Hannah’s Confession
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He was always coming home late from work, always tired, and never in the mood. It’s not like I expected much, but I did expect something you know? I mean I get it; a day of labouring must be so draining, and he probably just wants to come home and put his feet up for a while. That would be totally fine if he would at least acknowledge my existence.
One time, I got myself all dolled up. I went the whole hog for him; hair dyed platinum blond, makeup, perfume, heels, and a new saucy piece of black lace from one of the fancy shops. I even got myself professionally waxed! It sure did hurt, but my goodness I have never looked so fresh down there.
He didn’t notice a thing.
As per usual, he just sat on the couch, put the football on, and played on his phone. Look, I’m not gonna say I shouldn’t have done what I did, but I was both randy and furious, a dangerous combination.
First, I tried to get his attention by posing in front of the telly. I accidentally dropped something right in front of him, just so I would have to bend over to pick it up. See, all last year I’d been using the Stairmaster, and other than a cheeky cocktail here and there, my diet was perfect. So, I thought he would be in for quite a show you know?
Nothing.
Not one word.
I was so mad. I mean, look at me! I know I’m not perfect, but surely I’m worth half a glance at least, right?
Now, I’ve never sent naughty pictures before. I’m not that kinda girl, or at least I wasn’t. But I remembered seeing pics of some of the sluttier girls at school getting passed around. This, despite all the promises their men gave them that they wouldn’t. I laughed along with the group of course, but a part of me liked what I saw; these girls were brave and sexy, something I didn’t feel I would ever be myself.
But that day, I couldn’t help it, I was too far gone. By that point I didn’t know if I wanted to fuck him or slap him. I was just so wound up!
So, I went into our room, and posed just so. I did my best to imitate the fashion models and famous sheilas all over the Gram. I did my best to imitate the girls from all those years ago.
I may have gotten a tad carried away. Let’s just say that not all my clothes remained on for all of the shots. Once I began, I couldn’t stop. I liked how I looked and was getting increasingly excited by the fact that in the very next room, he was seeing me. Dressed that way and acting like that. It felt wrong, in all the good ways.
“Looking good dear,” was all he sent back.
Looking good dear? Looking good? Not even a fire emoticon, let alone a good root.
As I lay there, naked, with my phone in hand, I was thinking back to my schoolgirl days, back to the one of the girls whose photos I’d secretly admired and had just now emulated. I texted her, and she immediately got back to me. Then the floodgates opened. Before I knew it, I had sent her a wall of text talking about how unsatisfied and unnoticed I was feeling. How I was horny and the lengths I had gone to that night. I even told her about how I had used her as inspiration.
Her response was kind and caring.
She said that she knew all about those photos getting passed around and was thoroughly hurt by it. But when it happened to another five girls in the class, she didn’t stand out so much and things returned to normal for her. She did say that she never had trouble getting a guy to take her out from then on, but she did lament how hard it was to keep them around.
Then she began to tease me, saying that it would only be fair for her to see some of my work, since I had seen hers.
Well fair’s fair, and she was being so nice to me.
I hit send.
Let’s just say that she sent back more than a simple fire emoticon. That night, she invited me over, and we got drunk. When the tonic ran out, we kept going with the gin, and when the bottle was empty, she pulled out a joint.
Until that night, I had never done anything with another lady. I had always found their bodies beautiful, but I had never seriously looked at them sexually. But I guess she was just there for me when I needed it. She paid me attention, she told me I was beautiful, and she spoke to me. We had a connection that lasted more than a passing hello at the end of a workday.
Now, we have an unspoken agreement.
Whenever I am feeling randy, I will always attempt to get my man going first. Poses, pictures, and ploys. But if and when that fails to raise his attention so to speak, I will turn my efforts towards my old school friend.
She is always receptive, always eager, and always has a cheeky cocktail in hand ready for me to arrive.
This short story is from the book, ‘Kink, Volume 1’
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