Cynthia Wondered

[Praefectus Praetorio]

With apologies to Messaline for paraphrasing her Messaline is Wondering. but this title works so well for Cynthia the Innocent.

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 1

Cynthia wondered where she was. She’s wondered this a lot the last couple of years. Since Jerry died. Jerry, husband of 30 years, died on their wedding anniversary just over two years ago. Good riddance.

Cynthia married right after she turned thirty. She liked him, she thought. Mostly she was terrified of being an “old maid”. When she was growing up, her mother had always spoken with pity about lonely “old maids”. It was a fate that no women could stand, Cynthia thought. Her father, a kindly old minister (47 years old when she was born) would gently hush his wife in this opinion; he called these women, “God’s unclaimed blessings.” He died when Cynthia was 14. Then, the day she graduated High School, her mother ran off. She left a note saying she had found a new man and he didn’t want a child around so they were leaving. She never heard from them again.

Cynthia was innocent. She was a pretty girl, but she tended to carry more weight than she wanted. “Chubby,” her mother called her. “Nice,” her father had always said. No dates in school, too shy to ask a boy and too scared to let one near. She knew about the basics of sex as every girl then knew, TV, movies, books. She was sure touching herself would be wrong. Also, wasn't it what “old maids” did? In her twenties, a few men asked her out; she turned down most – there was always some reason she had for why they were wrong. Those she went out with wanted to kiss and touch on the first date. She didn’t fight them; she just refused a second date.

So, Cynthia was innocent and alone, working a low-paid clerical job at a bill collection company, as she was approaching thirty. She knew then. She knew at thirty, she would be an “old maid.”

Then, she met Jerry. The older brother of a co-worker, he would come to give his sister a ride home. He had a nice shiny car. He offered Cynthia a ride too. Of course, she refused. But every day he was there driving his sister. Every day he asked; she was right on their route. One day, Cynthia said yes.

It wasn’t fast. Weeks of just a ride, then stopping for some fast food (Cynthia’s weakness; Jerry soon figured that out), then a drink at a nice outdoor café near her apartment. Jerry was a perfect gentleman, no touching, no kissing until two months later, when he asked first. And then just a light peck on the cheek. A couple months more and he asked her to marry him. Asked on her thirtieth birthday. He’d taken her out to a nice restaurant for her birthday (the first time anyone had celebrated her birthday since her father died). Cynthia was having a mini panic attack, thinking, “I’m 30, I’m officially an ‘old maid!’” And just then he did it! He got down on one knee and held up a tiny box with a tiny solitaire ring and said, “Will you marry me.”

Cynthia was innocent and alone. She didn’t know what love was. She didn’t really know what sex was. But Jerry had been kind to her. And she was alone. So, she said yes.

It had been a small wedding. They booked into a small hotel in the next town for a weekend honeymoon. Jerry wanted to save up their money for a house. She was a virgin, of course. Even knowing her, Jerry was surprised at that. And excited. He kept repeating, “God damn! I married a virgin!” The deed was pretty good. A bit of discomfort at first, but then a pleasant warm feeling as his hard member slipped in and out of her moist pussy. They did it again just before sleep. This time he was faster and it wasn’t quite as nice. She knew it took time. It would be better. Everyone said so.

It didn’t get better. It became a humiliating routine. Twice a week, Wednesday, Saturday, every week. At bed time, she would strip naked and lie on the bed with her legs spread to make it easy for him. He’d take a minute of two stroking her body and maybe sucking a tit. Then he’d enter her in two or three thrusts. Then he’d pound away for a couple of minutes, squirt, groan to himself and go to the bathroom to take a shit. End of lovemaking! She’s lie there, refusing to cry, her pussy sore. She told herself, “I’m not an ‘old maid’.” Fortunately, his sister was nice. She advised Cynthia about vaginal lubricant. That made it a lot less painful.

Thirty years. No children. Working her job. No promotions, few raises. Coming home and working to take care of Jerry. Cooking, cleaning, always trying to look as nice as a “chubby” woman could. Twice a week doing her duty.

As the years went by, he spoke less to her. He hardly noticed her. Then about their 25th anniversary, he started having errands to run some evenings. Business meeting that kept him late. The Wednesday, Saturday pattern began to be broken. Once a week, sometimes a week off. Jerry never wanted to take her out anymore. He wanted to “save the money.” Cynthia didn’t mind. She knew he had someone else. It was better than the feeling of being a kind of piece of meat twice a week.

For their 30th he would be home. She had saved out of her meager allowance (he took her pay and managed their money), and made a special dinner. His favorite dishes. A little red wine.

After a big dinner and wine, he sat slumped on the couch and watched some TV. He fell asleep and snored. Later the snoring stopped. When it was bed time, she couldn’t rouse him. She called 911. The ambulance came, but the EMTs couldn't revive him. Jerry was gone. The autopsy listed heart failure. He’s been treated for it for several years. A simple, cheap funeral. Now Cynthia was innocent and alone. She was surprised that the powder had worked so well.

 

[Loxuru]

Cynthia Wondered

A good demonstration of marriage morals!

 

[Wragg]

After a big dinner and wine, he sat slumped on the couch and watched some TV. He fell asleep and snored. Later the snoring stopped. When it was bed time, she couldn’t rouse him. She called 911. The ambulance came, but the EMTs couldn't revive him. Jerry was gone. The autopsy listed heart failure. He’s been treated for it for several years. A simple, cheap funeral. Now Cynthia was innocent and alone. She was surprised that the powder had worked so well.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

What a sweet card. It must have been her to him. He would never bother or spend money for her!

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 2

Cynthia wondered where she was. She’s wondered this a lot the last couple of years. Since Jerry died. Jerry, husband of 30 years, died on their wedding anniversary just over two years ago.

Cynthia was innocent and alone and naïve. Though married 30 years (exactly), sex had been laying there submitting to his five minutes of poke and ejaculate. Cynthia wondered a lot about sex these days. It was strange. She was old. Well past her “change in life.” A senior citizen. She should be over this. She was feeling more…arousal than ever before, even as a teen! And, strange to say, she seemed to think this way more around women than men. That made no sense.

Cynthia was trying to get out more. Her life with Jerry had been work and home. Jerry had not been much of a husband, but he earned good money, was careful with it (one could say stingy!) and left Cynthia quite well off. She kept her job, more from habit than pecuniary necessity. But now she could afford to eat out as frequently as she wanted. She could shop for more than necessities.

So, one Saturday, Cynthia found herself at a neighborhood craft show and fair at the church she attended. (Her father had been a minister and she dared not let down his memory by missing more than one or two services a year). As she wandered the aisles aimlessly, she wondered what she could buy. It was all useless baubles that she already had more than enough of at home. As she was about to leave, she spotted a table that interested her. Actually, it was the lady behind the table that interested Cynthia.

Being careful not to stare at the woman, Cynthia went over and looked at the crafts. At first, she hardly noticed a pattern among the varied objects on the table. She wasn’t really looking at them, she was thinking of (and stealing glances at) the woman behind the table. She was younger than Cynthia, maybe ten years. She was smaller also, very smartly dressed and made up. A classy, self-confident look. Cynthia thought to herself that she was being silly! Obsessing on this woman selling crafts.

She forced herself to concentrate on the crafts. She looked closely at the coffee mug in her hands. She read the funny writing: “To my Wife, Thanks for being my wife. If I had a different wife, I would punch her in the face and go find you…Cynthia thought how Jerry never would have dreamed of giving her such a mug. She read the rest…Love, Your Wife.”!!!

A wife loving a wife? “Oh my God” she thought! Quickly she put it down, hoping no one saw her holding it, especially the lady. Covering her tracks, he immediately picked up another object. She looked at a nice pair of string bracelets each holing a small heart. The cover read girlfriend/girlfriend!

She couldn’t just drop this right away. It would be rude. Taking her time, she examined the bracelets as if assessing their quality. Then gently put them down and gave the woman a polite smile. She smiled back and Cynthia felt a stirring in her loins!

Embarrassed and confused she looked to another part of the table and saw T-shirts with two feminine skulls smiling over the words “til death do us part”.

It was all “lesbian” gifts! Cynthia had never seen anything like it. Her eyes raced over the table to find something innocent. Then she saw some pretty rings sitting on a little bed of lava rocks.

She picked one up and admired it. It was very beautiful. Now she could break the ice, innocently. “This is really lovely,” she said to the woman. “Oh yes, I think that’s my best item,” replied the woman in a surprisingly low voice. “It’s Titanium with volcanic rock and natural coral. It comes in a pair, either as engagement rings or wedding bands. I can have it sized for you and your girlfriend.”

Cynthia dropped the ring and stammered out something about not having a girlfriend! Not meaning! Nit that is wrong! So sorry! etc. The woman laughed and apologized herself. Soon they were both chuckling over the error. The woman, Marie, said she sometimes had that happen.

After the ice was broken so completely, they began chatting and immediately began to like each other. Ten minutes later Cynthia walked away having agreed to meet Marie for a drink at the little pub down the block from the church in a few hours, after the show.

Cynthia was innocent and naive and amazed at herself. She would never think of going for a drink with a near-stranger. But Marie seemed so normal and so nice. Cynthia knew the bar, it was almost more a café. She would just have a glass of wine and get to know somebody new. No obligation, no letting her know her address. Just a one-time getting out of the house and having some fun. Take that Jerry!

 

[windar]

I want to commend this story for showing that older people, particularly women, can have sexual desires and feelings as strong or stronger than the young. Most of the stories and art here and on other similar sites depict beautiful young women (not that there is anything wrong with that) but that is not the totality of eroticism.

 

[Loxuru]

I want to commend this story for showing that older people, particularly women, can have sexual desires and feelings as strong or stronger than the young. Most of the stories and art here and on other similar sites depict beautiful young women (not that there is anything wrong with that) but that is not the totality of eroticism.

Not so sure. In order to be accepted as lead character in my stories, being 40 is a minimal age requirement (OK, sometimes I am lenient and she is in her late thirties). Much more exciting and exploring to work with.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Not so sure. In order to be accepted as lead character in my stories, being 40 is a minimal age requirement (OK, sometimes I am lenient and she is in her late thirties). Much more exciting and exploring to work with.

Good system, keeps you safe from the underage censors. LOL

Most of the stories and art here and on other similar sites depict beautiful young women

The biological reality is that male humans have an innate tendency to be sexually attracted to women of child bearing age (menarche to menopause) with a bias toward younger in the range for the strength to survive repeated bearing and birth in a pre-historical time. Even with the other innate propensity of men for getting it off anywhere from their own hand to blow-up dolls, fantasies do center on those ages.

 

[windar]

Good system, keeps you safe from the underage censors. LOL

The biological reality is that male humans have an innate tendency to be sexually attracted to women of child bearing age (menarche to menopause) with a bias toward younger in the range for the strength to survive repeated bearing and birth in a pre-historical time. Even with the other innate propensity of men for getting it off anywhere from their own hand to blow-up dolls, fantasies do center on those ages.

Surely we should not be limited in what we write by our own fantasies or mere biological realities. And I can point out that there is an entire genre of "granny porn"-or so I've been told; I would never waste my time looking at porn sites.

 

[Madiosi]

With apologies to Messaline for paraphrasing her Messaline is Wondering. but this title works so well for Cynthia the Innocent.

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 1

Cynthia wondered where she was. She’s wondered this a lot the last couple of years. Since Jerry died. Jerry, husband of 30 years, died on their wedding anniversary just over two years ago. Good riddance.

Cynthia married right after she turned thirty. She liked him, she thought. Mostly she was terrified of being an “old maid”. When she was growing up, her mother had always spoken with pity about lonely “old maids”. It was a fate that no women could stand, Cynthia thought. Her father, a kindly old minister (47 years old when she was born) would gently hush his wife in this opinion; he called these women, “God’s unclaimed blessings.” He died when Cynthia was 14. Then, the day she graduated High School, her mother ran off. She left a note saying she had found a new man and he didn’t want a child around so they were leaving. She never heard from them again.

Cynthia was innocent. She was a pretty girl, but she tended to carry more weight than she wanted. “Chubby,” her mother called her. “Nice,” her father had always said. No dates in school, too shy to ask a boy and too scared to let one near. She knew about the basics of sex as every girl then knew, TV, movies, books. She was sure touching herself would be wrong. Also, wasn't it what “old maids” did? In her twenties, a few men asked her out; she turned down most – there was always some reason she had for why they were wrong. Those she went out with wanted to kiss and touch on the first date. She didn’t fight them; she just refused a second date.

So, Cynthia was innocent and alone, working a low-paid clerical job at a bill collection company, as she was approaching thirty. She knew then. She knew at thirty, she would be an “old maid.”

Then, she met Jerry. The older brother of a co-worker, he would come to give his sister a ride home. He had a nice shiny car. He offered Cynthia a ride too. Of course, she refused. But every day he was there driving his sister. Every day he asked; she was right on their route. One day, Cynthia said yes.

It wasn’t fast. Weeks of just a ride, then stopping for some fast food (Cynthia’s weakness; Jerry soon figured that out), then a drink at a nice outdoor café near her apartment. Jerry was a perfect gentleman, no touching, no kissing until two months later, when he asked first. And then just a light peck on the cheek. A couple months more and he asked her to marry him. Asked on her thirtieth birthday. He’d taken her out to a nice restaurant for her birthday (the first time anyone had celebrated her birthday since her father died). Cynthia was having a mini panic attack, thinking, “I’m 30, I’m officially an ‘old maid!’” And just then he did it! He got down on one knee and held up a tiny box with a tiny solitaire ring and said, “Will you marry me.”

Cynthia was innocent and alone. She didn’t know what love was. She didn’t really know what sex was. But Jerry had been kind to her. And she was alone. So, she said yes.

It had been a small wedding. They booked into a small hotel in the next town for a weekend honeymoon. Jerry wanted to save up their money for a house. She was a virgin, of course. Even knowing her, Jerry was surprised at that. And excited. He kept repeating, “God damn! I married a virgin!” The deed was pretty good. A bit of discomfort at first, but then a pleasant warm feeling as his hard member slipped in and out of her moist pussy. They did it again just before sleep. This time he was faster and it wasn’t quite as nice. She knew it took time. It would be better. Everyone said so.

It didn’t get better. It became a humiliating routine. Twice a week, Wednesday, Saturday, every week. At bed time, she would strip naked and lie on the bed with her legs spread to make it easy for him. He’d take a minute of two stroking her body and maybe sucking a tit. Then he’d enter her in two or three thrusts. Then he’d pound away for a couple of minutes, squirt, groan to himself and go to the bathroom to take a shit. End of lovemaking! She’s lie there, refusing to cry, her pussy sore. She told herself, “I’m not an ‘old maid’.” Fortunately, his sister was nice. She advised Cynthia about vaginal lubricant. That made it a lot less painful.

Thirty years. No children. Working her job. No promotions, few raises. Coming home and working to take care of Jerry. Cooking, cleaning, always trying to look as nice as a “chubby” woman could. Twice a week doing her duty.

As the years went by, he spoke less to her. He hardly noticed her. Then about their 25th anniversary, he started having errands to run some evenings. Business meeting that kept him late. The Wednesday, Saturday pattern began to be broken. Once a week, sometimes a week off. Jerry never wanted to take her out anymore. He wanted to “save the money.” Cynthia didn’t mind. She knew he had someone else. It was better than the feeling of being a kind of piece of meat twice a week.

For their 30th he would be home. She had saved out of her meager allowance (he took her pay and managed their money), and made a special dinner. His favorite dishes. A little red wine.

After a big dinner and wine, he sat slumped on the couch and watched some TV. He fell asleep and snored. Later the snoring stopped. When it was bed time, she couldn’t rouse him. She called 911. The ambulance came, but the EMTs couldn't revive him. Jerry was gone. The autopsy listed heart failure. He’s been treated for it for several years. A simple, cheap funeral. Now Cynthia was innocent and alone. She was surprised that the powder had worked so well.

Thanks God (and my Ex-wife)! I'm living and happy divorced!

 

[Loxuru]

Good system, keeps you safe from the underage censors. LOL

While ageing, they get a history. That makes it much more interesting for the baclstory, than with a reckless but less experienced 20 year old lead character.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 3

Cynthia wondered where she was. She’s wondered this a lot the last couple of years. Since Jerry died. Jerry, husband of 30 years, died on their wedding anniversary just over two years ago. Now she was going to meet a woman in a bar. She wondered.

Cynthia was innocent and alone and naïve. When she got home from the craft show she had an hour to kill before heading back to the bar. She sat down with a book she’d been reading and enjoying. That lasted about 30 seconds. Then she was up pacing, looking at the clock. She wanted a glass of wine. Cynthia was half way to the kitchen when she realized – she was about to go out for wine!

What was wrong with her? She turned back to the parlor and paced. Fifteen minutes of pacing and she headed back to the kitchen. Just a half glass of wine to relax her.

More pacing, more glancing at the book through vacant eyes, more pacing. She looked at the clock, ten minutes. She was thinking it was just about time to go when she realized she was wet! “Oh my God, how is this?” she asked herself as she went to get some tissues to daub her herself “down there.”

Cynthia had started, about a decade ago, calling herself a “dried-up old crone.” Well, she said, laughing to herself, maybe I’m just an old crone!

Walking to the pub, Cynthia wondered. Where would they sit? On the sidewalk, at one of the outdoor tables? Or one of the window booths or high-tops in front?

No Marie outside. Cynthia walked in and scanned the front booths and high tops, no Marie. As her eyes adjusted to the darker rear of the bar, she saw Marie, sitting at a corner booth in the rear, where there was no one else. She walked back and sat down. Marie had already ordered her a Merlot, her favorite. How did she know? As she sipped the dark red liquid, Cynthia looked around. She could see no one from where she was seated.

Soon the wine hit her empty stomach and Cynthia relaxed. They talked freer now, girl talk. While Marie admitted to never having been married, she didn’t seem at a ashamed or disappointed by that. When she told Cynthia about her experiences with men, Marie was wistful and animated. She recounted encounters in sensuous detail that left Cynthia wide-eyed, amazed that such things were done. And Marie seemed to really enjoy sex!

Cynthia’s curiousity from the show was too much to hold in. She shyly asked Marie if she had every been, you know, with another women? Marie gave her a big smile and slowly ran her tongue around her lips. “I’ve tasted some good girls alright!”

Cynthia didn’t really know what Marie meant, but she smiled and nodded agreement. It was then she realized her pussy was getting wet. As Marie talked on, she squirmed in the seat, thinking how she could make an excuse to go so she wouldn’t hurt Marie’s feelings. She really liked her new “friend,” but she needed to get home for some tissues!

Her mind was in a daze and she barely heard the question from Marie. “Well have you?” Marie asked. Cynthia was at a loss. She had to say, “Have I what?”

“Kissed a girl, silly. You know, just for practice for your next boyfriend.”

Cynthia was getting lightheaded from working on the second glass of wine (she didn’t remember ordering it). “Next boyfriend. What a laugh. Not likely for old, chubby Cynthia! She giggled like a teen-ager. Trying not to sound as tipsy as she felt, , she replied, “Not recently, no girlfriends or boyfriends.”

“Well then now’s the time,” chirped Marie with unfeigned enthusiasm. She slide next to Cynthia in the booth, put her arms around her and kissed her right on the mouth! Cynthia was too surprised to resist. Breaking off the kiss after a few seconds, Marie looked straight in her eyes. “That wasn’t too bad was it?”

“No. no, it it wasn’t,” stammered Cynthia. “I…I…”

“This time open your mouth and lets’ really practice.” Said Marie as she leaning in smiling. Cynthia was too confused and light-headed and, yes, aroused to argue and allowed her mouth to open a little as Marie placed her open lips on hers. Without any hesitation, Marie’s tongue thrust right in the other woman’s mouth and began circling and teasing her tongue. Awkward Cynthia responded. She allowed her mouth to be invaded and stroked her tongue on Marie’s.

Cynthia’s mouth was watering just as hard just as her cunt. As much as her body was responding to this stimulation, he was saying to herself, “This is wrong; I hardly know her; I’m not a Lesbian!”

As they kissed harder, Cynthia was unable to cope. Cynthia was innocent and naive and amazed at herself. She had to stop this. With a difficult exertion of will, she pulled away and pushed Marie slightly backward.

“That…that’s enough practice for the first time. I mean for this time.” She said, blushing deeply. “Maybe another time. We also can just talk. I like you a lot.” Trying not to lose this new and only friend.

“Sure that would be fine.” Said Marie, with a rather big smile. “how about we have another drink next Friday?”

“Yes..yes, of course.”

“I live over in Reading,” she said, naming the much bigger town about an hour away. “can we meet there?”

“Well, I don’t know,” stammered Cynthia, in her dazed state she thought Marie meant her house.

“Sure, come on. I know a real special Bar there. It’s much more popular than this. We’ll see plenty of men there!”

Cynthia jumped to agree as she realized it was an innocent invitation. Marie had her write down the somewhat complex directions. She kissed her on the cheek and they walked out to leave the bar.

Walking home, Cynthia was amazed at herself. She had kissed a woman! It had felt good! She would never do it again, of course. But she wasn’t the lonely woman she had been. She had a new friend. She was even daring enough to go out again on Friday to a bar she’d never seen.

 

[cynthia the inocent]

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 3

Cynthia wondered where she was. She’s wondered this a lot the last couple of years. Since Jerry died. Jerry, husband of 30 years, died on their wedding anniversary just over two years ago. Now she was going to meet a woman in a bar. She wondered.

Cynthia was innocent and alone and naïve. When she got home from the craft show she had an hour to kill before heading back to the bar. She sat down with a book she’d been reading and enjoying. That lasted about 30 seconds. Then she was up pacing, looking at the clock. She wanted a glass of wine. Cynthia was half way to the kitchen when she realized – she was about to go out for wine!

What was wrong with her? She turned back to the parlor and paced. Fifteen minutes of pacing and she headed back to the kitchen. Just a half glass of wine to relax her.

More pacing, more glancing at the book through vacant eyes, more pacing. She looked at the clock, ten minutes. She was thinking it was just about time to go when she realized she was wet! “Oh my God, how is this?” she asked herself as she went to get some tissues to daub her herself “down there.”

Cynthia had started, about a decade ago, calling herself a “dried-up old crone.” Well, she said, laughing to herself, maybe I’m just an old crone!

Walking to the pub, Cynthia wondered. Where would they sit? On the sidewalk, at one of the outdoor tables? Or one of the window booths or high-tops in front?

No Marie outside. Cynthia walked in and scanned the front booths and high tops, no Marie. As her eyes adjusted to the darker rear of the bar, she saw Marie, sitting at a corner booth in the rear, where there was no one else. She walked back and sat down. Marie had already ordered her a Merlot, her favorite. How did she know? As she sipped the dark red liquid, Cynthia looked around. She could see no one from where she was seated.

Soon the wine hit her empty stomach and Cynthia relaxed. They talked freer now, girl talk. While Marie admitted to never having been married, she didn’t seem at a ashamed or disappointed by that. When she told Cynthia about her experiences with men, Marie was wistful and animated. She recounted encounters in sensuous detail that left Cynthia wide-eyed, amazed that such things were done. And Marie seemed to really enjoy sex!

Cynthia’s curiousity from the show was too much to hold in. She shyly asked Marie if she had every been, you know, with another women? Marie gave her a big smile and slowly ran her tongue around her lips. “I’ve tasted some good girls alright!”

Cynthia didn’t really know what Marie meant, but she smiled and nodded agreement. It was then she realized her pussy was getting wet. As Marie talked on, she squirmed in the seat, thinking how she could make an excuse to go so she wouldn’t hurt Marie’s feelings. She really liked her new “friend,” but she needed to get home for some tissues!

Her mind was in a daze and she barely heard the question from Marie. “Well have you?” Marie asked. Cynthia was at a loss. She had to say, “Have I what?”

“Kissed a girl, silly. You know, just for practice for your next boyfriend.”

Cynthia was getting lightheaded from working on the second glass of wine (she didn’t remember ordering it). “Next boyfriend. What a laugh. Not likely for old, chubby Cynthia! She giggled like a teen-ager. Trying not to sound as tipsy as she felt, , she replied, “Not recently, no girlfriends or boyfriends.”

“Well then now’s the time,” chirped Marie with unfeigned enthusiasm. She slide next to Cynthia in the booth, put her arms around her and kissed her right on the mouth! Cynthia was too surprised to resist. Breaking off the kiss after a few seconds, Marie looked straight in her eyes. “That wasn’t too bad was it?”

“No. no, it it wasn’t,” stammered Cynthia. “I…I…”

“This time open your mouth and lets’ really practice.” Said Marie as she leaning in smiling. Cynthia was too confused and light-headed and, yes, aroused to argue and allowed her mouth to open a little as Marie placed her open lips on hers. Without any hesitation, Marie’s tongue thrust right in the other woman’s mouth and began circling and teasing her tongue. Awkward Cynthia responded. She allowed her mouth to be invaded and stroked her tongue on Marie’s.

Cynthia’s mouth was watering just as hard just as her cunt. As much as her body was responding to this stimulation, he was saying to herself, “This is wrong; I hardly know her; I’m not a Lesbian!”

As they kissed harder, Cynthia was unable to cope. Cynthia was innocent and naive and amazed at herself. She had to stop this. With a difficult exertion of will, she pulled away and pushed Marie slightly backward.

“That…that’s enough practice for the first time. I mean for this time.” She said, blushing deeply. “Maybe another time. We also can just talk. I like you a lot.” Trying not to lose this new and only friend.

“Sure that would be fine.” Said Marie, with a rather big smile. “how about we have another drink next Friday?”

“Yes..yes, of course.”

“I live over in Reading,” she said, naming the much bigger town about an hour away. “can we meet there?”

“Well, I don’t know,” stammered Cynthia, in her dazed state she thought Marie meant her house.

“Sure, come on. I know a real special Bar there. It’s much more popular than this. We’ll see plenty of men there!”

Cynthia jumped to agree as she realized it was an innocent invitation. Marie had her write down the somewhat complex directions. She kissed her on the cheek and they walked out to leave the bar.

Walking home, Cynthia was amazed at herself. She had kissed a woman! It had felt good! She would never do it again, of course. But she wasn’t the lonely woman she had been. She had a new friend. She was even daring enough to go out again on Friday to a bar she’d never seen.

Making me horny. Anticipating the next chapter. This is my favorite form of torture. well one of my favorites

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Making me horny. Anticipating the next chapter. This is my favorite form of torture. well one of my favorites

If this made you horny, girl, the "Bad-Ass-Biker-Bar" will make you...

 

[cynthia the inocent]

If this made you horny, girl, the "Bad-Ass-Biker-Bar" will make you...

I use to read romance novels. They are just to tame these days. This site is much more fun.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

They are just to tame these days. This site is much more fun.

It isn't tame. That's for sure. Yo might check out Revenge of the Pulps. Like BDSM romance fiction.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

Cynthia Wondered

Chapter 4

Friday Night - Cynthia wondered where she was. She’d wondered about this night all week. Almost from the moment she’d left Marie at the little tavern.

Marie, what was it about that woman? That question had been in Cynthia’s mind all week as she tried to think of something, anything else than the women she’d met at the craft fair and with whom she’d shared a couple of drinks the same night in a bar. She wondered.

Marie wasn’t special looking. She was trimmer than Cynthia (who wasn’t, she thought ruefully!) but hardly a remarkable figure. In contrast to Cynthia’s mousy brunette hair, Marie’s was a rich, dark auburn. But her face, her face. She had a liveness in her expression, such a knowing smile! That must be it.

As the week passed, Cynthia was more and more apprehensive about the “date.” How had she agreed? She was so boring; how could she keep up a conversation with such an articulate lady as Marie? How should she dress? Oh my God! The thought first hit her on Tuesday and she went into a panic. Cynthia knew all her clothes were doughty work clothes or even doughtier for casual around the house. By Wednesday noon, Cynthia was standing, staring into her closet, weeping with despair. She had to cancel! It was the only way! With a combination of relief and regret, she ran to the phone in the living room. Just as she got there, she remembered – she didn’t have Marie’s number or address! Shit, Shit, Shit! Cynthia sat down on the sofa and cried for a half hour without letup.

For some, a hard cry is a debilitating experience, followed by headaches and lethargy. For others, it is a cleansing, invigorating experience. So it was now for Cynthia! She wiped her eyes dry, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the door. “Fuck you, Jerry, you cheapskate!” she murmured as she headed for the new expensive dress store just opened downtown.

As Cynthia walked into the Saks Jandal, she began to have doubts. It looked so chic! She was ready to leave when a size 0 salesgirl no older than 25, took her arm and welcomed her. She was too polite to just leave and allowed the girl to talk her up a little. Cynthia expressed her concern that her figure wouldn’t fit into any thing in the store. The girl laughed and said none of her customers fit the sizes on the manikins. She assured Cynthia that she had plenty to fit her as she gently guided her over to an easy chair and offered her a Merlot. My favorite, she thought. How did she know? Too polite to refused she accepted and got out her wallet as the girl. Debbie, went to get the wine. When she tried to pay, the girl winked at her and said, “Not to worry, dear, it’s on me!” Now Cynthia felt she had to buy something.

The Debbie sat and just chatted with Cynthia. Soon she had gotten all the details of the Friday “date.” She patted Cynthia on the knee and said, “Don’t worry, dear, I have some things just perfect for that; and they’re right in your size.” Cynthia was beginning to feel the wine on an empty stomach. Did her cunt just begin to feel a little wet? Debbie was so young and pretty and charming!

Debbie returned with a combination. A Ralph Lauren Silk Split-Neck Tunic.

And a tight satin, pencil skirt.

Even with the wine hitting her, Cynthia blushed and stammered that her body wasn’t made for those. Debbie giggled and refused to hear her. Taking her arm, she guided the reluctant woman to a dressing room. Waiting outside, she kept up a constant steam of encouraging chatter saying how great Cynthia would look.

Once she had changed, Cynthia looked in the mirror and saw a very tight outfit. She gasped, “Oh my!” Debbie took the hint and barged right in. Turning Cynthia around, she exclaimed how lovely she looked. She urged her to finish her wine and come outside to feel walking around. Still very unsure, she let Debbie usher her out and through the store. Actually walking in the clothes, Cynthia was pleased with how they felt and how she moved. Debbie gave an stealth signal to another sales girl who remarked on how good Cynthia looked.

On a roll, Debbie sat her down and asked her shoe size. As she went to get a sample, the other salesgirl brought Cynthia a second glass of Merlot. Already feeling the first glass rather too much, she tried to sip the rich liquid slowly. Then Debbie was there with black four-inch heel lace-ups.

Both girls kept telling her how chic she looked. They gebtly moved her to the desk. Before Cynthia knew it, she was in the car with a new clubbing outfit, including a semi-sheer pink bra and panties set and the store had $712 of her money!

By Friday noon, Cynthia was pacing around her house like a caged animal. Several times, she had to get tissues to dry herself. What was wrong with her? An old woman, meeting a lady friend for a drink, creaming like a horny teenager! Over and over, she tried to forget about the evening and just do chores. She couldn’t. Several times, she decided not to go. But she had to!

Finally, it was time to get ready. She showered and powdered and worked on her make-up. For a long time, married to Jerry, she wore hardly any; he didn’t care! Now she really tried to do a good job. Mascara, eyeliner, foundation, a little blush. Examining herself in the mirror, Cynthia was surprised at how feminine she looked.

Apprehensively, she got out her new outfit. Could she pull it off?

First the silk underwear. As she looked in the mirror she was, as usual, disgusted with her figure. She still heard Jerry’s words, “I’m married to a fat, old broad!” But as she looked, she saw she wasn’t really what you’d call fat, maybe chubby, but not fat! And the pink bra and panties were very sexy. She could see the outline off her large nipples and areolas and even her thatch of pussy fur.

The pencil skirt was a little tight and she had to work to get it on. The red silk blouse felt so good against her skin as she buttoned the front.

She stood at the mirror and took in the complete picture. Cynthia was amazed how good she did look. She was big and the clothes didn’t hide that. But rather than looking chubby and doughty as usual, she looked almost voluptuous in the mirror.

It was time to go. She grabbed her handbag, the directions and went out to the car. Pulling onto the highway, second thoughts flooded her brain. But it was too late now!

When Cynthia turned off the highway in Reading, she saw how much bigger a place it was than her town. And rather than the quaint, clean village look, there was a more industrial, gritty feel. The directions took her to a strip mall right beside a big motorcycle dealer. The lot was almost full with cars and a surprising number of bikes.

Marie’s directions told her to pull around the end of the strip and park near a door with a neon sign, “Tavern Entrance.” She saw the sign at once. The door was plain and seemed to enter a basement level of the building. She parked, got out of her car and walked to the door. Her heart was pounding so hard, she imagined it would burst. She was getting wet again. Marie! Cynthia wondered how her life would change if she went through that door. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the door handle and walked in.

 

[cynthia the inocent]

I feel sexy wearing animal prints on my flannel pj's. To wear something like you describe I would have to wear a coat over it. Chubby is just a nice way to say fat.
Never the less I anxiously await the out come of this story.

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

I feel sexy wearing animal prints on my flannel pj's. To wear something like you describe I would have to wear a coat over it. Chubby is just a nice way to say fat.
Never the less I anxiously await the out come of this story.

I had thought earlier of a coat and then forgot in the final draft. Don't sell yourself short, girl. One man's "fat" is another man's "beautiful"!

 

[cynthia the inocent]

When this is finished, Marie and I will sit in front of the fire place, drink way to much wine and I will read the story to her. I am sure we will find parts of it that we can act out if not we will invite some people over to role play.