An Unexpected Massage Experience by Kristi444..,

So how in the world did a fairly boring, divorced, 45-year-old, suburban high school teacher, mom of one, find her way to a sexy website like Literotica? I ask myself the same question. At times it’s been intensely enjoyable, but, goodness, what a long, strange trip it’s been.

I guess one of the first things that occurs to me to tell everyone is that although there are certain things I still respect about my ex-husband, Drew–he’s a good father, a decent man–he was never one to be adventurous or even tolerant of anything that smacked of actual eroticism. He refused to be vulnerable or emotional about intimacy.

He was a “guy,” so he watched his share of porn and such, and I am sure he had an adjacent fantasy component of his own, but he had a complete inability to translate that into real passion or a shared experience. For almost two decades, I felt stifled, nullified, frustrated and sad. I would buy sexy lingerie, make hotel reservations when our daughter was spending the night at a friend’s house, wear a sexy dress for Drew to take me out in (we are both foodies, so we went out a lot with respect to that), but it just never felt like we were on the same page when it came to intimacy. It was just this gaping void in my life.

He almost never told me I was beautiful, or sexy, or appealing in that way. He never noticed when I got my hair styled or colored. The vast majority of his romantic expression was to paw at the (very expensive) lingerie for about ten seconds and expect oral sex the second he flicked the bedroom light off. Foreplay? Kissing? Expressing himself verbally? Sharing fantasies? No to all of it.

We married quite young (he was my college sweetheart) and we met when I was still in my teens. Coming from a conservative and sheltering family, I had no idea what a real sexual relationship was all about. I assumed if we were having sex, that was a sexual relationship. But I was so naive to so many things. Public sex? People did that?? Bindings or blindfolds? Pfft, that was wacky Cinemax stuff. Multiple or same sex partners? Might as well have been science fiction for how I regarded things back then.

Those kind of things were for weirdos and perverts, and not a soft spoken 12th Grade American History teacher with a decent rack. My entire life felt like it was a cold gray roller coaster without any hills or twists. But I figured, eh, at least it’s a roller coaster, right? It’s amazing what we tell ourselves when we don’t know better.

When I turned 35, my younger sister moved to China. Her husband was a developer, and they decided to follow the money and make a new life. Because of the time difference, we didn’t talk as much after she moved, and I missed her even more than I ever expected. We’d make arrangements to talk, but the plans drifted wider and wider apart. I think she sensed that my husband and I were not exactly on the best ground, so she invited me to visit her in Beijing. I finally convinced Drew to hold down the fort while I traveled, and I was so excited to see my sister again.

Despite my relative inexperience, I actually loved sex and eroticism, even if it was my own “dirty little secret,” which is actually how I regarded it. I have always responded in ways that made my heart pound out of my chest to “naughty” things, even if I couldn’t express it with my partner. I loved giving oral sex. I loved feeling a man’s eyes on me in a crowd, even if he was a perfect stranger. I loved having an excuse to flaunt my curves, even if the occasions were few and far between. It still gives me the butterflies to admit here to perfect strangers that I loved making a man orgasm. I didn’t realize it yet, but I wanted so much more.

My husband and I shared a laptop, and so every once in a while (forgive me Lit’ers) I would be nosy and check the history. My husband seemed to have watched an enormous amount of porn, so I thought, eh, maybe if I watched a few of the movies he watched, maybe, just maybe, I could better understand what drove him mad, sexually. So every once in a while when I had the house to myself, I’d pour a glass of wine, pop some corn (kidding) and check out what the Mr. had been up to that week. And after a few times, across several months, I realized something. I realized I wasn’t just watching out of curiosity or a sexy fact-finding reconnaissance mission. It took me a while to be able to admit this to myself, but I can admit it now, here.

I liked watching people fuck.

And it was more than that. Knowing that my husband had watched the movies before me, I felt like I was almost eavesdropping in a way, or retracing his steps. I would watch a movie, and wonder which part caused him to orgasm. I never asked, of course, but in my own mind I felt like I could actually sense it. It thrilled me. Up until that point in my life, a steamy romance novel on the beach was about as “hot” as my private experiences got. Now, suddenly, I was watching my husband’s porn and masturbating to scenes of three men having sex with the same woman. It was like my brain would shift into this strange mode, and I needed to feel what she was feeling. To feel not just wanted, but ached for. Shared. Not just needed, but worshipped. I’m getting wet right now just recalling the sensations as I first felt them.

When I got to China, my sister was the perfect host. Her husband worked insane hours, so we had a lot of time alone to sightsee, explore, dine out, drink a bit too much, and most importantly, talk.

And talk, and talk, and talk.

Within a week, she had absorbed my entire marital story, given me advice for how to spice things up, you name it. I kept thinking, “Jesus, Kim, how the hell do you know so much about sex?” And then she began to explain.

I was envious. Bitterly envious. My little sister had the entire world in the palm of her hand. A handsome mover-shaker husband, a 13 million yuan apartment with a view, a scalding sex life, and hair that didn’t take 45 minutes to blow out straight. Me? I had some pretty good go-to restaurants at home, a job with summers off, big tits, and nights alone with a bottle of Rodney Strong cabernet and my husband’s leftover porn to masturbate to. The scales were not exactly balanced, and maybe the fifth or sixth night into my visit, I was actually crying myself to sleep.

Kim heard me, and gently knocked on the door. It was her home, so I couldn’t exactly tell her to leave me alone. She came in and we talked some more. She told me I had to start expecting more out of Drew, and my marriage, and my life. It sounded like a standard rah rah pep talk, but she meant it and it resonated. Everything feels a little more “right” when you’re cuddled up in 1,200 thread count bed sheets, crying on your little sister’s shoulder. She smiled and told me tomorrow she was going to book me a massage, and promised I would feel better afterwards. To be honest, I actually felt better just knowing someone was willing to look out for me.