(This is a sequel to my story "Daughters of Priapus." Although it could be read on its own, readers might find it informative to read that first, in order to acquaint them with some of the characters that are mentioned.)
It was most unnerving at first, and yet most liberating. At the age of fifty-nine, I was once more a woman who could reach a climax easily, after years and years of frigidity. This was a result of a visit I'd made the previous summer to my old sorority. I was searching for a piece of my past, and I found it. I cannot tell you the nature of the ritual that revived my sexuality, for that is a ritual that only my sorority sisters know. But the experience, coupled with a re-introduction to Lesbian sex with Amy and the other sisters, stirred passions in me that I thought were long dead. I went back to visit them from time to time, and they welcomed me into their house and into their beds.
Of course, most of the sisters preferred men, and I found that I did, too. The girls were sweet and gave me the most wonderful orgasms, but I realized how much I missed the sensations of making love to a man ... his male scent, his urgency, his weight on my body, his hard cock thrusting into me, the feeling of power knowing that my vagina was the center of his world. Now that I had my libido back, I was determined do something about that. But first, I had to take care of myself.
One of the first things I did was purchase some vibrators. My sisters were very helpful, showing me their favorite models and how to use them. When I was in college four decades ago, those clever designs had yet to be developed, and my idea of a vibrator was either a hand-held massage tool with a flat vibrating surface or a motorized dildo that vibrated in spiral patterns and buzzed like a razor. But the girls showed me a Hitachi "Magic Wand" and a variety of rabbit vibrators, and it wasn't long before I had purchased units of my own to complement the "egg" vibrator that Amy had given me as a homecoming present.
And I would play with them almost nightly, re-training my body to accept pleasure. I still had no partners for sex, but with my new toys I was able to satisfy my urges for a while. When summer came in with its warm weather, I would strip nude as soon as I got home and try to have at least one orgasm every night, along with the one I had nearly every morning before I rose to greet the day. My only adornments were another homecoming present from a sorority sister: a pair of nipple clips, each consisting of a loop of wire, a slider to tighten it around my nipple as much or as little as I wished, and a beautiful white teardrop pearl that dangled from the bottom of the slider.
I had also taken to wearing my egg vibrator and my nipple clips to public places, to put an erotic edge on commonplace activities. It amused me to chat innocently with people as I became aroused, knowing that my sexual tension was a secret to them. Once I was reassured that the thing was waterproof, I even took my egg to the beach with me and turned it on as I watched the scantily clad men and women cavorting in the water. I'm sure I looked like an ordinary sunbather to the casual glancer, but inside I was quivering. Once when I was lying on my stomach on my beach towel, I even slipped a finger inside my swimsuit bottom and masturbated myself to a climax, although nobody seemed to notice. I felt so wicked!
I had friends of both sexes, of course, mostly whom I had met at the community theater I worked at. But most of the men much younger and were more interested in women their own age, or younger. There was a man named Greg with whom I'd flirted from time to time. He'd just been dumped by his girlfriend, and we'd done some giddy bar-hopping together after our last play closed, although I was too timid to take it further. And I became close to Dottie, a woman of about forty who made excellent costumes for the productions.
One day Dottie and I were chatting about what garb we needed for an upcoming show, and then about clothes in general.
"What sort of clothes do you like to wear to the beach?" I asked her.
She gave me an impish grin. "Actually, my favorite costume is nothing at all!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When I'm not around other people, I go naked whenever I can. And when I go to the beach, it's usually to that nude beach on the Cape."
"You're a nudist? Is that what they're called?"
"That's right. You should try it, Ginnie!"
"Well, in a way, I already do." And I told her about my going nude around the house. "But there's no way I could go nude in front of other people, Dottie. I just can't imagine doing that."
"How do you know? Have you ever tried?"
"Well, I took some showers with the girls in my sorority house last year. That was different. We were all women, and it seemed very natural. But naked in front of men? I don't think so!"
"But you've had lovers, right? Weren't you naked in front of them?"
"Of course. But that was in private."
"So you've never been to a nude beach or nudist resort?"
"No. Never once."
"Well, it's time you did. I'm going to the Cape this weekend. Wanna come?"
"Are you serious? Me on a nude beach?"
"Think it over, Ginnie. Let me know tomorrow."
That night, I stood naked before a full length mirror and examined myself: sagging breasts with very long nipples, a bit of a paunch, a grey-thatched vulva from which my inner lips protruded over an inch and a half. I'd always been very self-conscious of my nips and "curtains" (as my sorority sisters called them), and had dreaded showing them to others. But I had come to see them as natural parts of my body, nothing to be ashamed of. I weighed only twenty-three more pounds than I did in college, most of that in my thighs. For a woman of fifty-nine, I still had a pretty good body, I decided. But could I get up the nerve to expose it in public, for everybody to see?
I dreamed that night. I dreamed that I was walking down a tree-lined residential street. I was completely naked. Men leered at me and taunted me. Women averted their eyes. I was blushing furiously, trying to cover my breasts and crotch with my hands. And then it started raining, a warm rain that drenched us all. I exposed my tits to the rain, held them up and felt the warm water hit them and stream down my belly and crotch. I began to dance. The men quieted down. And then the women started to take their clothes off ... jeans, dresses, bras, panties, shoes. Soon they all were naked, dancing in the rain with me. And then the men started stripping, too. Before long, we were all naked and playing in the warm shower. Men and women alike came up to hug me. There was no sexual undercurrent at all, only friendship. As the men danced, their flaccid penises bounced up and down, perfectly complementing the women's bouncing breasts. We were all glorying in the freedom of our bodies, released from the confinement of clothing. I noticed that somehow my nipples had become decorated with my nipple clips, with the pearls dangling and swinging as I danced. My breasts were suddenly the center of attention, and I was as proud of them as when they first started to appear on my maturing body.
I woke up in a high state of arousal, and quickly wanked myself to a climax with my fingers without even bothering to get out one of the vibrators.
I took my dream as a sign. The next day, I told Dottie that I would accompany her to the cape. On Saturday morning, She picked me up and we went to the beach she'd talked about. I was wearing a sundress, panties, a large-brimmed straw hat, and sandals. And, in a fit of devilishness (or was it because of the dream?), I was wearing the nipple jewelry under the dress, as I often did when I went out. I also had taken the vibrator egg that Amy had given me, put fresh batteries in it, and slipped it into my vagina. Only a little bit of cord protruded from my pussy, looking for all the world like the string from a tampon. I had only to pull the cord to activate the egg.
When I stripped off the dress in the parking lot, Dottie grinned when she saw my bra-less tits with their nipple clips. "Ginnie, those look great on your nips! Don't they hurt?"
"Not a bit! They pinch a little, but I don't mind that. I figured that if people were going to be staring at my tits, I might as well give them something to stare at."
"Come on, let's get your panties off!"
"Can I wait a little bit? This is all so new to me, remember."
"Anything you want, dear. 'Clothing Optional' doesn't mean 'mandatory nudity.' But I'm shucking mine." And with that, she pulled them down and slipped them off her legs.
I have to say that she looked beautiful. Her tits stood out proudly, with puffy nipples only slightly pinker than her skin shade. Her pussy lips were puffy, too, adorned with a neat "landing strip" on her mons that seemed to point the way invitingly downward into her slit. Unlike me, she showed no tan lines or visible inner labia. She had an athlete's ass, firm and round without the slightest sag. As she smiled at me, I suddenly felt a flush of warmth at my crotch. She was turning me on! And somehow she sensed it, because her smile became wider. She kissed me and said, "You're getting aroused now, aren't you?"
"Well, Ginnie, I'm going to keep you that way! I'm going to get those panties of yours so wet that you'll have to take them off!"
"Dottie, are you hitting on me? I never guessed you were gay!"
"I'm bi, dear. When I go to places like this, I'm as interested in the cocks as I am in the tits. Hey, I know a place on the dunes where we can really people-watch. Let's get going!"
We grabbed out towels and totes and proceeded down the beach for a quarter of a mile. The spot was perfect, with the dune giving us some protection from the wind and sun. We lotioned each other's bodies and watched the procession of people going past. Young, old, male, female, fat, thin, dark-skinned, pale, some totally nude and others clad or semi-clad. Little children scampered around buck-naked, whooping like monkeys. It all seemed right and proper. Now and then people would stop and chat with us, mostly friends of Dottie's. I saw a lot of cock that afternoon, dangling from the crotches of the men we chatted them up. Those men seemed fascinated by my nipples, and their attention seemed to arouse me even more.
Dottie wasn't helping. Although overt masturbation was frowned on at the beach, she would caress her body teasingly, just short of actual wanking ... a pinch of the nipple here, a quick caress of her cunt lips there. It was mostly a show for the men, of course; it amused her to see how their cocks would swell slightly at the sight, and how the men would have to avert their eyes from time to time. I noticed that her little show was having its effect on me, too. My panties were wet to the touch. Well, if they're going to get wet, I knew how to conceal it.
"I'm going swimming," I announced, and ran toward the water. A few of the men followed. Before long, I was up to my waist, and my wet panties no longer betrayed my arousal. We splashed each other and horsed around. And then that devilish urge hit me. When the water was up to the bottom of my tits, I pulled the crotch of my panties aside, found the cord, and pulled it. The sensation was exquisite. What made it even more erotic was that none of the men could see any evidence of my arousal. My nipples were already stiff from the chill of the water. "I wonder what it would be like to climax right in front of a man without him realizing it?" I thought.
When I left the water, my panties suddenly became clammy and uncomfortable. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I slipped them off, exposing my gray muff. Dottie gave me a "thumbs up" and the men smiled in appreciation. One of them followed me back to my blanket. I laid the panties on the sand to let them dry, and we chatted idly. Dottie got up to take a swim herself, followed by the rest of the men, and left the two of us to ourselves.
I was feeling so wicked again! I spread my legs, giving him a great view of my crotch. I played with the pearls dangling from my nips, and casually kneaded the inner lips of my cunt against each other. I feigned interest in what he was talking about. My shining eyes must have led him to believe that I was interested in his subject, but the truth was that they only betrayed the small climax that was at that time building in me. I felt myself trembling.
"Are you OK?" I heard him ask. "You look distant somehow."
I smiled and dug into my tote for a bottle of water. "Just a slight headache," I lied. "Dehydration, I think. I'll be fine once I've drunk something. Thanks for asking!"
"Well, I'll leave you now, then. I need to get going." He stood up, and I noticed that he was well on his way to an erection and heading for the water.
He needs to wank, I realized. What an erotic thought that was: stroking his erection to a climax under the surface of the waves and releasing his seed into the salty water! I bade him goodbye and stretched out on the blanket has he strode into the surf. He went in up to his waist and then his hands went to his crotch. I smiled knowingly as I watched him masturbate into the sea. I needed to get off, too, so I just lay there on my back with my legs apart, letting the sun beat down on my entire nude body. And that's when, out of nowhere, the bigger orgasm hit. I tried not to show it, but I couldn't conceal the shaking of my body or the sudden sheen of sweat on my breasts. I reached down with an unsteady hand, tugged at the cord, and switched off the vibrator.
When I looked up again, there was a man standing about ten feet away. He looked to be in his sixties, with a body whose muscles once bulged but now tended to sag. His penis was fat but limp. His head and chest and crotch were covered with grey hair, but his mustache and eyebrows were still dark brown. He was smiling, as if we shared a secret.
"Pardon me for saying this, madam, but you are the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long, long time!" He had a slight accent, perhaps German. "I'm sorry to have intruded, if you wanted privacy."
I smiled back. "Well, I certainly didn't pick the right place for privacy, did I? No offense taken. I don't know what got into me just now."
"You were intoxicated by the sun and the wind and the surf. It happens to me all the time. Of course, it seldom leads to an orgasm."
"Could you tell?" I asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
"My lady, I have known women for a long time. It is unmistakable. And it is always a beautiful sight for me. It brings back memories, ah, yes! And I find those jewels on your breasts most enchanting!"
"Well, since I've done everything else in front of you, at least let me introduce myself! I'm Ginnie."
"And I am Max. I'm very pleased to meet you! May I sit down?"
I nodded, and he spread out his own towel next to mine.
"So, Max, tell me about yourself."
"There's not much to tell, really. I design computer systems for businesses and industries. They tell me what they want the systems to do, and I figure out what hardware they need to do it. I save them millions and they pay me thousands," he laughed. "But the pay is enough, and every day is a challenge. At my age, I should be thinking of retiring. I've gone to part-time, but I could never retire completely. I know I would miss the adventure, particularly when so much is changing in the industry. And you, my dear?"
"I sell real estate, mostly, but I do some work with my community theater ... acting, some directing and coaching."
"I think I've seen you on the stage! Tell me, wasn't it you who played Lavinia in that revival of The Heiress at the Cambridge Community Theater this spring?"
"Yes, that was me! I'm surprised. Only a hundred people showed up for the show when we took it there."
"And I was one of them! I thought you handled the role well. You gave a strong performance, yet you took care not to overshadow the leads. That takes some skill!"
"It wasn't hard. The leads were pretty good actors. They didn't get enough time to rehearse, that's all."
"But yours was the performance I remember. It touched my heart. I am honored to meet you and thank you in person."
"Thank you! Do you regularly go to that theater?"
"Every chance I get. I am a great lover of the theater. I have no talents as a thespian, so I give them a little money, a few dollars now and then, to support them. My artistic outlet is the clarinet, which I play badly but with enthusiasm."
I decided to play Dottie's game of almost-but-not-quite-masturbating, to see if it would have an effect on Max's penis. I would idly play with the string coming out my cunt or give my breasts or mons a scratch from time to time. His cock seemed to swell slightly, but didn't rise. Perhaps I needed to be more aggressive, and let him know I was available. "Are you married, Max?" I asked, not quite innocently.
"No. My wife died about three years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"No need to be, really. It was a blessing. She was sick for a long time." He looked out at the ocean for a while, then resumed. "That is why I was so moved by watching you pleasure yourself. Ginnie. It has been such a long time since I've seen that on a woman's face."
"If this is painful for you to tell..."
"Oh, no! I would like to talk about this with you. Our love life died some time before that. It became too painful for her, she lost interest in sex. At first, I blamed myself, but then we found out about the cancer. They took her uterus and ovaries, but it was too late. The cancer spread anyway. It took a long time."
"I've had loved ones die from cancer, too. It's never easy. You're sad when it's over, but you're relieved, too, in a way."
"So you understand. You know, she told me to seek out sexual companionship elsewhere if I wished to, but I never did. I wanted to be faithful to her to the end, as I promised her when we married. I never strayed."
"What happened after she passed away? Did you start dating again?"
He grimaced. "Well, that. About a year ago, I went to bed with a woman. But it did not end well. When we began to make love, I found out that I could not perform as I used to."
"What do you mean? You couldn't achieve an erection?"
"Oh, I could do that, but I couldn't maintain it. Inside her for five seconds, and I came and went soft, and couldn't get hard again. I felt so humiliated! She was polite about it, but I could tell that she lost interest in me. And I said to myself, 'Well, Max, your lovemaking days are over. You might as well get used to it.'"
"Couldn't you get her off in other ways? Fingers? Tongue?"
"I don't know how to do that, really. My wife never cared for such things. She was very old-fashioned in that respect."
"But there are pills, I hear, that can help you ... stay up."
"I thought about that, but it seemed an unnecessary expense, when I had no partner to enjoy it with. You know, I can't believe I am telling you all this, and we don't know each other, really."
"Well, you've just seen me climax. That's more than any man has done. At least recently."
"Yes. You are so much in touch with your body. I admire that. It is beautiful to see you touching yourself. Were you always such?"
"Goodness, no! A year ago, I thought that my libido was gone for good. I've spent the last year getting it back."
"How did that come about?"
So I told him about my marriage, and how my sex drive waned after childbearing and mothering, and how my husband left me for a younger, more nubile woman. And without giving him details, I related how a visit to my old sorority house in college re-introduced me to the sexually active young lady I used to be back then. "The girls there taught me that that young lady was still there inside me, buried under years of neglect and shame, and they helped me bring her back out of the darkness. I am so grateful to them for that."
"I'm glad the story had a happy ending for you. But now I must go. Listen, if you ever get up to Cambridge, please call me or text me at this number." He fished a business card from a "man bag" he wore. I promised to do so, and he wandered off. I wondered what sort of man he really was, and whether he would ever find that happiness again for himself.
I switched the egg back on, and fantasized making love to all the nude young men I was watching on the beach, imagining what their cocks would look like when they were hard, and how they might feel inside me. So I was in a high degree of arousal by the time Dottie and I left the beach, and so was she. We spent the night at her place making love, trading orgasms, and cuddling (which, I suspected, had been her motive all along). But I kept thinking about Max.
The next morning, I called Tina at the sorority house, where she was staying during the summer. "I have a favor to ask," I said. "Here's the contact information on a man I met at the beach last weekend. See what you can find out about him." There wasn't much you can do with a computer that Tina couldn't do, whether it was programming or using the various search tools. When I got her report a few days later, I wondered how many private databases she'd hacked into.
Max, she said, was born in 1948 in Czechoslovakia. He left with his parents after the aborted revolution of 1968. He got a degree in computer sciences at MIT in 1975, worked at DEC and a few other places, and then set himself up as a consultant. Married in 1976 to a woman named Maria, a statistician, also from Czechoslovakia. Wife died in 2009 of cancer at age fifty-eight, according to the obituary. Two children, both grown. Four grandchildren. No police record. Clean driver's record. In good health, no serious medical problems or venereal diseases (and how on earth did she find that out?). Owns a late model Jaguar and a co-op apartment in Cambridge. Annual income $230,000.00 before taxes. Excellent credit score. No mention of him on any of the sexual offenders lists. And he did more than simply give that community theater a "few dollars here and there;" over the past seven years, he had donated over a hundred thousand dollars to them. He was also a member of several clubs devoted to the arts, two country clubs, and three music societies, and had published several short works of fiction under a pen name. Plays clarinet in a highly-regarded amateur jazz band. Appended to all this was a personal note: "Ginnie, I think this guy is a keeper! If you don't take him, maybe I will!"
After I got Tina's report, I gave Max my own contact information, and soon I received an invitation from him, for dinner and a concert by the Boston Philharmonic. I sent back a message: "I accept, but only if it includes a sleep-over at your place."
There was an interval of a day and a half, during which I was kicking myself for being too forward. But then there was a text that made my heart soar: "You would be most welcome here!"