I lit candles all over the house in only the scents he would tolerate. I covered our topiaries with soft, clear lights, and arranged fall flowers and large cornstalks into vases around the living room and porch. I loved fall, and by the way the house now smelled and had been transformed, it showed. Grabbing my pumpkin spice latte, I sat in my reading chair on the porch, watching the leaves sway in the cool breeze. I was already cold but refused to go inside, wanting to soak up the last of the sun as it made its way behind the trees, basking in the feeling in the air. Everything seemed clearer, crisper, and cold days were rare in the south this early in the season. Receiving an incoming message on my tablet, I tapped it, finding nothing new. He wouldn’t be home for dinner. It was a good thing I hadn’t bothered to cook. I knew better. A year straight of eating alone will do that to a woman. I opted for another night of wine and my vibrator.
Once inside, I chose my favorite bottle of red and poured a healthy glass. Surveying my beautifully decorated home, I rolled my eyes. What was the point? Maybe he was right. The last time I had decorated for the holidays, my husband had asked that same question.
“We don’t have any children. We hardly have company. Why even bother?”
Prick. We didn’t have children because he had a vasectomy three weeks after our wedding without telling me, only for me to find out in the first of many vicious arguments that ensued. We didn’t have company because he was too occupied keeping his own, busy with his constant need to stick his dick in their throats. It wasn’t enough for my husband to have one affair; he was in the midst of two.
I was not a woman scorned. Fuck that. I was a woman who had been freed, and too lazy to leave him, having no desire to start another relationship or leave my beautiful home. Alex was never here, ever. What was the point of giving up my life for a ghost I barely lived with? I took my wedding ring off months ago. He never noticed because, in all honesty, I couldn’t recall the last conversation we had.
And then I remembered.
“You never loved me, did you?” I asked as he entered the house after another late meeting.
“Sure, I love you. Why are you acting so out of sorts?” He ran his hands through his hair, a signature move on his part that I used to find sexy. A stranger to me at that point when we had originally been so close, he stared at me as if I disgusted him, and I returned it. We had been best friends before we were lovers. We’d shared everything. I didn’t even recognize the man who now took his place. There was not a damn thing wrong with me or the way I looked. All his fucked up issues about infidelity were his own.
“I’m not an idiot. Don’t play innocent, Alex,” I snapped.
“Drink your wine, honey,” he said dryly, pushing past me.
That was our last conversation. When he was home, he called his mistresses from his office. I heard every w
ord, because I listened. I listened to strengthen my resolve. I had already decided to ask for a divorce after Christmas. New year, new life, I guessed. He would let me keep the house and I would let him keep most of his money. He had plenty of it, due to old money passed down from his parents, and his newfound success at his advertising firm. I supposed he thought that since I wanted for nothing, I should just accept my circumstances as a good little wife, go shopping, get pampered. The truth was, I mourned my relationship with my husband, or at least the man I knew before things fell apart. The most frustrating aspect was he refused to admit anything was wrong; the man that had proposed to me knew something was wrong with me before I did at times. He was attentive and nurturing and…human. My tears saddened him; my smiles and laughter fueled him. He’d loved me.
I shook off the small amount of pain making its way into my chest. I had no more room for self-pity. I had done it all. I had worked out, tried new hair, new clothes. I had even gone so far as to get Botox. The only conclusion I came to after a few months of being refused in the skimpiest of lingerie was FUCK HIM. FUCK HIM. I had tried to make my marriage work. He was more interested in seeing it fail. Our relationship was too far gone from what it used to be. There was no trust, and definitely no lingering love. I had spent hours crying over him, now I just wanted my freedom. And freedom was becoming more important than comfort. I had to get out of this and soon.
I sipped my wine, thinking how completely unsatisfying it all was. I had waited until the age of twenty-nine to get married. It seemed the sensible thing to do after a few months of dating Alex. I couldn’t even remember the last time we had made love or fucked. My last attempt to keep the home fires burning had failed miserably.
“We aren’t a couple of fucking horny teenagers living out a fantasy, Vi. We aren’t making a porno, and what the fuck are you wearing?”
I gave up that day, throwing every single negligee I owned away and burying any remaining hope. Sex with Alex was never exactly hot. It had been enough because I had honestly loved him.
Drinking the last of my glass, I poured myself another. Sex, now there was something I was tired of living without. I had my trusty toy. God, how I loved that thing. Battery maintenance promised endless minutes of pleasure. The thought alone had me wanting to reach for it.
I was thirty-two years old, sitting in a big, beautifully decorated house, imagining the next session with my vibrator. I heard the shatter of the wine glass before I realized I was the one who had thrown it.
This was not my life! This was not who I was. This shit…this waiting, much like my marriage, was over!
Things were about to change and change today. First, I had to come up with a plan.
Sex, or lack thereof, was what set me off in the kitchen. I missed it. I wanted it. I needed it, but why? I’d never really had sex like most adults. Well, those adults who I envied, which included anyone who was having their needs met at this point. I abstained from having my own affair because, for a short time, I held out hope. Now that my mind was made up on divorce, I no longer had to justify my reasoning. Sex was a necessity for me. I had waited long enough. My body was starving for touch, my lips bankrupt from a lack of kisses. While a relationship didn’t appeal to me, at least not immediately, the thought of a good hard fuck made me insane with want. Not that I’d ever been satisfied sexually.
My experience consisted mainly of missionary, with a few sporadic moments here and there in various positions. Alex was not well endowed and had by no means made up for it throughout our years together. I wondered what it was like to be with a man with a big cock. I moaned at the thought, never once having an orgasm from a man’s dick. My girlfriend, Molly, told me that without a vibrator, I might never have one. She insisted girls who came with men inside them were either porn stars with amazing acting skills or had been divinely gifted in that department. It was a myth to me, an orgasm from a man’s cock. I’d had fantasies for years about the possibilities of sex. All of it interested me, especially the kink. Alex would look at me as though I was insane when I suggested anything out of our norm. I would get hot and bothered reading my dark, erotic romances and begged him to try some scenarios with me. Looking back now, I could see why he thought it a little strange. It just wasn’t realistic.
Do these people really exist, the people that explore the forbidden? Of course they do, but where were they? Certainly not on the outskirts of Savannah, GA. I laughed at the thought. I’d do good to find a decent looking, well hung, hardworking man in this area, period, let alone one that would explore my sexuality with me. Then again, what if? I mean, surely the insatiable and erotic sexual cravings of people are not limited to only large cities.
Where in the hell would I look for something like that here?
Of course there was the web, but some, or most, of those sites had a virus attached. I’d delved into porn a little when my imagination couldn’t do it for me and I needed a little extra something. That got old as well. I was tired of watching. I wanted the experience. Pouring myself another glass of wine, I ignored the shattered glass on the floor. Who the hell would care about the mess anyway? After all, it was only me here.
Hours later, after watching Jimmy Fallon, my curiosity brought me back to the web. Fuck it; I’d been the well-behaved, jilted wife long enough. I wanted to know what was out there, especially those like me who shared the same curiosities. I would love to know if any other women in Savannah had a fascination with kink. After a few hours of searching, I stumbled upon a site advertising a local, adults only page. There was a large triple X on the screen and a flashing advertisement of what looked like a bar in or around Savannah, but my excitement was stifled when I realized there was no address. After a quick Google search for the bar, named The Rabbit Hole, I came up empty, and gave up. Yawning, I threw my tablet beside my pillow and laid my head down to watch Nightline when I heard a ping.
I looked at my tablet to see an incoming message asking for the password. After careful thought, I had nothing. I typed my plea.
Hint?
Rabbit Hole.
Not helpful at all. Shit. The possibilities were endless. I studied the XXX on the screen and saw an Alice in Wonderland cartoon encased in them. Inside the rabbit hole, in the middle X, was Alice kissing another Alice on the cheek as she held her pointer finger to her lips.
Making the best guess I could, I keyed it in.
Don’t kiss and tell.
I was immediately redirected to the homepage, asked to create a username—Blue_Alice—and started navigating my way around.
It was a chat room, and from the subject matter floating in boxes around the screen, it was definitely a no holds barred kink fest. Perfect! At least the curious vixen inside me wouldn’t have to show her face for now. I sat for hours in the various chat rooms reading the conversations. Most of them consisted of people hooking up and then agreeing to email in private. Great, hours on the site and I had only gotten a little hot reading what appeared to be an open and unashamed twosome having really kinky message sex. I could read a book and get hotter than this. I was just about to grab my trusty silver bullet and a new erotica book when I received an incoming message.
MadHatter: What are you doing here?
I froze, feeling completely busted. I shook my embarrassment off quickly. I had knocked on the damn door. Why not have a little fun?
Blue_Alice: Looking.
MadHatter: For what?
Blue_Alice: Anything but what I’m doing.
There, honesty. Honesty was good.