Story... Call Me Pandora... Part 7  

Frnds4Play 53M/63F
2686 posts
9/20/2005 7:12 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Story... Call Me Pandora... Part 7


It embarrasses me a little to remember how often I used my new toys in the next few days. I found I liked the vibrator even better than the dildo. In my urgent quest for stimulation I went so far as to utilize my mom’s collection of porn. Never having sought out sexual images before I assumed that this would only be an exercise in curiosity; after all I’d been inoculated by the truism that women are not affected by the visual in the way that men are.

And indeed much of what I saw left me tepid. I thought the commercial videos were plain dumb. But every now and then something would grab me and not let me go until I was weak and shaky. And satiated.

I began to seek out those kinds of images. It took me awhile to figure out that what I liked involved ordinary women who looked as if they were actually enjoying themselves. I gravitated towards the videos with sounds of natural pleasure instead of the goofy repetitious noise of canned music and inhuman cries and moans.

Two of the videos were of my parents and their friends. When I put the first one in and realized what it was I ejected it immediately. Way too much information. But later, as I became acclimatized to the idea of sexual openness, I’d put one in and play a little more. It seemed kind of weird and twisted in a way. But on the other hand it was a powerful turn on. Slowly I began to see it as a celebration of life’s essences. I was part of a family tradition.

In the course of my little journey of self discovery I started putting aside those magazines and videos that I wanted to keep. The others I put in a cardboard box beside the wooden chest.

I called Denise three days before the party and told her I’d be there.

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I want you to understand that you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” I said.

“The ladies are in control at these parties and if the guys can’t take no for an answer they’re shown the door and aren’t invited back.”

“Yes, I understand,” I said.

“Okay honey, we’ll be expecting you. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“I think so too,” I said. We both laughed. Mine was a little breathless.

I then had three days in which to experience every shade of rising anxiety. I lost count of the number of times I resolved to call Denise and tell her I’d changed my mind only to stop myself once my hand had touched the phone. It became a matter of pride for me to follow through. But by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around I was a quivering mass of tingling nerves. I couldn’t remember ever having been so scared.

--- To Be Continued.

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