I'm a Woman Who Loves It

"You're real! Oh my god – it wasn't just the best dream I've ever had. How are you?" he asked with a laugh.

"I could say the same thing about you, you know! Tommy, you just filled a big hole in my life – and yes, all my other holes as well – and all I want to do is get you back in them! I've never ever been as nuts about another man! I don't want to scare you off and I'm deathly afraid I might already have done that!" I gushed."

"Not a chance! You are every man's wet dream. The only other time I met a woman as into sex as you are, I think it had to do with drugs more than anything else. We spent one very hot – but somewhat blurred – night and did a lot of what you and I did, but barely spoke, and when I went to get back together with her she wasn't anywhere to be found. The phone number she'd given me turned out to be for a pizza joint. You, on the other, are very real and you even called me! I think I've died and gone to heaven – and I may need to buy stock in Viagra if you are always that horny!"

"Well, I didn't see any signs of E.D. over this weekend. Maybe a little delay in getting hard after about the sixth or seventh time – but it didn't slow you down because you are more than just a big dick – you are a hot mouth, flashing fingers and a very dirty mind. I'm getting wet again just thinking about you! What should we try next? And how soon until you are here?"

So, after months of lots of sex all over the place (and all over the map), we moved in together, and about a year after that we were married. My family was on their best behavior during the week of my wedding when we both traveled back to Ohio for the wedding. I was so damned nervous I can actually say that I didn't think of sex once in the whole time I was there. Once, as in once per hour – a new record, actually. (Yes, there are some stories to be told about later visits and family affairs, I know, and since I get wet just thinking back on them and still gets hard when we talk about them, I know you'll love them once I can manage to commit them to paper. Till then, however, use your imagination, your hand and a lot of lube!)

Our first year of wedded bliss seemed to go by in a heartbeat. But as we entered the second year, something had changed. Sex was no longer "the moment we see each other it's a race to see who gets naked first," and we even went as long as a week without it. That had been unheard of for us, up until that point. The strange part was, I accepted it and figured it was just a normal phase of life. After all, I'd gone for six months without sex at one time.

Until it continued – and the periods between boinks grew longer. Finally, after a call with my previously mentioned former roommate Nat, and hearing her gush about man after man – as well as man and man and man – that I woke up. The fire seemed to have gone out, and we weren't even aware of it. When I said as much to Nat, she laughed.

"You can be such a dumb twat, girl. It hasn't gone out. Let's check a few things. Have you gained weight? Have your boobs shrunk? Did your pussy seal up? Does he still have a dick?"

"Very funny. You know the answer to all those questions already. I'm still at the same weight, I've had no body mods and nothing has sealed over. He still has a dick, although I might be going more on memory than on any recent contact. What's that all mean?"

"Well, he's either done the "I'm bored with women so I'll try men" route, in which case he's not only hiding things, he's hiding something he's ashamed of. OR, he's getting better tail elsewhere."

"He knows I think his man on man stuff was hot, Maybe he is "cheating. Which is so stupid I can't even imagine it. But you are right – something's changed and I don't think it's me. I've gotta go and think on this. Thanks, Nat." We hung up.

That night I left work early to get home. I showered and shaved - all over. I have to admit that shaving my kitty had me play with it and remind myself what I was missing, which, in turn, fueled my imagination further. When I finally succumbed to the cold water after the hot water ran out, I got out of the shower, dried off, did my hair and put on makeup, and consider how to greet him. And got busy.

When he came in I called out "I'm in the kitchen, finishing dinner for us. Come on in."

I purposefully had my back to him, so what he saw was the back of a naked woman as he entered the kitchen. I turned around with a plate of oysters in my hand. I was dressed – sort of. I had managed to put on a kitchen apron that covered some of my boobs and extended just below my pussy.

"You'll need these" I said, extending the plate of slimy flesh. My right boob came out of the apron as I extended the oysters. I let it show, and reached over with my free left hand and began to play with the nipple.

I wish I had a camera – the look on his face was priceless! (Note to self: investigate home video camera systems.) As he reached for the tray, I notice his pants suddenly seemed snug.

"Oh my. There's seems to be something growing in your pants! We need to investigate that. I moved towards him, handed him the plate and sank to my knees. I looked up at him from that position as my hands were busy unzipping him and undoing his belt.

"It's like you have some sort of monster growing in there" I said in mock horror. "We have to fish it out." With that I yanked down his pants and stared directly into the eye of his needle! (Well, it was more like a cucumber, but the metaphor isn't as good.)

"Oh dear, it seems all angry and red. I think it's hungry – it's dripping saliva or something."

With that, I opened wide, stuck out my tongue and basically swallowed his cock whole. He came without any warning. In all the time we'd been together, he'd shown exquisite control – suddenly he had the sensitivity of an adolescent. That's some of what was going through my mind as I worked to swallow every drop of his salty, hot cum. When he finally finished and I'd drained ever drop, I heard the strangest noise.

He was sobbing! Needless to say, I was a bit surprised. And a bit more unnerved. I slowly got to my feet, holding him at arms length, and just trying to grok what had happened. I mean, I'd had men shout, I'd had men curse, moan, mumble strange words – but I'd never had one reduced to a crying hulk by a blowjob.

"It was that good?" I asked. That somehow got past his sobbing and crying, and a trace of a smile crossed his face.

"I, er, um, I think we need to talk" he said. My heart suddenly really did skip a beat. I thought I was going to faint and felt tears forming in my eyes.

"Nat warned me. She said the lack of sex meant you were cheating. Or leaving. Or lying. Or something else. But it wasn't a good thing. I should have listened." I began to cry.

"No! There's no one else! I swear. It's not that. Not at all."

And then he took me into the living room (almost falling on his face with his pants at his ankles first) and we sat on the couch together. That was when he told me the doctor's conclusions. Inoperable, untreatable brain cancer – and a conservative estimate of a few months left. It was after that diagnosis that he'd retreated into his head and we'd stopped with the sex. We clung to each other and cried. We eventually made it to the bedroom and made love to each other with our eyes wide open and looking at one another the entire time.

When we eventually got out of bed, I started going through all the classic stages of dealing with shitty news. Denial was the first and biggest one; I was ready to find another doctor for another opinion – which proved unnecessary since he'd been to three. I began to research all the stuff you can imagine – experimental drugs, alternate treatment methods, changes in diet. After my fourth or fifth suggestion had been replied to with a terse "I've already checked on that," I started to get angry. Fortunately, before any words escaped, I realized the anger was because I was powerless to save my man from this monstrous disease. And, I then realized some of what he had to be going through.

I closed the laptop and sat with him. "What's on your bucket list, Tommy? If we can't beat this, then we have a lot to cram in until it isn't possible any more. Whatever you want – if I can find a way to do it with you or for you, put it on the list!"

That night changed our life. As we worked it through, Tommy made it clear that he didn't want us going broke on medical treatments. He was going to die some time anyway, so fighting it was both futile and costly. We made our plans.

We looked at our money; we were okay. So we both gave notice at work. We simplified and minimized, packed up in our RV and began to travel. Saw the huge prairie dog colony in Teddy Roosevelt National Park. The bears and the elk and the geysers in Yosemite. Niagara falls. Family. Our alma maters. On and on we traveled. At first he drove most of the time, then I took over more and more. I still remember the night when he looked in my eyes and told me it was time to head home. He was tired. He was fulfilled. He was happy. And he was in pain.

As we pulled into the driveway, he told me he had one more item on his bucket list. One more thing he wanted to see – he wanted to see me having sex with other people so he knew that I knew that he was okay with it. So that his "hothouse flower" would be able to go back in the world without worry and sadness.

That began the final few weeks of his life and our marriage. He could no longer get it up but his imagination never withered. He would imagine a scenario and it was up to me to fulfill it while he watched. And those scenarios weren't just imaginary. I learned about online services. Where I could safely find potential partners. I used my parents and their friends to help me locate people of like minds.

And that video camera system – Tommy had it installed while we traveled. He learned how to use it and captured some amazing shit on it. Even in his final days, he had me keep at it and he kept taping. The last thing he taped was all my family busily screwing each other. At some point, during that extended fuck fest I took a break to check in on him. I stood in the doorway, naked, sweaty and dripping cum.

"You are still the most amazing woman I know. Like I said, every man's wet dream. You might want to get everyone in here, though." He coughed, and my heart stood still. I rounded up everyone and they crowded naked into his room.

"I need you guys to promise me you won't let her wallow in grief. That you'll be sure she gives that up and goes back to living the lusty life we had and you taught her. Promise?" They all nodded yes. One by one they came and kissed him, and then filed from the room. Finally, it was the two of us.

"I meant it, girl. You made me deliriously happy and extremely horny in our time together. Get back to giving that gift away. I'll be watching." He closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. I left the room, weeping and sobbing, and my family held me until I could stop. When we next checked in on him, he had passed.

So my husband did his best to liberate me. I still wear the rings. The first time I tried to have sex with someone after his death it was a mess. It took me months before I was looking for sex. Now, it's once again part of my life – a huge, active part of my life.

Time to get ready – my men are due here in about an hour, and there's things to do to get ready. Gotta make sure the cameras are set and the tapes are ready – I think Tommy would like to see what's on my mind tonight!