The Aftermath of a Marriage Pt. 04

An intro from Jayne,

Whilst not essential as I believe this stands alone by itself as an erotic adventure, I do recommend that you read the earlier parts of the story before plunging into this.

The period after a marriage breaks down when the parties start living apart is strange. I know as I have been going through it for the past year or so. In my case that year was a period of celibacy for me. The previous parts of this account explain how I dealt with that celibacy. This part deals with how I handled ending the celibacy and celebrating my divorce with my first sex.

First dates.

After the trauma of my first sex as a single woman being with my ex-husband, I knew that I couldn't keep letting him fuck me. As enjoyable and surprising as that one had been, and as much as he may have wanted me to be his go to fuck when he had no other women, particularly young twenty somethings which are his penchant, on the go, I knew that I couldn't be that and that I had to get my sexual act together. The year of online erotic revelry also had to end. I couldn't go on being a cyber junky and getting my rocks off online. I knew reality had to play a part, the questions were when and how?

Fortunately, I had some opportunities to seek pastures new. I was a member of both a tennis and a golf club, I had recently joined a book reading group, I was back in the business world making new contacts and I had a reasonably sized group of girl friends who had been offering during my celibacy period to fix me up on dates. However, before possibly trying to enjoy any of the social opportunities of those I had to recognise the environment I lived in as a divorcee. From my general social life, I had learned quickly how separated and divorced women have a reputation.

We are thought of as being free from social and sexual constraints and can go with who we wish, when we wish and do what we wish with them. Clearly, most men know full well that we are continuously gagging for it and they are just the one to 'help us out!' Also, I was amazed to find so many who had always fancied me and whose wives just don't understand them. Naturally, all female divorcees have enormous sex drives, know exactly what they want and are keen to get laid as and when they want. At the same time, we are considered by many wives to be husband snatchers who are up for anything and are not to be trusted in the company of their men and, of course, we all have the morals of alley cats!

My very first real date was arranged by a good friend. She was in a relationship, though wasn't married, as she'd got divorced a few years back after some fifteen years or so of marriage. She invited us both to dinner at her house in London and suggested on the phone that I travel by cab saying, "Then you and Martin can share one home as he lives in Greenwich and will go your way."

The meal went well as did the cab home and the brief kiss on the cheek outside my apartment complex after we'd exchanged numbers and emails and had agreed on another date. He emailed a few days later thanking me for being a nice dinner companion and asked if I'd like to do it again soon with just the two of us. I emailed back that I'd be delighted to do that and suggested he call me which he did the day after receiving my email showing that he was in no hurry which rather impressed me. During the call he invited me to his house saying that he would cook dinner, a very 2020s man's thing, I later realised.

In the two days before the date, my mind had been on little else. I wasn't at all sure that I really wanted to go on it at all and if I did just what I would do. Do in this situation meant sexually. Although other than with Kevin a few weeks ago just days after the divorce came through, I had not been on a date for nigh on twenty-five years, I assumed that having dinner at his home would involve a degree of intimacy. I was acutely aware that we'd be alone in his house for several hours and I guessed that nowadays people of our ages didn't go by the old-fashioned rules that stipulated hardly any sexual activity on the first couple of dates and full sex not before the fourth.

I just could not get my head around whether I would go to bed with him if that was proposed. On the one hand I wanted to. I was missing sex and all that Kevin had done was make me want to have another man. I needed to know whether I would be able to respond to and accept his advances. Whether I would become aroused and indeed, whether I would be able to have an orgasm? I'd had no physical contact with a man, other than that Sunday lunch with Kevin for so long and, although I had found relief and a degree of satisfaction from other means, I knew that I was enormously frustrated. I was also concerned at that just as I had been when getting ready to meet my ex-husband, I was worried that I would appear rather inexperienced and that I might climax too quickly and make a sexual fool of myself. Was dating worth it I began to wonder?

Countering all this, though, was my natural reticence. I had never given myself away easily, I'd never had a one-night stand and I didn't want to start this new period of my life as being an easy lay! But therein I realised there may be a problem as I was beginning to think that was exactly what I was becoming, an easy lay. On top of that, although I liked him and did, as far as things had gone, quite fancy him, I didn't know whether this would transmit itself into the sort of sexual chemistry that I felt would be necessary to have good sex with him. I was out of touch with seduction. It had been so long that the outlook that seems to have become quite natural nowadays of, 'we get on well so we fuck' had never been part of my thinking.

So, in a quandary I had packed Sara who was home for the school holiday, off for the night as opposed to having a friend in, just in case I stayed over. As I was getting ready, I was like a schoolgirl on a first date. I could not decide what to wear. Rejecting some things because I felt they were too sexy and others because they were too formal, I took ages to prepare myself. I bathed, washed my shoulder-length blonde hair, dried that and spent simply ages with my make-up and tried several pairs of glasses before settling on a pair with quite fashionable tortoiseshell frames that my daughter had told me looked sexy.

I felt that I had better dress with a view to being undressed later, so I paid special attention to my underwear.

Should it be seductive black or virginal white? Or a pastel colour in between? I pondered on the bra. Lacy, thin and see through so that should my nipples erupt, as they often did far too easily and without warning, they would be clearly visible through it and my top, or thicker and more supportive to create a more interesting and dramatic cleavage? Tights or stockings? I mused over these critical matters for ages? And then of course there was the panties. The modern, high-waisted cut acutely at the thighs type or, perhaps, a thong, maybe the one I hadn't worn for Kevin, or, possibly boy shorts or little bikini ones?

God the agonies of rejoining the dating game.

I eventually got myself to his house and we had a couple of drinks before he served me a well-prepared dinner which, as I felt so nervous, I hardly tasted. Although the atmosphere was easy between us, I couldn't really relax and I think that much of the time I was behaving rather out of character. Although some of the concerns I had were being reduced by the bottle or so of white wine that we drank, at the end of the meal, I got up and said that I would clear away but he wouldn't hear of it saying, "Leave it until the morning," which to my ears sounded as if he was expecting me to do it then!

Nevertheless, feeling surprisingly warm towards him I went round the table and I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for the lovely meal. His hand reached out and rested on my hip as I bent over and my top of course gaped a little. His eyes, naturally I suppose, went down my top and he pulled me onto his lap. How many years had it been since I had sat on a lap and had a snog, I wondered as I felt a hardness against my hip in the thin, black leather trousers I had chosen!

We kissed for some time with his hands running up and down my back, outside the fairly loose, pink and grey cashmere sweater. That sent pleasant feelings through me. I felt comfortable and fairly at ease on his lap and showed no resistance when his went hands inside the sweater onto my bare back and slid up and down my spine going near to my bra strap. The intensity of his kiss increased and I responded. As his tongue searched deep into my mouth sending signals of his passion to me, my tongue touched his and pressed back against it. That obviously worked for slowly he moved his hand round to the front moving closer and closer to my breasts, but taking the time to gain my tacit approval at each stage.

Then lightly he touched one of them and it felt wonderful. The first time a new partner touches a woman intimately really is lovely and so arousing and this was no exception. They had not been caressed by anyone other than Kevin and me for such a time, so the feelings were even more intense and special. Whilst they were lovely, they were not of the mind-blowing intensity of those when Kevin did it to me as the first person other than me to fondle and caress them in over a year.

Slowly and gently, Martin stroked and rubbed me through the thin, black lace bra teasing the pink tip into a rock-hard protuberance. Feeling no resistance at all from me, he became more welcomingly adventurous easing his fingers inside one of the cups so that they were right on the nipple that once more exploded with feelings.

Now confident of my compliance and agreement his boldness grew and he pushed the thin sweater up so that he could see my breasts. I was pleased with my choice of bra for I knew that his eyes would be gazing at the two orbs encased in the gossamer thin, black net material and that he would be seeing the swollen nipples clearly.

"Oh Jayne they are so lovely!"

It's a very special moment when a new partner gazes at a woman's nearly bare breasts for the first time. The feelings of pride as he compliments you and the, usually, clear indications that you are arousing him are lovely as is the want that seems to go through one from exposing such an intimate part of your body. His hands, now on my bare flesh, did incredible things to me and he murmured,

"Let's go to bed Jayne?"

Of course, this was the 64,000-dollar question and it really hit home to me. Although I'd been half-expecting it, I was still surprised and wondered if I could or should go through with it. Naively and rather ridiculously I suddenly thought, 'I'll have to undress and he'll see me naked' and that mildly alarmed me. It hit me that no man other than Kevin had seen me sexually naked in all those years and that scared me. But words escaped me and I couldn't reply either to say yes or no, so for some inane reason I put my arms around his head and pressed my breasts against his face. If anything, that encouraged him even more and he pulled the sweater up at the back and we manhandled it over my head and off. Still with my boobs in the bra pressed against his face, it was only moments later that I felt the clasp being unclipped and the pressure on my breasts relieved as he removed the bra. He was now looking at me naked above the waist and he again said very softly, "Let's go to bed Jayne."

Feeling a little like a topless waitress at one of those lap dance clubs in London I stood up as he, in a rather laboured way, lifted himself out of the deep chair clearly a little embarrassed at his erection being on show. Standing, in just my black leather trousers and high heels, I waited until he was beside me the bulge in his trousers looking partly rather ridiculous but also inviting.

'Wow I've caused that,' I thought, feeling rather good, though apprehensive about the whole situation as my mind went back to the time with Kevin and how brilliantly sordid it had turned out to be.

We embraced and began to sort of dance to the music. His strong arms pulling me to him I felt ready for him and was relieved that I felt prepared to break my near celibacy in such a romantic style. I undid his shirt and let his quite hairy chest send extra thrills through the skin of my boobs as we gyrated together on the spot his hands exploring my bottom through the thin leather that was stretched taught across its rounded softness. As if glued together I felt the assuring hard length of his maleness pressing wonderfully and confidently into my belly. After such a long abstinence from feeling a stranger's erection against me, it was both exciting and a little daunting for I was out of practice at what to do. I would have known what to do had it been Kevin, but with someone new, a stranger I felt lost. However, female intuition and sheer lust, I guess, took over and I found myself pressing back against the length of very male flesh.

I felt quite embarrassed about how much my bare breasts were jiggling as he walked me up the stairs to his bedroom. That embarrassment and shyness increased and was accompanied by strong nervousness as we stood by the bed facing each other. Crazily really, but I had no idea what to say or do and, more to the point, what I wanted him to do. It was in many ways a new experience for me or, at least one I hadn't been in for so long that it might just as well have been new. One saving grace was that in a way it made me feel young as it reminded me of how I was as a teenager during my earliest sexual exploits.

Then Martin took a pace forward, closed the gap between us and placing both hands on the waist band of my black leather trousers, he whispered, "May I Jayne?" as he took hold of the button at the top of the flies.

'Oh fuck,' I thought, 'he wants to take my trousers off.' That didn't by any means scare the pants off me as the mere thought of him seeing me in just my panties and the holdup stockings sent alarm bells ringing in my mind. Also, the excitement I'd felt about the sordidness of the situation with Kevin and how that had turned me on so much flashed through my mind. For some reason the contrast to how I felt now hit me hard and made me think, 'Why the hell did I get so much pleasure and excitement from that yet almost a fear of this?'

With all those conflicting and confusing thoughts roaring through my mind, I grabbed his hand and pulled it away from my stomach saying, "No Martin stop don't."

"What Jayne?" he asked struggling against my pressure.

"Just stop, don't do that."

"What, don't do what?"

"Take my fucking trousers off," I snapped.

"God sorry I didn't er, um oh shit," he stammered as I moved away wishing I had something to cover my breasts as felt tears welling up. I turned away and walked towards the door, "Where are you going?"

"Downstairs."

"Okay," he mumbled following me out of the room. If my tits jiggled when I walked up the stairs with Martin they positively bounced around all over the place as I ran down them in front of him. Picking up my bra and top I shrugged into them and went to my bag for my phone. Calling an Uber I said I was sorry to Martin and that it wasn't him, it was me. He knew that I was recently divorced but didn't know that he was number one in the queue well after my ex-husband of course and, of course, he had no idea what was going on with me, but then, neither did I so how could he?

So ended my first effort at having sex with a near stranger.

After that unhappy and unfair, by me, episode with Martin I had to try and work out what the hell was going on with my libido and I contemplated going celibate again. However, I realised that I needed sexual arousal almost as much, and perhaps more some of the time, as sexual release and I knew that I couldn't go without sex as I had for the past year. I was starting to work things out. It was the buzz and thrill I got from being turned on and doing sexually outrageous things, like the masturbating on camera with virtual strangers and being fucked by Kevin, almost fully dressed in front of a floor to ceiling window in my home that I wanted. This took me some time to accept as over the next few weeks neither were far from my mind. Just as it had been whilst waiting for the divorce my body, particularly my breasts, felt like time bombs waiting to explode. Frequently I would start to tingle with that generally beginning in the base of my stomach and then oozing out all over my body. I could be sitting on a tube train or even driving when it started and within seconds my breasts felt as though they were on fire, my nipples were pounding and my knickers were being soaked, and that wasn't with wee!

During those weeks I was aroused every day and several times I thought of offering myself to guys who showed the mildest of interest in me but, of course I didn't. Equally, I resisted reverting to my chat room, cam and cybering activities of the last year and I restricted myself to individual masturbation sessions often now in front of a mirror using oil and a couple of vibrators, one for my breasts and the other on my clit and in me. That was all mildly satisfying but I knew full well that it would not and could not last.

And it didn't have to because from my dim and distant past Tom emerged. He was an Art Director at one of the agencies where I worked freelance. I had known him for years, not that well and certainly not intimately, but on terms that were close enough for us to chat easily.

We I sat next to each other at an advertising awards ceremony at the Savoy. Over the years I'd been to several and they were all rather grand and all crushingly boring, but as I had written some copy for an ad Tom had designed and we were nominated we had to be there. Fortunately, the client couldn't make it so we were able to overindulge in the free booze and by the time the room was darkened and the presentations started, we were both a bit tipsy. He pulled his chair closer to mine as along with many of the others on the round table we turned our chairs towards the stage. We laughed a lot taking the piss out of some of the ads and I felt his arm go round the back of my chair and his fingers rest on my shoulder.

"And what, Mr Mason, do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Actually, Ms West I'm trying to get into your knickers."

"Well as you know, better men than you in the ad industry have tried and better men have failed," I replied jokingly.

"Yes, but they haven't been close up to you when you're tipsy and just gagging for it have they?" he quipped back.

"Who says I'm tipsy?

"Well OK pissed then," he retorted as smiling I asked.

"Or gagging for it?"

"I heard that you got divorced."

"So?"

"It's a well-known fact that all female divorces are always gagging for it."

"Well known amongst who?" I asked slurring my words a little.

"Er amongst all London art directors," he came back with quickly.

Giggling I replied clearly far too quickly and without thinking, "Oh well it must be true then."

As the ceremony droned on so I felt his hand softly rubbing my shoulder and as we got nearer to our award section so his leg pressed against mine. As we both drank more wine so his foot ran up and down my calf and as we heard we hadn't won so I felt his hand on my leg.

"Oh well that's that then," he muttered leaning over so that his mouth was close to my ear. "We might as well go and have a quick fuck then, hadn't we?"

In my slightly pissed condition, I hardly thought before continuing with the banter and it seemed sort of cool really to say.

"Yeah I guess we should I suppose."

So, we did. Twice actually later that afternoon in his flat in Soho. And it was good. Neither of us was in that fit a state for sexual acrobatics so both times were leisurely and probably not that expert, but they were fun.