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Betty Jean took a long hard look at the woman in the mirror. It was not the first critical look that she had taken in the past year, but it was the first one which offered a ray of hope.
Her newly styled and colored hair just touched her bare alabaster shoulders. The deep blue-black color was shocking against such translucent skin, especially on a woman of her age. But then again she wanted it to be a shocking declaration to the world.
‘I am a new person. A risk-taker. A dreamer. An adventurer.’
Having been raised in the Deep South, Betty Jean had learned her place early in life. She could cook, sew, clean and raise her young’uns. She had married her high school sweetheart Billy Bob after graduation and within a year they had a beautiful baby daughter. Two years later, they completed their family with a son.
Her husband worked in his father’s garage until the man died fifteen years ago, and then it became his alone. She stayed home to raise the children; serving as president of the PTA and homeroom mom. She was a leader in both Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts, even after her own daughter quit the group calling it antiquated and anti-feminist. Of course, once they were older, she had time to volunteer at the church’s food pantry.
Billy Bob was a deacon at the Methodist church and Betty Jean had taught Sunday school since she was sixteen, the six and seven year olds. As the old saying went, ‘they were there every time the church doors were open.’
Pillars of their small community. Until that cold, dark, late February morning when Billy Bob destroyed it all.
She was just finishing up at the food pantry. She was counting the number of cards that represented the families, who had sought help that week. Her mind filled with pity for the increasing numbers of their neighbors and friends that had fallen on hard times this past year. The economic downturn had actually benefitted their family business as people were forced to repair their older cars rather than purchase new.
She had smiled and waved as the local Sheriff stopped by. It was not unusual for Sam Travis to join her for a cup of coffee on days like this. But by the time he approached the file cabinet by which she stood; Betty Jean knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
‘Betty Jean, I don’t know how to say this,’ he began as he stared at his shiny black shoes. ‘They ain’t no easy way to say this.’
Her mind had immediately gone out to her children, who were now adults with lives of their own. Had something happened to Kerry or Kody? She reached a trembling hand for the cabinet to steady her as he continued.
‘It’s Billy Bob,’ he muttered.
As horrible as it might sound, Betty Jean actually sighed in relief. Whatever mischief her husband had gotten up to, at least it was not her children. But then she was immediately overcome with guilt. He was her husband of twenty-five years, the father of her children, the only man she had ever been with. She tried to find words, but they would not come.
Sam held out his dark brown hand. They had all gone to school together. Sam and his twin brother Cam were a year older than the two of them had been. Those two had been what her daddy used to call ‘good negroes,’ although even as a child that word had bothered Betty Jean’s sensibilities. But things had changed over the years. After all, after twenty years in the Navy, Sam had returned to town and won the election to become the town’s first colored sheriff.
Heck, Kerry had even dated a black boy when she was in college. Her daddy was more than a little upset, but had followed Betty Jean’s advice not to over-react. After all, children only wanted something more if they knew that their parents did not want them to have it. She had been right too. It was just a passing thing as Kerry had found a nice white boy during her senior year. They had gotten engaged and married right after graduation. They were expecting their first baby in a few months. All had ended well.
Looking up into the dark face of her friend that was creased with worry, Betty Jean finally found her voice. ‘Sam, you scaring me now.’ With one hand gripping tightly to his darker hand and the other holding on to the grey steel, she found the strength to ask. ‘What has happened to Billy?’
His expression darkened even more as he guided her to the chair nearby. The door to the church office opened and the Reverend Reed walked into the steel shelf lined storage closet that served as the community’s only food pantry for its increasing number of poor. Sam actually looked relieved to see the white-haired man join them. He had phoned ahead and asked the man to be there when he told Betty Jean that her husband was dead. But that was only part of it.
With the strong arms of the preacher wrapped about the trembling shoulders of the woman, Sam began again. ‘There was a car accident, Betty Jean.’ Drawing a deep breath, he continued, ‘Billy Bob was killed.’ His dark eyes searching the lined face of the preacher, he sought assistance with the rest.
With a slight nod of his white kurtköy escort head, James Reed continued the story. ‘Betty Jean, there is something else.’
Looking into the troubled blues eyes of the man, who had performed her marriage and christened both of their children, Betty Jean shook her head in denial, but the next words hit her like a punch to the stomach.
‘He was with someone else.’ The man searched for words to lessen the blow, but could find now. ‘That Cooper boy was with him,’ he paused as he waited for those words to sink in.
‘No, you are wrong,’ she protested as she recognized the name as the town’s lone openly gay resident. There had to be a logical explanation, her mind cried out.
Sam dropped his head and stared at the floor as he knew that it must fall to him to complete this tale. He could not expect a man like the preacher to give the details. ‘Ain’t no nice way to say this, Betty Jean. Billy Bob didn’t have on his pants,’ he reached out then to touch the woman’s shoulder as he finished the story.
‘Dan Cooper had your husband’s…’ he stammered and stumbled for the words. ‘He had Billy’s penis in his mouth.’ He spared her the final detail. That the younger man had choked on it as the car drove head long into a tree.
The next few days had been a blur for her as the dark cloud of small town gossip marred what would have a difficult time no matter what. Kerry and her husband had come from the city, but when he heard how his father had died Kody used college as an excuse not to attend the funeral.
But then it was all over. Kerry went back to her life in the city. The last of the leftovers that church friends and neighbors had brought turned green in the refrigerator. And Betty Jean sank into a deep, sullen mood. She hardly ever left the three bedroom house that she had shared for a quarter of a century with a man she now realized she had not even known.
She missed weeks of church until finally Reverend Reed stopped by to check up on the new widow. What saw him shocked the man’s sensibilities. The house that had always been so immaculately tidy was strewn with open and half eaten food wrappers. The whole house reeked of cat urine from the overflowing litter box.
And the woman that had always taken such pride in her appearance was sitting in her robe with her greying hair in disarray around her blank face that stared at the television. Her face was a pale mask of despair. He had picked up the phone and called the sheriff and together they had met her daughter at the hospital.
Major depressive episode. That was the politically correct term for what her mother had called a nervous breakdown. She had spent three months in a hospital in the city where Kerry could look in on her.
It might sound bad, but it was actually the best thing that had ever happened to Betty Jean. After the initial shock of being committed had worn off and the medications had begun to take effect, she had with her counselor’s help begun to look at her life. A long, hard look that few people have the time or will to do. But time was all that Betty Jean had.
Smiling at the reflection in the mirror, Betty Jean recognized that for perhaps the first time in her forty-five years she knew who she was and what she wanted in life. It had been a hard battle. One that she often despaired ever winning.
But here she stood, fifty pounds lighter, dressed in the most revealing lingerie of her life. In the background, she caught the melodic cords of the strong female singer belting out the words that she had taken into her heart: ‘The greatest love of all is happening to me. Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.’
A sardonic smile that gleamed white and straight thanks to cosmetic dentistry greeted her in the mirror as she picked up the shiny black object that rested on the dressing stand in front of her. At first touch, its soft plastic outer coating hid the hard and pulsating core of machinery underneath.
It was the last step of her transformation from mousy, respectable Betty Jean that she had been for forty-five years. It was the beginning of a new adventure: BJ’s life.
She and her counsellor had talked about this plan for months now. She had taken many small steps: the dentist, the hair, hell even plastic surgery. Thanks to the sale of Billy Bob’s business and the life insurance that paid double for ‘accidents’ she had more than enough money to do anything she damned well wanted.
Of course, Kerry had been more than a tad upset with her mother over what she called a ‘folly.’ She thought that Betty Jean should settle back down into the comfortable life that she had always lived. Perhaps find someone else with whom to share her twilight years. Or at the very least, she could get a condo near them and help raise the beautiful baby granddaughter that they had named Billy Jean.
Thankfully, Kody had understood the deep need his mother felt to begin life anew. His anger at the double life that his father had led was stronger even than the shock that Betty Jean had lived aydıntepe escort with for almost a year now. When he had visited her during those long months in the hospital, they had talked for hours about how to re-build a life when everything you had ever known had been a carefully constructed lie that you did not even see through.
Of course, Betty Jean hoped that the checks that she had dropped into the mail before heading out of town that morning would lessen the blow for both her children. After all, they had been her life for over twenty-five years.
She knew that she ought to be more frightened than she was. She did not know where she was going. She did not know what would happen or even who she would become in the end.
Tomorrow morning, she would turn up at the Charlotte International Airport and purchase a ticket for the first flight they could get her on, wherever it was going. And until she had travelled around the globe and seen each and every continent that was exactly how she would live her life.
Standing up from the chair in front of the mirror and walking to the queen sized bed that graced the wall opposite, she held tight to the toy as she virtually fell back into the welcoming, warm, embrace of the crisp, clean, cotton sheets, pillows and duvet.
Tomorrow would come soon enough. Tonight was a challenge of a different kind. Tonight, she would have the first orgasm of her life. Not that she had not enjoyed that part of her twenty-five years with a husband that she had never truly known. It was one of the aspects of their marriage that had come under particular scrutiny during counselling. Had she really never guessed that something was terribly wrong?
But for her it had been about the hugs and kisses that fed something deep inside her that yearned for love and acceptance. The almost weekly duties as wife had been pleasant, but hardly earth shattering. And no, when they got down to the nitty gritty of the matter, she did not think she had ever reached that holy grail of female sexuality…an orgasm.
And despite the spectre of her mother’s words about ‘good girls don’t touch down there,’ it was a gift that she was going to give herself.
After reading all the books on female anatomy and sexuality that her therapist had recommended, she had carefully selected a tool that the online sex shop boasted would ‘provide any woman with the orgasm of her life.’ It was what they called a rabbit.
She had chosen the black model, because while she had never slept with…correction had sex with…a black man, it was one of her deepest fantasies that they had explored and examined over those months of therapy.
Of course, the rabbit was just the beginning of her ‘bucket list’ as she called it: the things she wanted to do before she kicked the bucket. And fucking a black man was close to the top. Hell, fucking lots of black men if she could. After all, she and her therapist had nicknamed this adventure ‘around the world in eighty lays.’
As she reached for the warming lubricant she had placed by the bed, she closed her blue eyes and sighed. It might be called warming, but there was a shock at first as the cool, slippery liquid coated and ran down the now bare skin of her mature pussy.
After checking into the exclusive hotel near the airport, for the first time in her life, she had shaved that particular part of her body. She had felt both very naughty and very free as she watched the light brown curls float in the toilet as she snipped off all the hair. By the time, she had stepped from the sunken tub her mound glistened bare in the mirror.
She had been surprised to note that she had a distinctive beauty mark on the right hand side just above her Venus Mons as she now knew it was called. That discovery had made her feel uniquely feminine. Looking down now, she saw that it stood out even more in the faint light from the lamp overhead.
The tingling sensation between her legs was beginning to draw her attention in another direction though. She pressed a button on the vibrator and heard it buzz to life. She shivered in dirty anticipation as she trailed the soft plastic slowly up the inside of her pale thigh.
By the time, she had reached her wet pussy…cunt…fuck hole…she recited a litany of every naughty term she had ever heard for her vagina. Each one made her more excited. Made her feel more dirty. More alive than she had ever felt.
Her breathing was rapid. She forced her hands to go slow. Slower than she wanted. She did not want to rush it. This first orgasm of her life. She wanted to savour each minute, each dark desire.
Tracing her other hand timidly up the red silken bodice that encased her trimmer figure, she cupped her full breast and lifted it until she could just barely lick the puckered nipple that crowned its center. As she felt the teasing wetness of her own tongue upon her puckered golden nipple, the tingling down here intensified.
She has discovered that she enjoyed having her breasts touched and fondled. It was she hoped just the tuzla içmeler escort first of many revelations to come this night and in the months ahead.
Strange, but her husband had never been particularly interested in her breasts. Should she have seen that as some sort of warning sign? But as she wrapped her brightly glossed red lips around the flesh and suckled it back until the sensitive flesh could feel the ridges of her hard pallet, she decided that there would be time for further introspection on this journey. But this was not it.
Her breasts were full, creamy 38C’s that sagged just a bit naturally as the result of her pregnancies, even though she had bottled fed both of her children. It was that natural softness that allowed her to easily enjoy this forbidden stimulation.
She was glad then that she had turned down her plastic surgeon’s offer to enhance them while she was under for the tummy tuck. Betty Jean had never thought that women looked good with huge breasts, so she had politely declined. She had opted instead for liposuction that further sculpted her thighs and round bottom. Although she knew that even with the diet, exercise and surgery, hers was the body of a mature woman; she was more than pleased with the work that had taken over six months.
She was enjoying touching the softness and warmth as well. Where else might she try caressing? What else might send shards of pleasure tingling up her spine to a brain that was finding it difficult to process so many knew and pleasurable sensations?
Of course, she knew the obvious answer. Her clitoris was slippery and warm from the lubricant. It throbbed almost painfully between her creamy thighs. Her vagina too called out to be filled; a year long dry spell must end soon.
She debated it all. She wanted to prolong this first adventure. She wanted too to taste that forbidden fruit that she could sense hung just out of reach.
A religious woman, she wondered…was this perhaps the forbidden apple that had tempted Eve from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It was certainly tempting enough. She could certainly imagine the provocative words of temptation that the Serpent might have spoken. They raced through her mind even now.
‘Can something that feels so good really be wrong? Why would it be forbidden? Why was it wrong to feel this good?’
Should she give in to the temptation raging through her hormone-riddled, mature body? Was it time at last to taste this forbidden fruit? Would her plan to delay this first bite of the apple be any sweeter to taste?
‘To hell with it,’ her mind and body called out. ‘You have a lifetime to learn how you like your apples best, just fucking do it.’ The lined hand that held the throbbing, dark plastic fruit of temptation obeyed. It slid the cool hard steel of the mechanized phallus deep inside her trembling, sweat covered body.
She practically arched off the cool cotton sheets as the spinning pearl beads inside the vibrator whirled a magical song of pleasure against what must be her G-spot. She had learned something else new about her body.
But what shocked her most was the intense pleasure that coursed along her backbone as the plastic encased hard tip bottomed out inside her depths. It was far deeper than her husband’s average at best penis had ever reached.
She knew that logically there were very few nerve end at the back of her vagina or cervix, but it seemed that in her at least those nerves were especially sensitive to any stimulation. It was a discovery that she was eager to explore further…with human assistance, of course.
Her body was alive. Hot. Throbbing. Needy. But still it seemed as if she could not quite reach the intoxicating fruit just out of reach.
The hand that held her warm breast switched to its twin, tweaking and pinching at the hardening flesh. The fingers of her other hand fumbled with the pulsating toy until it found the row of buttons at the base. She flicked another one and instantly felt the rapid back and forth motion of the rabbits ears upon her clitoris.
It was what she needed. The final stimulation. Her whole body contracted involuntarily. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she cried out loudly in pleasure, uncaring who might hear her screams of release.
The firm muscles of her thighs and ass that she had sculpted so carefully in the gym alternated between taut, flexed perfection and the barely solid form of quivering Jell-O.
Her head arched back into the sinful luxury of down-feather pillows. Her dark hair spread out across the white crisp cotton of the pillow case as if rays of the sun.
As cliché as it sounded, she could actually feel her long toes, freshly painted with bright red polish that matched her lip gloss, curl upwards towards her trembling knees.
The only muscles that she seemed capable of commanding were her slim fingers that continued to guide and hold her magical new friend inside her over-charged body. She held it tight. The ears feathered back and forth against the bud of her womanhood. The tiny pearls spun and danced like a ballet against the sensitive bundle of nerve-endings on the wall of her vagina just a couple of inches inside. The thrusting of the tip at the back of her womb was shattering her mind into a million, trillion, shards of light.
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