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Tell Me A Story, Desdmona
illustration by garv

Journey Into Sexual Awareness I - Kama Sutra Position Twenty-Two

By Desdmona

This story is intended for mature readers who are not offended by sexually explicit content.

Three years ago I was a domesticated housewife, a mother of three, and a full-time nurse. I grew up in the midwestern culture that clearly defined my role as such. I did everything that was expected of me, even to a fault. But that was three years ago, before I reached the age that scientists tell us women achieve their peak. When Mother Nature took her course, my sexual organs began rumbling and petitioning my brain that they were being underused and not living up to their potential.

I always had a healthy sex drive or at least healthy as described by Webster: a state of well being in body and mind. But I was limited by my midwestern defined role. You see, girls where I came from weren’t supposed to know about the sex act until their husbands taught them. Sure, our mothers gave us the obligatory speech, but it was a rare mom who could get into specifics beyond the “birds and the bees”. My own mother stumbled through her speech so badly that, until I took ninth grade biology, I thought I actually pollinated.

My husband, John, God bless his soul, was worse off then me. He was so shy on our honeymoon that I feared my virginity would soon be an albatross around my neck. But some how we fumbled through, him in his knee-high sports socks and me with my carefully chosen negligee barely removed.

In the years since, we’d experimented a little, but when I say experimented, I mean in an old-fashioned Petri dish sort of way: let’s put this on top of this and see what develops. We would kiss, he would tug on a breast, I would stroke his cock, he’d get on top of me, and we’d fuck. Frequency was never a problem, but by way of variety ... well let’s just say we had barely surpassed the missionaries.

Then along came my prime. I had read about it in all the women’s magazines, knew it was coming, but still underestimated the magnitude of its power. Somewhere along age thirty-two, sirens began whirling, horns started blowing, flags were waving, and I swear, a veritable welcoming parade marched through my genitals, announcing that I was now ready to test the boundaries of my sexual freedom. Never being one to miss a parade, especially one presented with such panache, I whole-heartedly agreed, I should test the boundaries.

The question now was how to do this, so I hiked myself over to the local Barnes & Noble. I bypassed my usual gardening, cooking, and fiction aisles, and went straight to the erotic and sexual awareness aisle. I half expected the seats to be covered in sensuous black velvet. Unfortunately, they were paisley like the seats in all the other aisles. I was mildly disappointed.

I hesitated at first; another woman was sheepishly perusing a book. She could have been my clone. She held it in her hand, away from her body, and quickly looked from side to side before turning a page. I fancied we were Stepford Wives about to be discovered- somehow we were the only two who survived the transformation from human into robot. When she spotted me, she looked guiltily down at the book in her hand. I weakly smiled, trying to signal it was OK. Her face blanched. She either thought I was hitting on her, or I was there to show her the error of her ways, or both. She harrumphed and hurriedly stuffed the book back on the shelf. Then with her nose in the air, huffed by me. I giggled and thought, oh well, the ranks of the Stepford Wives gone amuck had just dropped to one.

My curiosity got the best of me so I reached for the book she had hastily returned. It was a book of one hundred sexual positions based on the Kama Sutra. I haphazardly flipped it open and began to fumble through the pages, gawking at the pictures. Many of them were arousing with their explicit portrayal, others would take the limberness of an Olympic gymnast to accomplish, and a few would require the willpower of a silent monk not to end up in full-blown belly laughs. But all in all, I decided it was a book to take home and share with John. I grabbed the latest Redbook and Women’s Home Journal to camouflage my checkout, and was on my way.

That evening I managed to pawn the kids off onto individual friends and family. So with book in hand and enough leftover romantic flair from watching Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella” religiously, I proceeded to set the trap for my unsuspecting husband.

I washed the sheets, doused them with an extra bit of Downey, lit a few candles, and fixed John’s favorite meal. John was excited, not only because he got to eat country fried steak and mashed potatoes, but he knew we had the evening alone, and would be adding another missionary strike on the bedpost tally. He was completely unaware of the book I’d purchased or my plan to lure him into sexual decadence.

After dinner, I bathed, shaved, shampooed, fluffed and powdered til I was a walking commercial for Lancome. When John came into the bedroom, he found me beneath the covers, attempting a seductive pose. He must have been pleased, because he was already sporting an erection. He slipped into bed and arduously kissed me. Juices were flowing but I wanted a little boost. So I pulled out the book and said, “Look what I bought!”

He looked at the title in horror, as if the gates of hell had just opened up and Satan himself was yanking us in.

“What’s wrong with the way we do things?” He whined at the end of his question so it sounded more like “thiiiiings.” I rushed to reassure him.

“Nothing is wrong with it honey, but it’s like this: if carrot cake were your favorite dessert and you ate it every day, eventually you might want to try the Dutch Apple pie, but it wouldn’t mean that carrot cake wasn’t still your favorite.”

So he sighed, took the book, and began to thumb through it. His arousal, which had faltered for just a second, began to twitch. I thought I was home free until he came to a particularly involved picture with sixteen-directional-steps. He pointed at the twisted bodies and yelped.

“You are not getting me to try that! No sex is worth a trip to the doctor”. My new-found, burgeoning libido wanted to argue the point, but I let it go.

Finally, I grabbed the book and randomly turned to position twenty- two, a mere five-step process. Of course I knew that 1. I could position myself in the doggy-style with 2. John on bended knee behind me and 3. John’s cock would fit into my vagina, but this was showing 4. John lubricating his cock with my juice and 5. Slipping into my ass.

My cunt kind of liked the idea and drooled in its avid approval. I showed him the picture and waited. Long minutes ticked by as John studied position twenty-two. I listened to the burning synapses from my vagina to my brain, pleading for immediate attention and casually fingered myself.

Finally, John tossed the book to the side and, with puppy-dog eagerness, announced, “I think we can do that!”

He proceeded to place his hand over my flittering fingers, and lots of mutual groping with rabid touching commenced. The passion that was slightly kindled before burst into flames that would do a Fourth of July celebration proud. There was only minor fumbling as we placed our bodies into the illustrated position.

I might have had a few reservations if my pre-orgasmic body hadn’t already taken control, ousting the intellectual brain as leader, and ordering it to take a much-needed nap. As it turned out, my intellect was the only part of me sleeping. The rest of me was itchy and alive, hungry with the thought of breaking the taboo of anal sex.

We took special care with pillows and positioning, and John must have asked me five times if I were sure. When he started to ask the sixth time, I said if I were any more sure I would do the “Bobbit” and proceed without him. He mustered up some resolve.

Following the directions like a couple of straight-A students, John first slipped his engorged cock into my gaping pussy. He plunged a couple of times before pulling out. I nearly went from stoic control to blathering idiot. I was thoroughly prepared to do anything the book had to offer. John sucked in his breath before proceeding, and I must admit his gentle nature came in handy at this point.

He poked my smaller opening with tenderness and, when he successfully breached my virginal asshole, he hesitated. I assumed he was trying to control his desire to thrust. I could feel my sphincter tighten after his invasion, and I willed myself to relax. With relaxation came desire, and I eased my body back until John’s cock inched its way inside completely.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my libido cried out for more and I was lost completely to sensation. He began the rhythm of in and out and my entire body was fraught with nerve endings doing the “happy dance.” Just the fact that I thought of the words, “happy dance” proved to me that I was in a delirium. Nothing had ever made me prickle to this degree. I didn’t want the feeling to end, and yet I couldn’t wait to climax.

John was completely caught up in the melee, and his groans and grunts went from barely audible to resounding. I recognized his signals-he wouldn’t last much longer so I reached under and fiddled with my clit. The resulting orgasm was utterly consuming. The spasms started in my nether regions and scattered throughout my body, blazing trails that refused to die out until the point of exit, which seemed to be my toes (which actually curled.) John’s was simultaneous and if groans measuring on the Richter scale were any indication, just as powerful.

The climax was intense and controlling and marvelous until ...

The gates of hell really did open up to let damnation fire lick at my no longer virginal asshole. Pain seared through my ass like a scorched poker, and all I could think was I should have put the book back and been a good Stepford wife. John must have realized my howl had turned to pain, or it could have been my demonic, “Get out!” Either way he pulled out. As soon as I was empty again the pain subsided and all that remained was the incredible aftershocks. I shivered and collapsed to the bed.

I decided right then and there that journeying into sexual awareness definitely had a couple of hitches. But as my body thrummed in euphoric bliss with a hint of sphincter paroxysms, I realized I’d just had one of the best orgasms of my life. So maybe the rewards far outnumbered the drawbacks.

Later it occurred to me, now that John and I had successfully tried position twenty-two, with any luck we could tackle the other ninety-nine.

Eventually, I could even earn frequent user miles in that aisle at the bookstore.

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