Different Strokes

My husband Glen was multi-tasking. Looking in the bathroom mirror and shaving as he fucked me from behind. Not as dangerous as it sounds because he uses an electric razor. I was naked and thoroughly enjoying myself -- apart from the cold marble against my tits. He was in no hurry and neither was I. I always marvel at how he gets almost instantly erect when I offer him my vagina -- even after 14 years of marriage -- and he still regards it as a privilege to fuck me. And it is a privilege. Because his is the only cock that has ever been inside me and it's the only cock that ever will. Apart from him, I only have sex with women. He knows this, of course, and has always accepted it. Right from the start of our relationship he knew I couldn't give up women. Whenever, I checked in with him that he was still okay with our unconventional marriage, he would just smile, shrug and say: "different strokes for different folks".

I think of his penis as my comfort cock - because in general I really dislike men. I don't hate all of them -- but I don't trust any of them. Except for Glen. It comes from my childhood. My father was a violent, drug-addicted, abusive arsehole and my mother and I lived in constant fear of him.

*

I'm nine years old and my mother and I are living in our car; an old work van with a mattress in the back. She's finally found the courage to leave my father after he turned his fury on me. My arm is in a cast. We're broke. But my mother is too scared to sign on for benefits because my father "knows people" and we also don't have an address -- a prerequisite for receiving welfare. We could go to my grandparents but they also fear my father and my mother refuses to put them in danger too.

My mother works several nights a week to keep us fed and clothed. On those nights she leaves me with her best friend Annabel. I don't really know what sort of work she's doing but I assume it's some sort of mobile magic show because I overhear Annabel telling her husband that my mother is "turning tricks in the van". I ask her about this and she smiles sort of sadly and tells me, yes, it's a magic show. I ask her to show me some magic tricks but she shakes her head and says she's not the magician she just helps out. It will be years before I realise the true sacrifice she has made to keep me safe.

There's no school for me -- too dangerous. We hide out in the van moving around the city, never staying in one spot for too long. I don't like it much but I have a full belly, warm clothes and my very own Tamagotchi. I love my mother but I don't like it when she has to go to work, because she's always tired and angry when she comes to pick me up from Annabel's. It's the only time she's ever short tempered with me. But I always get a hug and kiss before we bed down for the night. Then I feel okay -- except for those nights when I hear her crying softly on her side of the mattress.

This goes on for about four months. Then one night our life, such as it is, is turned upside down. My mother rushes into Annabel's late one night in a blind panic. From her desperate explanation it appears one of her customers knows my father and has demanded a free magic show or he will tell my father where we are. She thanks Annabel and bundles me into the car and then she's skidding out of their driveway and speeding away, with me wide-eyed in the passenger seat. I have no idea where we are going. We just drive and drive and drive. After an hour or so I climb into the back and fall asleep and when I wake up next morning my mother tells me we're in a different state and she tells me there will never ever be any more magic shows.

*

My husband had finished his shave and was really going to work on me. I knew he wouldn't cum until I did, and I never climax from just fucking, so I raised myself on one hand so he could see my tits swaying in the mirror and got to work on my clit with the other hand. I smiled as his grunts got louder, closed my eyes and thought about what we'd probably be doing that night with Brenda and Rob. That sent a spark through me that ignited the powder trail to my orgasm. As soon as my contractions started I felt him pulsing inside me and we came together, gasping and moaning. It was bliss.

If my husband is my comfort cock, I suppose you could say Brenda is my comfort cunt. We'd met several years before at a swingers party and they were the only couple from that set whose friendship we encouraged beyond the parties. We had a lot in common. They were about our age -- mid-thirties -- childless like us, and they were just really great, intelligent, sincere people. They were the type of people we'd want to hang with even without the sex. So the sex was a very welcome bonus. We socialised together for a couple of years then Brenda (a social scientist) got a chance to do some humanitarian work in Africa. Rob was willing to put his career on hold so they went off on a year-long adventure. We stayed in touch of course and they were now back in town. Tonight would be our first chance to get together. I was hoping nothing had changed with them because I really wanted to get my face between Brenda's legs again. If I did she might or might not let my husband fuck her as well, and he and Rob might or might not suck each other's cocks. They'd only done it once before, on a dare from Brenda and we'd let them watch a torrid 69, but neither of them seemed freaked-out by it and both reported enjoying the experience. But that was over a year ago and perhaps they'd moved on from the lifestyle that had initially brought us together.

I needn't have worried. They were barely through the door before Brenda and I were exchanging a delightfully close hug. She whispered in my ear how much she had missed me and the kiss we shared was just long enough to involve some tongue. Our c-cup breasts were almost identical and they felt so good pressed together. My husband and Rob exchanged a short handshake and one of those manly shoulder bumps that pass for affection between men.

Brenda and Rob both looked tanned and fit and certainly none the worse for their African adventure. If anything Brenda had slimmed down to about a size 10. She was wearing a very colourful halter-top dress that flared at the hips and came to just above the knee. No bra that I could detect and I couldn't wait to release that halter strap. But first we sat on the back deck enjoying some chilled wine, sampling a cheese plate and hearing all about what they did in Africa. Brenda was very enthusiastic about the women and children's health program she'd been involved in. Rob is an engineer so it hadn't been long before he found work on some fresh water development schemes. It sounded so worthwhile and made my own corporate psychology and Glen's architecture seem self-indulgent. Glen fired up the barbecue and we were soon tucking into some grilled seafood and salad. Throughout the meal there'd been absolutely no allusions to our past dalliances, and I was beginning to doubt my earlier confidence, so it came as a relief and a thrill when, halfway through our second bottle of white, I felt Brenda's hand slide surreptitiously onto me knee and up the inside of my thigh. We exchanged a look and I saw my own hunger reflected in her beautiful brown eyes. I rose from the table and bent over her from behind to give her a hug and kiss the side of her neck -- a lingering kiss -- which sent a clear signal round the table that Brenda and I, at least, were ready for some fun.

"We've really missed you two," I said with an exaggerated sigh that brought smiles to the faces of the men. "You boys can do the washing up. Brenda and I have some catching up to do!" There were general sounds of agreement and soon I was leading Brenda by the hand through to our "playroom".

*

Things aren't much easier for us over the border until my mother swallows her pride and approaches a distant cousin for help. She and her husband allow us to use their caravan as temporary accommodation -- the husband somewhat grudgingly -- and with a semi-permanent address my mum can register for a single parent's benefit. She also gets part-time work at a petrol station and for the first time in years the anxiety seems to be lifting from her shoulders. I start school and don't tell her about the new-kid bullying I have to endure. I don't trust the girls who make tentative gestures of friendship, so condemn myself to being "that weird kid" and eating my lunches alone.

This goes on for almost a year and my mother's cousin is starting to make noises about us moving out when I come home from school one day to see my mum just sitting in the van staring into space. She's unnaturally still and I start to get worried. I sit down beside her and she hands me her phone. I look at the words on the screen. My father is dead.

All I can say is: "Wow". He was murdered in some drug deal that went wrong.

I glance uncertainly at my mother and she bursts into tears. I wrap my arms around her as giant sobs rack her slight body. I'm confused because I can't see how this is anything but good news. I realise much later of course that she's crying with relief; that an underlying fear that's been gnawing at her guts for years is dissolving; that she can finally stop looking over her shoulder and can look forward with hope.

*

The "playroom" is actually just a spare bedroom with an oversized bed in the middle of the floor and not much else. I closed the door and stood in front of Brenda holding both of her hands. "I'm glad you haven't forgotten me," I smiled, my arousal starting to peak.

She grinned back: "Never."

I'm curious: "Meet anyone special over there?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. It was a religion-based program. We didn't dare step out of line. But what about you? What's been happening while we've been away? Make any new 'friends'?"

The answer to that is yes. Our semi-regular group meetings brought us into contact with some lovely, horny newcomers but none that we'd become particularly close to.

"Yes," I replied. "But no-one special." I reached to the back of her neck to untie the halter strap then peeled down the front of her dress to release her breasts. I just gazed at them for a moment: the beautiful orbs glowing in the soft lamplight. Her nipples were tight pebbles, the areolae puckered with need. "God you are so beautiful!" I sighed. Brenda's hands lifted her breasts, offering them to me, and I dipped my head to anoint each one with the wetness of my tongue. She moaned aloud as I gently licked, sucked and nibbled each peak making them even harder -- more swollen. I straightened up to see her eyes glazed with arousal.

I chuckled: "I think you really are in need of some loving!"

"Oh my God, you wouldn't believe how much I've wanted this!" she sighed and cupped my face in her hands to draw me into a long and increasingly passionate kiss. Brenda is totally bi-sexual -- not principally lesbian like me. But she certainly doesn't seem to miss cock when we're together.

We remained standing for the next 10 minutes, slowly kissing, caressing and undressing each other till we were both naked and entwined in each other's limbs. My body was feeling the "Brenda tingles", a tantalising arousal that only Brenda seems to be able to trigger, and I was dripping down the insides of my legs. Her knee came up between my legs and I worked my hips to smear my juices on her thigh. The scent of our mingled arousal was making me wild with need and I dragged my breasts down her body as I sank to the floor between her legs and applied my mouth to her shaved mound. She gasped and grabbed the back of my head to press me lower. I used my thumbs to part her cleft. Her pussy opened like a flower and I gratefully extended my tongue to lap at her nectar.

I took my time, wanting to delay her first cum and make it that much better. I spent a couple of minutes just revelling in her trembles and moans, as I deliberately avoided her clit, first sucking on her outer labia then using my tongue to stimulate the inner lips. She was flowing beautifully and I had to pause every few seconds to swallow the sweet essence that coated my tongue. But she was soon too weak in the knees to remain standing and she pulled me up and over to the bed. There she dropped quickly onto her back, spread her legs and pulled her knees up to her armpits leaving herself completely, lewdly open to me.

She fixed my eyes and said: "For fuck's sake, please just make me cum!"

I obliged.

*

For the first time in years we feel safe. We want to go home. We clean out the caravan and make the long drive back across the border. We are welcomed with joyous tears from my grandparents. With my brutal father out of the picture, they too aren't living in fear of him, and they welcome us into their home. After a long wait we get our own place, a two-bedroom housing commission flat. It's secure and relatively safe, despite many of the no-hoper neighbours. And when I finally graduate from high school and get a university scholarship I can't wait to spread my wings with a move to the capital. I can thank my mum for my good education. She drives me relentlessly in my studies and I will do anything in my power to please her. Not surprisingly, she never wants me to be dependant on anyone else -- especially not a man - and drills into me the need for a good profession with a reliable income. She's a bit dismayed when I choose to study psychology rather than something "useful", like engineering or medicine. But it turns out okay. I study hard and get accepted into honours research at the university, which actually pays for my tuition.

And that's where I meet Glen. He's also doing honours - in architecture. We have some mutual friends on campus and he seems to be the most relaxed and self-sufficient person I've ever met. Enough guys have hit on me by this time to reassure me that I'm attractive -- even beautiful, according to the women I most want to impress and lure into my bed. I have a few male friends but I still don't trust men.

But Glen is different. For a start he never -- but never -- hits on me and I find that incongruously annoying. He's very good looking and dresses well, so I assume he's gay. But no, a couple of my girlfriends assure me he's not. He becomes part of our wider group and I can't help being attracted to him. He's probably the most intelligent man I've ever met -- a real polymath, who seems to know something about everything without ever being showy or a smart-arse. I have absolutely no sexual interest in men so I can't figure out why I look for him every day and find ways to be in his company. Then, one day it hits me: he makes me feel safe. He's quite a big guy but is very gentle and considerate of others. He seems to like sport but isn't a jock. He drinks but never gets drunk. The girls seem to throw themselves at him but he doesn't just use them for sex. I hate the thought of needing him to be around, yet I find his general indifference to me incongruously annoying. I want his good opinion. I want his attention.

And then I'm hit with a shocking realisation: I want him. He's the only man who's ever made me feel aroused. So his continued indifference makes me feel by turns resentful, angry and sad.

This goes on for most of the first semester of our honours year. We're both studying hard and seem to party less than our other friends. Then one day I'm surprised to hear he's throwing a party in his apartment which is just off-campus. It's an open-house party but with no direct invitation from him I feign indifference. But I badly want to go and only pretend reluctance when my girlfriends drag me along with them. I've never been to his place and I'm impressed by how big and neat it is. It's light filled with tall windows facing onto the street and is furnished with Scandinavian simplicity. But what impresses me most are his architectural pencil sketches -- some of them framed -- that populate his walls. He seems obsessed with the Georgian and early Victorian buildings that decorate the inner city. The sketches are quite severe and yet beautiful; exact in their symmetry. I can't take my eyes off them. Eventually he notices and asks me if I like them. I tell him how beautiful I find them. He just shrugs and wanders off. God he is annoying.

The party winds on through the evening and someone orders takeaway pizza. The bottle of wine I brought with me is long gone but there seems to be enough about that I can keep drinking. I detest being drunk -- even tipsy -- but I'm unwilling to leave Glen's apartment. I eventually sink into an armchair in the corner. There's a bookshelf beside me and I browse the titles. Almost all are books on architecture. There's also a stack of sketchbooks on the lowest shelf and I pull a few of them out. They're full of half-completed architectural drawings, apparently studies for larger pieces, but any one of which I'd be happy to hang on my walls. He seems obsessed with perfection and I flip over page after page of discarded efforts.

Then, at the back of the last sketch pad, I'm surprised to find drawing after drawing of a young woman. All just head and shoulders. He's drawn her in profile, three-quarter and full face, looking up, looking down, smiling, frowning. She looks happy, she looks sad, she looks bemused. She has a proud forehead, a very slightly aquiline nose and sensuous lips. She's beautiful.

Actually, I'm far more than surprised. I'm stunned. The young woman is me.

*

I held Brenda in my arms, face to face, as she trembled through the final throes of her orgasm. When her breathing finally calmed I kissed the tip of her nose and said:

"Wow, you really did need that didn't you?"

She laughed: "You have no idea! Give me a few minutes and I'll return the favour." She winked and moved against me, trailing her free hand down my spine to clasp my bottom. Her fingers lightly teased the cleft. "Rob gives me lovely sex of course, but damn, no-one makes me cum like you do."

"I'm glad on both counts," I cooed and kissed her lips. Yes, as I said before, Brenda is my comfort cunt. I've lost count of the women I've fucked over the years, and not all just one-night stands. But Brenda keeps me grounded. We just seem to fit together -- both physically and emotionally. We've played just the two of us together far more often than as couples with our spouses, but they seem to understand our need. Brenda can also read my sexual mood. She can be gentle and loving when I need it -- but then be equally dirty and messy when the hunger in me is particularly strong. She knows all my trigger points and the obscene sex talk that can take me way over the top.

As her fingers probed my bottom cleft more deeply and she licked my lips to taste herself on me, I felt the "Brenda tingles" begin all over again. She sensed my growing need and rolled me onto my back to straddle my hips. She grabbed my wrists and stretched my arms up to the headboard. This made my breasts lift and she eyed them almost wickedly. She lowered her shoulders till our breasts began to brush, our nipples flicking lightly, making mine harder than ever. I moaned in anticipation and she didn't disappoint me. She released my wrists but I kept my arms up. She scooted down till she was perched on my thighs then lowered her head to begin loving my tits. She knows how much I love this and she spent long minutes kissing around the sensitive skin deliberately avoiding my nipples, licking the undersides, then gently biting and sucking the firm flesh, leaving small red marks in her wake. I twisted under her trying to force my nipples into her mouth and she finally relented. She picked her target and extended her tongue but locked her eyes on mine before the very tip made feather-light contact with my left nipple. I groaned deep in my throat as erotic sparks shot to my clitoris. She repeated the same teasing manoeuvre on my right nipple before attacking in earnest: licking, sucking and biting -- drawing each tip into her mouth to flick it repeatedly with her tongue. My hands flew to the back of her head to crush it against me and my legs opened under her trying to get any pressure at all on my pussy. She took the hint and began to kiss down my belly. I could tell she was just as aroused as I was when her lips finally homed in on me. I lifted my hips to greet her tongue and she had me over the edge in seconds. That first mini-orgasm was followed by several more, peaking in a head-spinning climax with two fingers in my cunt, one in my arse and the flat of her tongue lashing my clitoris. I shrieked in profound pleasure and collapsed back on the pillows. I grabbed her hands and pulled her up to ride out the aftershocks with her body fully on top of mine so I could lick my excess from her face.