My sex addiction story 5 naughty side

Nothing more than a normal southern housewife with a wicked streak.
On the surface, I’m a traditional housewife who drives a minivan and has been happily married to her high school love for fourteen years. In truth, I’m living evidence that “always the silent ones” are right.

My spouse was my first, but he was by no means my last. How is it possible when we’ve been together since I was sixteen years old? Towards the end of college, he made the decision that I should be with at least one other person before we were married in the following several years. Who is the (first) other person? One of his closest friends, with whom I’d had evident sexual tension for years, was one of his best friends as well. 

I’m not sure when the tension began to build; all I remember is that I was immediately drawn to him after meeting him. He was one of those men who knew just how to smile, look at, and speak to females in a manner that makes them melt.

 He would openly flirt with me in front of my partner on a regular basis. He arrived to my boyfriend’s place one night with a DVD for us to watch: ” Threesome! ” I have never had such intense sexual tension before. I was nineteen, very inexperienced, and quite bashful, so there was no way I was going to make a move or even admit how much I coveted him.

Sometime during the next year, he received a Prince Albert, and for the rest of his life, he felt the need to bring it out on a regular basis only to make me blush. After many years of flirting, my boyfriend finally agreed that his buddy and I should have sex. I had no idea what their dialogue about putting this together was like, nor did I want to find out. It was a Saturday afternoon, and my partner had gone out for the day and left us alone, making it obvious that we should have a good time. We were successful. We then reconnected on a couple of more times before he relocated four hours away.

After not seeing him for more than two years, he relocated back to the area and needed a somewhere to stay, so my boyfriend agreed to let him remain with him. My partner was away on the day he arrived in town, entertaining some colleagues who’d come to visit, so I was there to welcome him. 

From the time he walked through the door, it was evident that our sexual desire would continue where we had left off. After flirting with me all day, he eventually kissed me. He’d made the decision that we shouldn’t have sex while he was staying there. That didn’t stop him from dragging me off virtually every day for the following three months. He ended up relocating again again, but he would return in a few of months when my boyfriend and I were married.

Because of the way we’d ended things, it only seemed right that we’d find a way to reconnect when he was in town for the wedding. After the ceremony, we returned to our home since we weren’t planning on leaving town until the following day. He was also a guest at the hotel.
There had been a lot of drinking, so I’m not sure how it came about, but I believe we’d gone to bed when my new husband approached him and asked him to join us. This was all unfamiliar terrain for all of us. I had a sexual encounter with him as my spouse fondled me.

My husband then fucked me as he stood there watching me suck his friend’s dick. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Unfortunately, I did not make it home that night. I’m not sure why. Maybe you’re feeling nervous? One of the ironies of my ‘wedding night’ being a threesome? My mother had purchased for me a white sequined nightgown with matching bed jacket, which she believed would be appropriate for a bride on her wedding night.

My relationship with my boyfriend’s/buddy fiancé’s was not my only transgression. During grad school, I met across an old high school love who happened to be working at a copy shop near campus. He was intrigued by my feminist theory study and wanted to get together to speak about books (yeah, I think we both knew that was BS). He contacted me late that night and we spoke for a bit, during which he said that he had given me a fantastic vulva massage (I couldn’t make that up if I tried). 

We got together the next night and spoke, which led to his giving me a foot massage (he confessed to having a foot fetish), which led to him massaging everything, which swiftly led to us making out in our underwear. This night was, and continues to be, the most energized I’ve ever felt. He slipped his hand down my pant leg, barely touching me, and I rushed over to him. It was late, and I returned home shortly thereafter. I was itching to f*ck him, but being a decent southern girl, I refrained since it would be trashy.

He was one of those artistic, creative sorts who is really attentive sexually. We spent a lot of time together throughout the summer before I got married (and yes, I was also having fun with my fiancé’s buddy at the same time). He was highly turned on by the prospect of me being with someone else, so on evenings when I went to visit my high school crush, I’d return to his place because he enjoyed fucking me knowing that I was so wet as a result of something someone else had done. That was the section of the movie that I didn’t appreciate. 

I loved gratifying him, but I felt that anything I was doing with anybody else was mine to enjoy only for myself. Reminding myself of what I’d done earlier with someone else just made me feel filthy and whore-ish.

This trend would continue for the next two years of our marriage. We’d both decided at the time that we wanted to spend time with other individuals in addition to each other. I went on to have a fling with another creative (and excellent in bed) type, then subsequently with a dull man who had the tiniest dick I’d ever seen. I didn’t enjoy being around other people, and I didn’t like sharing it with him.

 I went on to have a few further flings and kept them to myself, but none of them were fulfilling for extended periods of time; instead, I felt unclean and often regretted my decision to get married. I went on to gain and lose weight, become less sexually active in general, and eventually leave that life behind. Even up until a few years ago, my husband would request that I tell him tales from back then while we were having sex.

 He stopped asking for the tales after being informed multiple times how disgusting I felt as a result of the stories.
These days, our sex life (or rather, lack thereof, due to the demands of raising a young kid) is simply the two of us, as ‘vanilla’ as can be.