Old Friends, New Desires Pt. 01

This turned out longer than I thought it would be when I first envisioned it, so there will be four parts over the next week. It could fit into several sections, but I believe it truly is a "Loving Wives" story. I have tried to make the characters sound like real people and would appreciate feedback on that. Speaking in a woman's voice was a challenge, and I would like feedback on that also, especially from any female readers. Celia's change is probably btoo abrupt for reality, but strange things happen when sex enters the equation.

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Breast cancer! I was terrified. My worst nightmare had come true. I couldn't think. I barely felt my husband's arms around me, holding me tight. My mother had died of breast cancer, as had some friends and acquaintances over the years. The survivors I knew often had a difficult time dealing with their new life and the effects of the cancer. I knew these were strong possibilities when I had the sample taken from my breast, but had kept that idea away from my consciousness as hard as I could. Now I, Celia James, had breast cancer.

I was told that a full mastectomy was the only solution. Fortunately, my left breast tested cancer free, but I was counseled about the idea of removing it, also, in order to avoid problems later. I said absolutely not. I was not going to further destroy my body on a chance. I'd deal with that later if I had to. I knew some women did that, but it seemed to me that giving up a cancer free breast was giving cancer total control of my life and my femininity.

I was barely sane for the two weeks until the operation; only Dan, my husband, and my family and friends kept me from crying the entire time. Dan constantly smiled at me and told me I was not to worry, that medicine was much better than in my mother's time, and the cancer had been caught early, making treatment much more likely of success. Dan kept repeating that he would always love me, no matter my appearance after the operation. I knew he meant it, but wondered if it would be true when he saw my ugly body. Dreams of scars and sagging skin kept me awake; fears of death and disease clouded my waking hours.

I would not put a fake breast in my body; I had read too many articles about what happened when they failed and about how they never felt natural. Also, the doctor told me that I would probably need cosmetic surgery on my left breast to match. No more surgery than absolutely necessary was my statement.

Dan helped by reminding me that he had mentioned many times about how he hated the look of implants. So, his reassurance helped, but like any woman, my breasts were part of my identity, my sexuality. I obsessed about this, but Dan strongly supported my decision; it was my body, my choice, he said. I had always loved him with all my heart, but his support during this awful time raised my love to an even higher level. Our children, our parents, and our best friends, Marty and Sam, stayed close and listened to my fears and consoled me.

I spent a lot of time looking back on my life, especially my marriage. Dan was a star baseball player in college and was movie star handsome. He certainly could date any girl in school. When he asked me to go to a U2 concert I was surprised, but he told me he had seen me at the baseball games and learned from a friend that I loved baseball. I had been on the softball team in high school but had ripped up my ACL chasing a ball into the stands.

It didn't take long for us to realize that we wanted to be together forever. On our second date we were kissing passionately in my apartment when I realized I wanted him, physically as well as emotionally. I had let some boys touch my breasts in high school, and as a college freshman I had let one boy I had been dating for a few months put his finger in me. It had been exciting, but that was all I had done sexually.

But when Dan stopped kissing me and leaned away to look me directly in my eyes, I knew what he wanted and I knew I wanted it too. I felt a warmth between my legs and it matched my desire. I took his hand and put it on my breast. He caressed it through the blouse for a moment, then slowly unbuttoned the top buttons and reached inside my bra. When he touched my nipple, I had to push myself into his hand wanting more.

He took my blouse and bra off and kissed my nipples. I could feel myself getting wet in my panties. I took his hand again and moved it to my thigh under my skirt. I never spent a moment worrying about going too fast; this was absolutely what I wanted. We didn't have any protection, so I had to wait another day to lose my virginity.

We married when I was 19; my parents said I was too young, but we have been married for 23 years. We have two children, Rachel 21 and in her senior year in college, and William 19 and a sophomore at the same college. It is a classic close knit family, loving and caring. My kids are smart and hardworking. They are honest and fair and honorable. Dan is 46, an engineer for a construction company, and I am second grade teacher, the best job in the world.

I kept one horrible thought to myself; I was afraid that Dan would not want to make love to me after the operation. I had always been just a little bit above average in the looks and beauty department. I am 5'6", 140 pounds, 15 pounds more than before the kids, and my face was always described by most people as pretty but Dan always called me beautiful. I have brown hair that has some body and sheen, aided by good hair dressers. My two best assets were my breasts and my butt. My breast were 34 C and held up firmly even after breast feeding. Dan had said very early on in our courtship, "Eileen, you have a great ass, a Brazilian ass." I had to ask him what that meant and giggled when he told me.

But I was sure that a middle age teacher with a scar tissue instead of a breast would turn him away!

I thought of all of this and our love a lot in the weeks before the operation. It was a mixed blessing. It provided comfort and a center for my feelings, but it also reminded what I could lose.

When I awoke from the surgery, the doctors told me that it had gone better than they had hoped; I had no cancer cells in my lymph node, so none had been removed. I was happy, but I knew I no longer had a breast on my right chest. I dreaded removing the bandages.

Well, I finally did and saw the terrible results and went into a deep depression. Even after the drainage tubes had been removed and the scars lost their red, raw look, it took months to work out of it to an almost normal life. Dan held me and told me repeatedly how much he loved me and that his love had nothing to do with my breasts.

But I didn't believe him, and I treated him badly in my depression; I ended our sex life. I hid my body from him and rebuffed any affectionate approaches. I didn't even want to be hugged in fear that my missing breast could make it awkward.

Dan told me it was all OK, that he still loved me. Perhaps he thought I'd get better and return to a normal life, but that didn't happen. In fact, I got worse; I had nightmares and everything seemed to remind me of what a monster I had become.

One night about six months after the operation I was trying to sleep, and I half dreamed about and half remembered a night of passion Dan and I had shared before I learned about the cancer.

I opened the bedroom door just enough look inside and see my husband sitting on the bed looking back at me. I put one leg inside the door, showing my thigh high stocking and garter belt. Then I leaned forward, holding on to the door, and let my breasts hang down, held up by a very sheer bra. Then I walked into the room and looked at Dan while I ran my hands over my breasts and stomach, ending with a grasp at the front of the matching, sheer panties that barely covered my mound.

Turning sideways, I caressed and squeezed my ass as Dan focused intently on my hands as I touched myself. I stepped closer after a few minutes and started to undress slowly starting with the nylons. As I took off each piece, I tossed it at Dan who gathered them into his hands. When I threw my panties at him I told him to smell them even though I knew they were already wet and had my smell. He smiled as he complied.

Finally, I stood in front of him and watched him reach out to touch my breasts.

I sat up in bed, gasping for air, in a panic. No, he couldn't touch my breasts; I only had one. The other was just a scar. My memories of love and passion were now my nightmares. I sank deeper into my depression and desire to never let Dan touch me again.

Dan told me it was all OK, that he still loved me. Perhaps he thought I'd get better and return to a normal life, but that didn't happen. Months went by, and I became reclusive and started shutting out my husband and children and friends.

I knew that I was creating an awful life for myself and my family. I wondered how long Dan would accept me this way; no sex or affection, almost no social activities. We stayed away from friends and even stopped seeing our children as much. I tried to not let it affect my teaching, but I had lost much of my personal affection with the children, and they knew it.