Online Seduction

Prologue

I don’t know what brought me to this point. Am I a sex addict? I don’t think so. Then who am I? Perhaps I’m just a 55-year-old woman who needs to feel beautiful and desirable, whose husband is neglecting her; a husband who no longer notices her; a husband who would rather play golf than play with her.

At fifty-five, I was beginning to feel undesirable, even though I could easily pass for forty-five. Since I never had children, I was able to keep my figure and in recent months had let my hair grow long. So now I’m a slim, petite woman with gorgeous long blonde hair who could pass for forty-something. I’m a sensual, sexy woman who needs passion, a woman willing to experiment, and a woman who wants to fulfill her sexual fantasies. All that sounds like a dangerous combination for a married woman, even I thought so, and I would soon learn just how destructive it might be.

It actually began about two years earlier while on a weekend cruise to the Bahamas when I accidentally picked up an erotic novel from a bookstore because I had forgotten to pack a book. I became a post-menopausal woman, who should be uninterested in sex, who now wanted to fuck … a lot. I thought my lack of interest in sex was physical, but then I started reading erotica on a regular basis and couldn’t get enough of it. I faithfully bought the newest releases from my favorite authors, Megan Hart, Emma Holly, Lacey Alexander, and Laurell K. Hamilton, just to name a few. Their books were hot, steamy, and they were making me hot.

My first erotic novel was Laurel K. Hamilton’s Micah, a book from the Anita Blake series. Parts of it were so sexually intense, so erotic, that I was getting so turned on, all I wanted to do was suck my husband’s cock. I thought he would be thrilled with my renewed interest in sex, but nothing was further from the truth. He didn’t desire me, and I was devastated.

Perhaps part of my need to feel desired has to do with the affair he had eight years earlier. Had I forgiven him for it? In a way, yes. Had I forgotten it? Of course not. Who could possibly ever forget such a devastating experience? Our brains are wired to store information. How do you delete things from your mind? If only one could.

"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,

And with some sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?"

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Memories can’t be erased that I’m aware of, although there was a report of a beta-blocker that could treat post-traumatic stress disorders, but I’m not sure this situation would apply, although it was traumatic for me at the time. Life is about lessons learned, right? I believe it was the Dali Lama who said, When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. Well, I sure as hell didn’t lose the lesson, but this isn’t the first time I’ve lost. It’s too bad trust gets in the way of rational thinking sometimes; trust and maybe love.

So, after my discovery of the world of erotic literature, I began my spiral down to this world of sex and increased appetite for sensual pleasures. Many times I’ve said to myself that I’m spiraling out of control. Many times I’ve said I was going to stop sexting and stop thinking about fucking different men, but somehow I can’t seem to stop even though it sometimes makes me feel cheap and degraded. I’m not a bad person. My public persona is professional, polite, and lady-like; respectable. I speak with a soft Southern accent and because I’m small, I appear innocent, almost virginal. My new boss calls me his Southern belle. My friends actually joke about taking me out and getting me drunk so I’ll let loose a little. They think I’m too straight laced. What would they think about me now, the behind closed doors slutty me? Sometimes I don’t even like myself.

I’m really a classic introvert. I was shy in high school, and had little social life. I was your typical wall flower in a crowd and had limited communication skills. Even now, I don’t do well in a room full of strangers. I need someone to cling to. My summers were spent at the public library or in my room reading. I missed out on a lot of life during that time and regret it now. I was attractive and probably would have been popular if I hadn’t been so shy. High school is one of the most important times in a person’s life. What happens then affects your entire life, and I suppose I’m trying to make up for lost time. In some ways, I’m more beautiful now than I’ve ever been and I now have the skills to pleasure.

So I’ve got this new found interest in sex, willing to experiment and willing to have sex as often as my husband wants, and be a willing participant. I’ve learned a lot from reading erotica; new positions, new techniques, and desire. I approached him with renewed interest and suggested sex more often. I was humiliated when he turned me down. It was a difficult subject to approach. After all, I’m an introvert, and always fear rejection. Shyness comes with the territory, even with those we’re close to.

I’m a hot looking woman. Men look at me and flirt with me all the time. His friends flirt with me, brag about me to him, but he isn’t interested in fucking me more than once every week or so.

I finally told him, I’ll be available to you whenever you want. It will be up to you to come to me. It seemed like a less hurtful arrangement, but what I didn’t realize at the time was that it was just another form of rejection, whether I approached him and he wasn’t interested or whether he didn’t approach me at all. Rejection has many faces.

Chapter 1

The afternoon didn’t turn out even remotely like I had planned. I was to meet him at a coffee shop, chat for a bit, then go home wondering if I wanted to take it further. What happened was making out in his car, him sticking his hand down my jeans and getting me off and, feeling a little obligated, I felt like I had to return the favor.

The mistake was mine for getting in his car in the first place. We were in a shopping center parking lot in broad daylight. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m a mature woman, not a teenager with raging hormones. Shit!

When we met, he was wearing jeans. There was nothing wrong with that; a t-shirt, still nothing wrong with that; and well-worn dock shoes. Maybe they were comfortable, I don’t know. Should he have dressed a little more presentable to meet me the first time? Yes, I think he should have made a better effort to impress me. After all, I had taken special care to look attractive. Even though I was wearing jeans, I had on a nice low-cut sweater and a pair of heels, and my beautiful blonde hair was flowing down my back.

He was shorter than I expected; shorter and stockier than he looked in his Secret Lover profile photo which showed him in jeans, shirtless, and standing beside a motorcycle. His profile said that he was five foot eight, but he clearly wasn’t that tall. His face was wide, and he had short, thick black hair. Actually his head looked larger than it should have been for his body size. I don’t know why I agreed to meet him after I saw his pictures. Maybe I was just lonely and wanted attention.

We sat in Panera Bread and talked for the good part of an hour, about work, our spouses, travel, just normal chit-chat, and then he asked if I wanted to take a walk. We walked for another thirty minutes before he asked me to sit in his car.

We kissed for a while, then he unhooked my bra and rolled my nipple between his fingers. Nipples are my most erogenous zone. Touch my nipples and you’re irresistible. He didn’t know that, of course. It was just lucky for him. He unsnapped my jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper so he could get to my pussy. I have to admit, it did feel good, but we were in a public place in broad daylight. Somehow, though, I was able to focus enough to cum. Then he asked me to suck his cock. I didn’t want to, but didn’t know how to say no. I really am bad at this game. Lucky for me it was small, so small I wasn’t even sure he had a hard on. I did the best I could with what I had to work with since I’ve never sucked a cock that tiny. Finally he came, although it seemed to take forever, and I so much wanted it to be over with.

Should I expect to have sex just because my pussy gets wet from kissing? Does that mean you’re attracted to someone? I‘m a little confused about that, but what the fuck do I know? I’m a married woman who has never had affairs, I‘m an affair virgin. He dropped me off at my car on his way to a store to buy a new T-shirt since the one he was wearing now had cum and my make-up all over it and he had to go home to his wife. Should I believe everything he told me about himself? Not really, but what reason did I have not to? It seemed so improbable that at forty-six years old, he had