoothness of his manhood caress my tongue, my lips.
 “Take it all honey!” he moaned.  Pressing against the closet door where mom was hiding, trying to remonstrate about my actions.  I put my lips on his head and slowly slid down his shaft.  I felt its firm slightly spongy head press against the back of my throat.  I reveled in his dominance of me.  I wanted all of him.

 “Put it in my body, I want to feel it inside me,” I moaned as I pulled my head back.
He wasted no time in stripping my thong from its protective role.  I remember the thrill of spreading my thighs wide for him, watching his eyes stare at my soft, exposed, lower lips.  I felt a shuddering thrill as he knelt to kiss me there.  The kiss felt far better than I ever thought it would.  He then stepped up to my widely spread legs, took my ankles, spread them even wider and asked me, “Are you sure you want me to fuck you bareback?”
I had never been asked that before. 
I nodded.

 “No baby, I want you to say it.  Say it so I can hear it.  I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us.”
My eyes were riveted to the head of his cock.  I heard myself say, “YES!  Fuck me with your bare cock!”  And with that, I guided his beautiful shaft to my quivering tunnel, where he proceeded to drill me until I passed out in delicious shuddering ecstasy. 
He was a true gentleman.  He waited until I was back awake before he drilled me more.  I started screaming four letter words as I closed in on the second orgasm of my life.  I shuddered four more times before he tensed, warned me of his impending eruption, and then filled my body with his sperm.  I passed out in utter ecstasy once more.
When I came to, we were not alone.  My cries of lust had alerted others and we were in the center of a circle of people.  My virile cowboy was still inside me.  He kissed me softly.  “Damn you’re a great fuck!” he murmured, as he began to rock himself into me again. 
 “REALLY?” I asked.  I started crying in jubilant exultation.  I had finally found my real self,
. . . . finally.

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