Author: IYAAYASUntrue

A 40yo steps out for the first time (Pt 3)

(I look, and there it is. There you are. Oh that I wish I could send you these words. Your D was straight and larger than what I had seen, but not scary large either. I’d never seen a tip like that. How textured and ridged it all was. How much larger the head was, leaving a definite shelf to the shaft for lack of a better description. How dark.)

And it was wet. Obviously you were happy to see me, as the joke goes. Me, the librarian. The one with the huge untapped appetites. The quiet girl polishing her glasses in the corner proof reading your paper.

I am watching your profile as you drive. We are on the freeway now. Not exactly private. Still.

“Can I-?” I ask gingerly. You know. Touch it, I mean. It is tall and striking and commands attention.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. Not unkindly. I watch your face to make sure. You are, I think, sincere. You are patient. You are leaving this up to me. Read more »

A 40yo steps out for the first time (Pt 2)

(Hours afterwards, in a hot bath, I am sore. I am sad to rinse your DNA away. I am tender. I am swollen. I was spotting as soon as I got a chance to empty my bladder afterwards and I saw the blood in the bowl. It is nowhere near period time. I am fundamentally different inside. You have reshaped me.)

You just grinned at me. When I opened your door and climbed up and into your truck. As Depeche Mode said it best on that aptly named album Violator, “Words are very… unnecessary”, and who wants words at this moment anyhow. As an experienced man I can only assume you sense my fever. I’m sure it was rolling off me like the fog of war. Only one way to cool it. Catch it if you can, my soldier.

How mundane this must seem to you. Another day, another middle aged mousey woman needing release. What a slog for you. Please humor me and do your job one more day.

“Drive.” I said, buckling in. Read more »

A 40yo steps out for the first time (Pt 1)

We had met once before. I was too shy, too untrusting. This man was not my husband, the only man I had known intimately. I sat on the edge of the truck seat, a tiger on her haunches. Ready to leap out of harm’s way in a second flat.

The man I had selected from a long list of suitors prattled on. Chosen. He was an inch shorter than I had asked for, but still an inch taller than me. That must be some kind of balance karma shit.

He was clever. He was clean shaven. He had a private pilot’s license and had had several affairs before. I did not know his last name. Yet I had seen him naked in photos. He explained how he kept getting entangled in workplace affairs and how it always ended messy. I listened, fascinated. My cheeks burning.

I watched him as he talked. He was confident but sweet. Masculine but approachable. He asked if he could kiss me; I shook my head, too shy for words. I watched him slyly in between hair falling across my face. A protective curtain. I had on yoga pants with slits up the side, he ran his fingers over them as a man choosing a luxury car fondles. My breath caught and goosebumps rose. Surely I am too old for this choosy man. Surely he is too beautiful to want me. Read more »