Estrogensensual

I feel like I’m a teenager in love. Can you hear my heart beating? I swear that the thunder of my heartbeat sounds like the base in my high school boyfriend’s hoopty. How old am I, and how can he not hear it as we’re making out on his couch? Who even necks anymore? I do, apparently. I’m legit wet already for him, and I wasn’t even sure that could still happen anymore, and that was from just our necking. We’ve been making out for an hour, and I feel it is something that I can do forever if for no other reason than I don’t want it to end. I’m forty(ish), not fourteen, mind you, and my panties are soaked through. I feel like I’m having heart palpitations, I’m sweaty, and my lips are swollen, and it’s obvious that he, too, is excited. We’ve been dry humping through our sweats for, no lie, about thirty minutes and I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed that we both now look like we peed ourselves from him making me so wet. I almost want to go home so we could do it again tomorrow and every ...

Went to a house party and my husband, being the dancing fool he is, was casting a spell like some voodoo priest that had the whole house jumping. Nobody was immune to his wiles, and as usual, he ended up putting it down hard on me. You know for someone claiming to be an introvert, this mother fucker was like the pied piper, and had the whole house bumpin and grinding like we all were on Soul Train. The music was hitting different, and whenever he gets on the dance floor, everyone seems to get a second wind. We ran the gamut from breakdance circles to conga lines, and like I stated, we took it all the way back to the Soul Train line dance days, and had couples showcasing all their best dance moves. Good times are always on the menu with this oxymoron of an introverted party boi, but something else was afoot at this particular party that none of us saw coming. First off, all of us at this party have been friends for over two decades, we’ve done a lot together, been through divorces, had ...

I’m a divorced single mother and have been traveling for work, and nothing feels better than a dip in the pool after a long business trip. My daughters are in school, and the backyard is private, so I decided to go skinny-dipping. The first thing I do is drop my luggage, pee like a racehorse, and then strip. The master bedroom exits out to the backyard and pool, so I tiptoe and slowly enter the pool to acclimate. Just as I managed to slide onto the floating beanbag lounge chair, I saw out of the corner of my eye one of my daughter’s boyfriends breaking through the bushes just outside her bedroom window. He apparently didn’t see me come out to the pool because he was carrying his clothes and shoes and trying to be quiet while making his escape. I contemplated letting him get away because I wasn’t dressed for a confrontation but then he saw me and I must have scared the shit out of him because he dropped everything, but I digress. There was no even trying to cover myself, and he tried ev...

She is my Wonder Woman, my religion, and as a man, I feel like I came from her rib. It certainly isn’t just that sexual feeling I’m talking about, but if it does take us there, sorry/not sorry. She makes me want to be a better version of myself, and I pray at her feet nearly daily to pay homage. And when I say Wonder Woman, I’m talking about Lynda Carter because I’m old school like that. I’m driven to please her, my ol lady as I affectionately refer; she’s my purpose if I have any. I see her lying in bed after her shower with her feet elevated on her body pillow after a long day, and I’m drawn to her. I start to massage her tired feet and wonder how it feels for her. I’m motivated by her moans of pleasure, but I won’t get it twisted by turning my motivations away from hers. It is so easy to get distracted by her happy sounds, but I persevere and focus on her, but that devil on my shoulder just won’t shut the fuck up. He whispers in my ear, “You know what would really help her relax”? F...