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It has been such a long time since I have felt loved.
I am in my early forties, still slim and divorced. My one major flaw – at least in the eyes of my husband of 15 years, is that I am a survivor of breast cancer. At the age of 39, I discovered a lump in my right breast, which, upon examination and a biopsy, turned out to be cancerous. In order to stop the spread of this virulent growth, I had to have the breast removed in a partial mastectomy.
I suppose that I have to give my loving husband some credit; he waited until I was discharged from the hospital to inform me that he would be sleeping in the guest room since he couldn’t stand the sight of my scars. He always turned his back to me when I changed into my nightgown and then left for the other room. It was only two months later when he advised me late one rainy night that he was leaving me.
In his or so memorable words, ‘I was damaged goods and he wanted a whole woman in his bed’. He then informed me that he was moving in with his much younger secretary – I had met her at social functions and although she was admittedly good looking, she had little to offer other than a great body with all its parts.
When we had married, I had quit my job as a primary teacher (although I loved the kids so much) and stayed home to be the ‘trophy’ wife at all my husband’s business functions. He always insisted that I wear revealing gowns (with push-up bras to enhance my 35-C breasts) and the highest of heels to accent my long legs. I know that many a deal was closed while the poor smucks were oogling my body. Upon more than one occasion, dear hubby even asked me to be extra friendly with a tough sell but I always vehemently refused. I was no one’s whore!
The night he left me in a fury, his car went out of control on the rain slick surface of the interstate – he was on his way to his bimbo girlfriend – crossed the median and was totalled by an oncoming semi. Although I found it hard to feel great sorrow for the man, I wandered somewhat lost through the funeral and burial. Then, seemingly like a vapour in the wind, our mutual friends started to disappear for good. It was as if I was a pariah to the married women (was I going to steal their husbands? Not likely!). All the friends I had known had been our friends or my husband’s colleagues so, like many divorced women, I became a loner.
I learned that my dear Dave had cleaned out all our joint accounts and cashed in all his investments. I was only able to trace the funds to an offshore account that, even with his death, remained sealed to me without the codes. I had always let Dave handle the finances and on the reading of the will, I learned that he had even taken out a second mortgage on the house that was in default. Apparently much of ‘our’ money went to expensive jewellery, furs, cars and a penthouse for his mistress/secretary.
I think what hurt the most was that my best friend Miranda suddenly stopped returning my calls; it was as if she thought my cancer was contagious! I found myself alone.
I needed to keep busy and also desperately needed a job so I phoned my former principal at the elementary school I had worked at when I married Dave. The school was in another canlı bahis şirketleri state a thousand miles from where Dave and I had moved to further his career. It turned out that the principal was now a superintendent and she was so glad to hear from me, I wept as we spoke. She asked what the problem was and I poured out my sad tale.
She asked me when I could start – she had a Grade One class begging for a teacher in her division and the job was mine if I wanted it. Without any hesitation, I told her I could be there in two weeks, which corresponded to the start of the school year. I hurriedly packed my meagre belongings, advised the bank the house and all its contents (except for a small van load of favourites that I shipped on ahead of me along with my car) was theirs and after cashing the $15,000 in bonds that Dave had hidden in my name to avoid the IRS, I caught a plane to the small mid-western town called New Plains.
The superintendent picked me up at the plane and after giving me a warm hug of welcome and caring, drove me to a realtor friend who had several small homes for me to look at to rent. The third one was like a dollhouse and I fell in love with it immediately. I fairly gushed over it when I learned that the owner was anxious to sell it and that with a small down payment, I could manage the mortgage from what I would be earning. I signed the paperwork and the keys were handed over to me just as the movers drove up in their truck. I had given the realtor’s office the mover’s phone number and while I was looking, they managed to contact the driver on his cell to send him to the right address.
Within three days, with the help of Diane (my superintendent) and her team of friends, I was all moved in and I held a pizza and beer night party in the small backyard in appreciation for their help.
After they left, I was alone again and the feeling of abandonment and self-pity washed over me once again; I fell asleep crying and sobbing.
For those first three months of the school year, I threw myself into my work; I loved the kids and their parents. But every Friday night when many of the small staff went out for a drink, I would beg tiredness and go home alone.
One of my fellow staff was a rather plain woman of about 5 ft 3″ to my 5 ft 6″ and also very slim. Sheila too was quiet and somewhat standoffish so it surprised me one Friday when I was still my class marking workbooks – thinking everyone was gone – and she knocked on my door. Since I was concentrating on deciphering some of my 6-year olds’ writing, I jumped as she spoke.
“What are you still doing here, Michelle?”
She came in and sat on the corner of my desk and we just chatted for over a half hour. She proved to be a very interesting and well-read young woman; she told me she was 36, never married and hasn’t had a date in almost as long. She simply hasn’t found a nice guy; in fact, I received the impression that perhaps she wasn’t all that interested in trying or for that matter, in men. I was surprised at my reaction when she hinted none too subtly that she was a bi-sexual but with definite leanings towards women. I felt so comfortable with her by now; I felt no pressure or bias.
When canlı kaçak iddaa Sheila mentioned she was hungry, my own stomach started to grumble; as we laughed at the noise, she asked me if I would like to go out and grab a bite. Figuring I had paid my dues for one week, I readily agreed and I followed her car in mine to a small café at the edge of town. Even on a Friday night, it was quiet and the manager hugged and greeted Sheila like a long lost friend. “Where have you been, love”, he said. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”
He showed us to a quiet table in the corner by the fireplace; it was now late November and there was a chill in the night air. We were soon gossiping like we had known each other all our lives and before I knew it, we had finished two and a half bottles of wine with the most delicious dinner I had eaten in months. Living alone, I wasn’t a great cook for one and was usually too tired to eat more than a snack – I had lost 10 lbs since Dave’s death eight months ago.
As we finished dessert, I tried to stand to go to the washroom and fell back into my chair in a fit of childish giggling. I was sloshed! Sheila helped me to the Ladies and waited while I staggered into a stall to relieve myself. As I came out, she helped me straighten my skirt and tucked in my silk blouse; the touch of her soft hand on my skin sent a shock though even my dulled senses.
It was obvious that Sheila had imbibed considerably less than me since she offered to drive me to her place which was within my mile of the café where I could spend the night in her spare bedroom and she would drive me back in the morning for my car. At this stage, I wasn’t about to argue (scenes of the headlines in the morning’s paper “Grade One Teacher Caught DUI” ran through my head) so I agreed. As I slumped into the passenger seat, I think I mumbled, “Are you trying to seduce me?” but fell asleep just as I think she answered in the affirmative.
I awoke the next morning with the sun streaming in my eyes covered with a soft sheet and a monster headache. I suddenly realized that I was naked under the cover and I sat up too quickly and almost passed out again. As I sat covering my chest with the sheet, Sheila walked in, dressed in a loosely fitting silk gown and carrying a tray with coffee and croissants as well as some aspirin.
“Did you undress me last night?” I asked fearfully.
“Yes, love. And don’t worry – nothing happened. I wasn’t about to have my way with a beautiful woman who is passed out”
“Beautiful” I stuttered. “I am ugly! Didn’t you see the scars?” I felt almost angry that she was lying to me.
“No, my love. I have never seen such beauty” She sat beside me and fed me some aspirin. Then she reached out to gently tug the sheet away from my chest where I been hiding myself. Her fingers gently traced the scar and then slid over to cup my remaining breast. As she did this, she leaned forward and ran her lips ever so softly over the scar while she tweaked my nipple to a straining hardness.
I had never felt this way before; someone who apparently was not turned off at the sight of me but who actually appeared to love me for who I am! In wonder, I reached out tentatively canlı kaçak bahis and parted her robe until her firm breasts were open to my view and touch. They were so beautiful that my hands just couldn’t stay away and I cradled their weight while my thumbs brushed her nipples. Sheila groaned, as did I; she stood quickly and doffed her robe as it fell to a silken pool at her feet.
I gasped at this glorious body standing before me. I quickly shed the sheet and climbed off the bed to stand before her and take her voluptuous warmth into my arms. The feel of her breasts crushed against me and the heat of our co-joined pussies as I gripped her firm ass and pulled her close was enough to make me swoon. My headache forgotten, I drew her down to the bed where we fell intro each other’s arms and her lips found mine. Ah; the wonder of that kiss! It was so soft and gentle – as light and airy as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. And her taste; it was like sweet honey pressed against my lips.
As our tongues met and the passion became heated, our hands were exploring each other. I ran my fingers along her defined ribs as she did along mine; I caressed her tits as she ran her soft hand over my flat chest and then my firm breast. As our finger found each other’s nipple and our kissing became almost out of control, we could smell the arousal emanating from our trimmed pussies.
Almost as if we could read each other’s minds, our hands slid quickly over our stomachs to find the heat source that demanded attention. As Sheila buried three fingers in my soaking cunt I did the same for her as I found her nipple with my mouth. I sucked and bit gently on that hard nub until she cried, “Harder! Bite harder!”
I jammed my fingers faster and deeper and sought out her most sensitive spot while I bit down and pulled on her nipple. As my fingers found that rough little pad and I massaged it, she came in gush after gush over my hand and arm – she was a squirter and just kept pouring forth as she screamed out my name with the pleasure of her orgasm. I felt myself released for what felt like the first time and I cried out in concert with her as my own cum burst forth.
Our bodies were covered in a layer of sweat and we slid up to once again kiss each other for what seemed like hours. My fingers were so wet with her cum that we shared her taste as we licked them clean.
Sheila smiled as she whispered, “I want to taste you as you do me!” and she turned to squat over my face. As she plunged between my legs, I pulled her hips down until my mouth covered her pussy and I enjoyed my first real taste of another woman. Not the last since I spent the rest of the weekend at her place making love in every imaginable position. Sheila was an accomplished lover and educated me in ways I never would have dreamed possible.
We spent the rest of that school year loving each other. She introduced me to a whole group of new friends – all gay, lesbian or bi – and we shared many an adventure with others.
Sadly, at the end of that year, she was transferred to another school district and although we tried to keep in touch, distance was just too great an impediment.
I have a whole new circle of friends now; most live the lifestyle I have adopted while some are straight but accepting. I have never been happier but still miss Sheila from time to time. It was her who broke the shell I had built around me in my anger and grief and for that, I will always love her.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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