My Coming Out - My Story

Then I realized that I was again leaking, this time from another cavity. "Good Lord", I thought to myself, "I get one end cleaned up and now another one is messed up." I answered my own concern almost immediately, "Well, if you make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs." With that, I fell into the deepest sleep that I had experienced in years.

Sunday morning arose; a truly glorious day! The sun was shinning brightly, there was not a cloud in the sky; a typical Atlanta morning. Gary and I quickly got ready for church and headed for the door when I realized that I had made a slight mistake in my wardrobe selection. When donning my usual slacks and matching top outfit I had not taken into account the chaffing that I was still experiencing (OK, I admit it; I like to wear my slacks as tight as I can. If some old Baptist coot likes to look at a nice derriere, who am I to deny him?) I made it as far as the door when I realized that this just wasn't going to work. The chaffing showed no sign of going away (it didn't for about two more days). I nipped back into the bedroom and put on one of my most conservative, long-to-the-floor, gingham "granny" dresses.

Arriving at the church, I realized that I still had a chaffing problem (yes, I had used a ton of baby powder on my crotch). I realized that I still needed to make one more wardrobe modification. Dashing into the restroom, straight to a back stall, I pulled my black lace panties down and began stuffing them into my purse. As I was leaving the stall, still putting the panties out of sight, I was horrified to bump into (face-to-face) the wife of the choir director, one of the most prudish people that I have ever met. "Well, how are you Lisa?" she asked, looking down at my purse. "Oh, I've never been better." was my reply. I excused myself and ran out the door. Then I thought, "Oh my God, I didn't flush or wash my hands. She'll know that something was going on." It was too late though. I continued on up to my Sunday School class.

Somehow, I made it through the class. I think I taught most of the class standing behind a podium; anything to keep my discomfort from showing. At the conclusion of the class, Gary and I made our way to the sanctuary and looked for a seat. No sooner had we begun to walk down the aisle when we were intercepted by one of the biggest busybodies in the entire congregation. "Oh Lisa," she clucked, "I just noticed that you're walking so strangely. Did you hurt yourself?" My face reddened and I looked down.

"Oh, we were playing tennis and she pulled a muscle in her leg." Gary said.

"Oh, you POOR dear!" the busybody replied, "Would you like me to add your name to the prayer request list?" I glanced over at Gary. He had turned away but I could see his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Oh, thank you very much", I replied, "But I'm sure I'll be OK in a few days."

At the same time, I was thinking to myself, "I wonder what she would have said if she would have seen me being double-teamed by Mike and Gary?"

Gary and I found our places in a pew and we waited for the sermon to begin. I hadn't had a chance to look at the church bulletin so I idly flipped through it until I found the topic for today's sermon. I nearly choked when I found it. In big block letters was the topic, and the scripture that it was taken from: Ephesians 5:22 – "Wives, Submit Yourselves Unto Your Own Husbands – What does it mean?" I showed it to Gary. Both of us became red-faced from our silent laughter. I can't remember much about what the Good Reverend said about the topic. However, I don't think he meant anything close to what we had done on Friday night!

And so, readers, I come to the end of my story. To those of you who elected to "stick it out" and read this to the end, I sincerely thank you. What you have read was, in a sense, a sexual biography of Gary and I, on a night that our sex lives were taken to a new level.

Since that memorable Friday night, our sex life has never, REPEAT, never been better. Gary admits that, now, he sees me in whole new light.

About two months after that night, I began to notice that Gary had virtually stopped bringing home porn movies for our viewing. I asked him about it and he looked me straight in the eye and said, "Why? I'm married to a porn star."

Ladies, I ask you; HOW COOL IS THAT?" We haven't totally gone cold turkey however. Every Friday or Saturday night, Gary plays the video of us and Mike. To tell you the truth, I don't believe that we've ever sat through the entire fifty or sixty minutes of video. Why? Because, generally after the first ten or fifteen minutes, I'm flat on my back in front of the TV or being led firmly to the bedroom for some hard screwing.

In addition to the video, Gary also compiled a photo album of that fantastic night. And, I must confess, this does have a particular fascination for me. I've never told my husband about this. The first time he'll know about it is when he reads this.

Roughly in the middle of the album, on facing pages, are two separate shots. I'm in the same position in both pictures but with Mike inside me in one shot and Gary inside me in the other. Other than that the pictures are identical (with my white pumps high in the air!). Sometimes, when I'm alone, I'll look at the album, just at those two pictures.

In the picture of Gary and I, you can't help but notice that Gary's cock is completely filling my pussy (and I mean COMPLETELY). However, when you look across at the picture of me and Mike, the sight is almost grotesque. To put it bluntly, it looks as though I'm not just being filled; I'm being completely split apart! In the photo, you can't even see my labia; the enormity of the huge pole completely obliterates them! I still shake my head when I look at this picture and wonder how I could have taken such a weapon.

Yes, Yes, Yes, I know that a woman's vagina is well equipped to stretch and that it is stretched wider than any cock during childbirth. Still, as brutal as childbirth must be (no, I don't have any children) receiving (and accommodating) a cock such as Mike's is a real experience. And, for you guys (those of you who didn't get bored and quit reading), I'm NOT saying that "bigger is better." All I'm saying is that it's definitely DIFFERENT. And, I'm glad that I experienced the difference.

So, my little tale comes to an end. Again, to you folks who took the time to read this, I thank you. As for you, Mike, I doubt that you'll ever read this. You're probably too busy screwing the brains out of some housewife out there in Texas! To you, I can only say that I hope you've enjoyed my panties as much as I enjoyed you taking them off me and I can only add two words, "THANK YOU."