Dear Dirty Diary Ch. 08

Dear Dirty Diary,

I tried to relax but every thought led back to my ongoing string of bad luck. I thought back and brooded yet again over the theft of my car and the loss of my laptop computer. I got the car back after a week or so but the computer, with my shameful little diary in it was nowhere to be found. Then three weeks later, after the insurance claim gave me a new one, the police department phoned to tell me my computer had been recovered. I seriously considered getting it back, until Doug pointed out I'd have to give back the new one. I reminded him of my diary. He assured me that the only way I could be connected back to my stories would be by me physically retrieving my computer. I quickly realized there was no way I could handle the embarrassment of confronting a cop who may have read my diary.

My Diary was gone and I was devastated. It wasn't that I read it over and over, it was that I'd lost all those thoughts and feelings I'd put into words. The insurance company replaced my computer, but the new one was just a little black box with no soul. I hooked it up to my phone line, loaded in my Sympatico disc and checked my e-mails. To my surprise, a mysterious message from myself was amongst the others. I opened it and was thrilled to find this message along with MY ENTIRE DIARY attached to it!

Dear Laura,

My name is Michelle and I'd like to explain to you how this message found its way to you. My husband is a tow truck driver and two weeks ago, his dispatcher sent him to pick up your stolen car from the ditch it was abandoned in. After he winched your car out of the muck, he found your laptop computer underneath. It was all scratched up and covered in mud, so Brad threw it into his truck's cab for safekeeping. He dropped your car off at the Police compound, but completely forgot about the computer. Friday came and when he cleaned out the truck for the weekend driver, he found your poor computer under the front seat. Brad thought it was wrecked for sure, figured you'd get a new one from the insurance company and brought it home.

While he was packing our van to go to the cottage, I cleaned the caked mud off your computer with a toothbrush and vacuumed out all the dust. I pushed the power-on button and miraculously "Windows 98" lit up the screen. Brad suggested I bring it along to give my sister-in-law Amy and I something to amuse ourselves with while he and Tim were out fishing. On the way up to Kaladar, I plugged it into the lighter and checked through all the programs and files that were in it. I asked Amy what the "DDD" I noticed in My Documents might be. She thought it might be something private and told me not to mess with it. I clicked on it anyway and up came this file called "Dear Dirty Diary". I scanned through the first three paragraphs, exited it immediately and shut down the computer. Amy asked me if I was bored with it already. Blushing like crazy, I lied and told her I couldn't read a jiggling computer on such a rough road.

Bright and early Saturday morning, the guys were off down the lake. It was a cool spring day so Amy lit the fireplace to get all cozy. Since the men would probably be hunting most of the day, we decided to be sloppy and lazy. Nightgowns and slippers were to be the dress code for the day and spoiling ourselves lavishly was to be our only concern. As we sipped our morning coffee, I casually told Amy about the story of yours I found last night. I told her it sounded really personal, sort of like a sexy diary. Showing her usual amount of regard for others' privacy, she immediately insisted that we read it.

I clicked on your file once more and began to read your words aloud. Amy's impatience was soon rewarded with the details of your attempted affair with Johnston. I blushed from head to toe when I read aloud about your peculiar little pastimes after your husband ignored you on New Year's Day. When I recited your first encounter with Louise, Amy gave me the silliest look of disbelief you could ever imagine. At that point, she took control of the computer and took her turn at vocalizing your memoirs. I prepared us an emergency ration of chocolate treats to enhance our understanding of your stories but my God, Laura; I was completely unprepared for your frankness.

We took turns reading from your diary as the morning crept on. We were so surprised by your words that we completely ignored everything around us. Amy would raise her eyebrows and give me a goofy look of astonishment whenever you described each new sexual thrill. Her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows arched at your feeding Doug vegetables that you'd been playing around with. I found that hearing myself utter your words brought out a side of me that I was unfamiliar with. The naive little girl inside of me listened to and learned from each line of your diary. By the time the final paragraph was read, our remaining innocence was lost.

We sat in silence for a few moments to absorb fully what you had written. I told Amy we must get your computer back to you some how. It just wasn't right to steal and covet the most personal thoughts of another person. We agreed to have Brad make up some story, hand it in and have the police return your computer to you first thing Monday. I feel this written apology from us is in order for our invasion of your privacy.

I began writing you and Amy decided to freshen herself up. When Amy returned from her shower, she was still wearing her bathrobe. She sat down on the sofa, then clipped and filed her toenails most carefully. Then she went to her room and returned with a big round hand mirror. As I typed away, she sat on the edge of the couch, then flipped open the lower half of her robe. She spread her legs, then held the mirror down between her thighs and began to study her bared genitals. After a few moments of close scrutiny, she wondered out loud if a hairless pussy might be fun for a while. I told her that Tim would just freak. She disagreed and suggested that her husband might just be tickled pink with a bald pussy. She swung around and flopped one leg up over the arm of the sofa. Amy lay back down on the cushions and looked over at me. She pulled a little electric shaver out of her pocket, held it out toward me and told me to get over there and shave her crotch. Amy is such a tart but this was going well beyond anything she'd done to me before. I ignored her but she kept at me about it. When she pointed out it wouldn't be much different than shaving legs or underarms, I reluctantly agreed.

I kneeled down at the end of the couch and ever so carefully nipped away every last hair surrounding her pussy. I felt a little uncomfortable when I had to flip the folds of her labia back and forth so I could shave in closely. I felt a lot more uncomfortable when I noticed how wet and dilated her vulva became as I buzzed around it. I felt really uncomfortable when I realized the vibrating sensations of the shaver had also caused Amy's clitoris to poke up out of its bald little hood. My shaving her undeniably had aroused her. The second I shut off the shaver, she checked herself out in the mirror.

She seemed pleased with what she saw then informed me it was my turn! I told her there was no way, but she threatened to tell the guys that I attacked her, tied her up and shaved her in a fit of insane passion. Amy pushed me back down on the sofa, then sat down backwards on my chest and pulled my nightgown up around my waist. I wiggled and protested, but she was possessed and her busy shaver quickly buzzed over ever nook and cranny of my pubes. As soon as she let me up, I too, examined myself in the mirror, but my skin was all red and raw everywhere she'd shaved. When I complained, she told me not to be a baby, got some skin cream, squirted some in her palm and then to my astonishment, smeared it all over my itchy genitals. She asked if I'd like to cream her up, but I politely declined. She made a point of massaging cream all over herself, not once, but twice.

As if nothing special had just happened, Amy plopped down on the opposite end of the couch and rubbed more skin cream into her arms and legs. I was still shaken by the experience so I tried to find solace by continuing my letter to you. I pulled my up my legs to rest the computer on and nervously began to compose again. Amy continued her preening and I, my typing.

She has just finished moisturizing her feet with lots of skin cream and curiously, I feel what seems to be her warm smooth big toe press against my pussy! I feel the slippery toe tickle around, then push into my vulva! It feels so big and alive as it wiggles about inside me! I'm trying my best to ignore these incredible sensations by continuing to type. I've looked up and am glaring at Amy, who's lustfully grinning back. I realize exactly Laura, where these crazy notions are coming from but that smirk on her face is too much to bear. Two can play at this game! Take that Amy! Oh my, my big toe just slid right into her vulva. Are big toes supposed to feel wetness like this? She's getting so creamy and loose as I wiggle my toe! I can feel my heart pounding up the side of my neck!

Damn you! Damn you Laura!

PS. Just to make absolutely sure you get this message before I've cooled down, I'm sending it, as well as your stupid story to the Email address we found in your Sympatico information file!

Yours Hatefully,

Michelle

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After receiving that less than glowing reaction to my diary, I resigned myself to a summer of boring, doting wife activities, all centering around my husband's convalescence period. However, I was surprised at how quickly he bounced back from his heart attack. He was enrolled in a wonderful Cardio-Rehab program through the hospital that completely took over his life. He'd walk for hours through the marshes and the lakeshore trail. He attended weekly lectures that taught him about heart and cardio-vascular health.

He stuck to the Canada Food Guide's principles and in only six weeks had lost 25 lbs. Most curiously of all, Doug's eyes changed. They were clear, sparkling and blue as the Alberta sky! I guess the eyes are more than the gateway to the soul. It seemed they were also the best indicator of bodily health.

One Saturday in mid June, Doug brought home a lightweight aluminum canoe from a yard sale and an electric trolling motor with battery from a sporting goods store. Halfway through our maiden voyage it became aware to me that my paddling was more hindrance than help. The little electric trolling motor pushed our canoe up our meandering creek effortlessly. After we passed through the immense 401 culvert sunken bicycles, tires and old shopping carts halted our expedition so we turned around.

I had Doug stop inside the giant culvert so I could have a pee without exposing myself to the truckers whizzing by up on the highway. With all those babbling brook sounds echoing under the six-lane, a certain middle-aged mother of two dribbled profusely as she swung her leg out of the canoe and onto the bank! Once I was completely relieved, I climbed back in but chose to face rearward to get a different perspective of things and keep any eye on that damaged husband of mine

I felt like a Victorian heroine, dreamily gliding along and trailing my fingertips in the water. As idyllic as it all seemed, the fact still remained that my wet panties felt gross and were dampening the joy of the experience so I whipped off my shorts to speed my underwear's drying.

Suddenly a face I hadn't seen in nearly twenty years was starring intently at my crotch! I've never understood why men were turned on by women's erect pink nipples peeking through wet white T shirts, so I certainly wasn't prepared for the glimpse of passion in Doug's sparkling blue eyes. It seemed my husband was turned on by wet panties as much as wet T shirts!

He stopped the motor dead in the middle of the stream and reached out to the center thwart. He pulled himself up then kneeled on the floor. When he ran his thumb up my crotch, I said, "They're not that kind of wet, you old fool!"

"They could be." he mused as he clinched his fingers down inside my waistband. He dragged down the front of my silken white briefs then jammed the pee-soaked billow of nylon against my pussy. Three wiggly swirls and I felt the tautly stretched spandex fold my labia lips tightly into my vulva. I felt the narcotic pleasure of that gossamer-cloaked thumb grind into my ever so pleased vagina. After thirty seconds or so of deep French kissing and intense massaging, he pulled his thumb from the wet silky wad and proudly observed, "Now they're that kind of wet!"

When his lips approached mine once more I closed my eyes and did we ever kiss. He tickled my tongue with his then took a breather to suckle my earlobes. As my eyes took in the splendor of the scenery around us, I suddenly felt a cool sensation on my chest as he whipped off my floatation vest. He unbuttoned my blouse, reached around behind my back, unhooked my bra then pushed the cups up to let my breasts fall out. At that point he kissed me once more, nuzzled down my neck then began to circle my nipples with his tongue. Doug licked and sucked my teats up ravenously while diddling down below. I felt more coolness between my legs as he stretched the crotch of my panties out of my pussy. When I felt their elastic leg band dig into my outer thigh it told me more serious things were on the way.

"Perhaps something better was in the making", I thought so I leaned away from him and laid my back down onto the life preserver that had dropped behind me on the floor. In some kind of involuntary reaction, my thigh muscles then thrust my legs up and out. I felt the cool aluminum gunnels of the canoe radiate into the back of my knees and felt my toes dip into steam water on each side of the canoe as I relaxed. As we drifted along with the slow current I watched seagulls lazily soar in circles high overhead in the pale blue early summer sky. I felt one, two, three then four fingertips push into my hungry vulva. I heard a honking choir of approach from the east then watched them lumber by in their usual V pattern as we drifted under a creosote-smelling trestle.

I heard squirrels chatter in the trees overhanging the creek about the time I felt his busy fingers slip out of my pussy. I watched their fluffy tails flick madly in circles as a rasp of whiskers between my inner thighs, hot breaths and a hot wiggly invasion of my vulva told me that for the first time in three months, a real live tongue was about to do me! I felt my lover's tongue thoroughly slurp my vulva then lick up to my clitoris. I tried to see why the squirrels were so alarmed but that flicking, licking, slurping suctioning just made my eyes close dreamily. I heard a horn blow in the distance but paid no attention until the deafening clatter of the VIA express from Montreal abruptly wrenched open my eyes!!!

I watched startled faces in the train windows stare at us as the blue and yellow passenger cars rumbled by on the trestle but I just couldn't care less at that moment. I reached down, cradled my Dougie's head in my hands then humped and writhed in a screaming, moaning orgasm just as I noticed the steward! Having a smoke break out on the rear platform of the last coach, he grinned and gave me the thumbs up sign as the train clickety-clacked away!!!

Oh my, it was so good to have the man I married back again.

I sat up, unzipped him and with more than a little difficulty, extracted his wonderfully erect penis through his fly. It was hard, purple and ready for action but Doug looked a little apprehensive. I said told him to relax and promised to be gentle with him as I began to stroke him. He seemed to have a lot more blood coursing through those veins, for his shaft was hot and red and thick.

What to do with him was the quandary, however. I pulled back his foreskin with the fingers of one hand then tickled all over and under his knob to remove any stinky, foul tasting moisture. I licked my lips wet, summoned up a tongue full of spit then smeared my juicy lips down over his corona. I licked quickly like a dog lapping an ice cream cone to neutralize all tastes with my saliva. I tilted my head back a little so his knob slid along the roof of my mouth rather than down the back of my throat.

I called upon my salivary glands once more to slime his penis up good then began my sucking head-bob routine. There was no way I was going to spend ten minutes in a canoe, gagging on a throat full of semen, so I sucked him off clean, pulled his foreskin back up and jerked him mercilessly. My gamble was well timed for his face began to flush. I knew I had to get him off quickly and I was already a mess so I just aimed it down at my pubes and stroked like crazy. I pulled the soaking crotch of my panties aside to give him something to think about and wouldn't you know it, thirty seconds later, he lunged ahead, planted it slightly into my pussy then squirted two great pumps of sperm into me plus a third as he was pulling out!

He tidied my panties up as he pulled out but gave me one more poke to wipe off his last drip then smiled back at me and uttered the magic words, "No pains! There are no pains whatsoever!"

I was so relieved, especially when those deep blue eyes flashed back toward me. "Look at the ducklings behind you babe!" he pointed behind me. I swiveled my head around for a few seconds to have a look and heard his camera click repeatedly as he photographed the dear little things.

Since it was a windless day, on our way back Doug zipped by our complex and headed out into a dead calm Lake Ontario. The shimmering green water was amazingly clear, apparently due to the Zebra Muscles. In a bay I suddenly became aware that we were being stalked by, of all things, three-foot long carp fish! The trolling motor made virtually no noise in the water so four or five giant bottom feeders swam along with us for a good mile, breaking the surface occasionally like little dolphins.

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A week later, Doug dragged me out to a slip in front of our unit and introduced me to a bright yellow 14-foot fiberglass runabout boat with a 9.9 Johnson motor at the rear. It had a full front deck, two front bucket seats, a steering wheel, controls and a full-length perfectly flat floor, carpeted with brown tweed Astroturf. Through June and July we followed the shoreline from up as far as Pickering and all the way down to Cobourg.

Between Bond Head and Port Granby we discovered 100-foot high sandy bluffs whose shapes and grandeur took my breath away. On the way back it occurred to me that no houses were built on the unstable bluffs. No boats except ours came closer than a mile from shore and we were completely, utterly alone, except for the flocks of shore birds. Canada's busiest arterial highway and rail lines lay within half a mile of the shoreline but none of those thousands of travelers had any idea of the beauty and tranquility along the lakeshore.

With that in mind, off came my top, my bra, my shorts and my panties as well as Doug's shirt, shorts and briefs. I smeared him with suntan lotion as we bobbed fifty feet offshore. Then he slathered me from head to toe and back again in return.

Suddenly that familiar old expression came across his face. He shuffled back toward the idling outboard motor, adjusted its tiller up to a 45-degree angle and exclaimed, "Laura, I'd like to introduce you to Johnson. He's long, thickly ribbed and obviously all abuzz over meeting you!"

The dirty old bugger squirted sunscreen along the tiller and spread it all over its handgrip. He reached out for my hand and carefully assisted me over to the jiggling black protuberance. He sized up the possibilities then had me steady my right shin against, while planting my left foot on top of the little rear deck. Just like that I felt the tiller jiggle against my crotch. Doug reached under me from behind, tapped the tiller up a little then firmly guided me down onto it!