It Had Not Always Been So

The rugged, lunar texture of his strong tongue against her sleek wetness should have captured her attention immediately. His poking and prodding into the deepest parts of her should have had a greater effect on her. She wanted to be there. To be a part of their team, a real participant, not merely a spectator. Yet she was a million miles away from their humid sheets. Her mind wandered aimlessly, unable to maintain focus. She silently wondered if she was partaking too often in the solitary pleasures she experienced with her rocket-launching vibrator. She could scarcely find the patience to hear her husband’s car leaving the driveway and her buzzing pink partner in crime was already out of his not-so secret hiding place, firmly in hand, revved up and ready to go. She had recently read an article in a magazine warning sex-toy users that they ran the risk of somehow desensitizing themselves through the incredibly strength that their silent partners lashed out on them. The strength and the relentless frequency of their usage, she imagined. How odd that articles of this nature were now in all magazines. That masturbation was an everyday subject of conversation.

It had not always been so.

A distant memory rose up to the surface. She remembered that while she was in fifth grade, she babysat occasionally to earn pocket-money. She was called back often by a couple with a toddler who lived up the street from her. The Burkes. He was an Air Force pilot and she was a Canadian housewife with a short bob haircut and thick, nerdy glasses. She spoke with a very prim, proper accent. Neither one of them was in any way attractive. They had something extremely bland about them. Back in those early years, she imagined that only really beautiful people had sex lives. Her sneaky nature soon taught her otherwise about the Burkes. As soon as she had put the baby to bed, she would finish off anything salty and already open in the pantry and then she would begin her search. She was never quite sure what it was she was searching for, she just enjoyed the possibility of rummaging through other people’s lives, unseen. She knew it was rotten, betraying people’s trust in her like that, but the lure was too strong. She just couldn’t resist.

In a wooden chest at the foot of their bed, her surprise, like a slap in the face, leapt out to greet her curious nature. A big, black rubber dildo! There was other paraphernalia that she could not even imagine what to do with, but that black faux penis! Jesus Christ! The idea of Mr. Burke thrusting the thing into Mrs. Burke was unfathomable. Yet they owned it! It was right there at the foot of their bed! She would verify its presence in a state of fascination tinged with revulsion each and every time she babysat for them. When Mr. Burke accompanied her back to her own home after evenings out, she was unsettled by her secret knowledge and yet the idea that sexuality was a facet of every person’s life was oddly reassuring.

Her thoughts continued to ramble as her partner gave up, rolled over and went to sleep.


  1. etoile31

    Moi, Bé j’ai jamais trouvé des trucs pareils chez les adultes que je fréquentais lorsque j’étais enfant et/ou jeunes…., juste des bouquins sur la contraception par exemple, avec des photos, et au lieu de me poser des questions sur l’usage que pouvaient bien en faire Madame et Monsieur, et bien je m’astiquais le poireau (ça c’est pour Google Translate, Tiens!), et me faisait monter très haut en l’air avec les photos et ou dessins explicatifs (plans, axes, etc.). De cette époque là, j’en retiens que rien ne valait autant le Catalogue de La Redoute (1) ou celui des 3 Suisses (2), Celui de Manufrance ne présentant aucun intérêt (Armes et cycles!)

    Je me satisfait toujours très bien moi-même moi-même, même avec la plus charmante des amies……. Bah Quoi!

    • pivoine68

      J’imagine les ados avec un catalogue de La Redoute maintenant. (Je crois ils ont fait faillite mais bon, c’est une autre histoire.) Je connaissais déjà “astiquer le poireau!” Je connais un tas de mots! 🙂 Je me demande si toutes les images que nous voyons quotidiennement sur internet ne rendent pas blasé d’une manière. Nous sommes sur-stimulés.

      Bises Mr Étoile,

      • etoile31

        Je ne demande encore et toujours qu’à vivre dans la stimulation……, partagée et vécue, of course! Je suis né de cela, me semble-t’il……, Genre cela ne me lâche jamais……

    • pivoine68

      Thanks! It was supposed to be fiction….I’m trying to write longer texts, less about myself, but somehow I always appear sooner or later. I love to write poetry but I want to write a book and I’ve heard that there is no market for it. Slim chances of being published anyway but it can’t hurt to try. Thanks Sweetyshinde!


  2. Dawn D

    Your tale makes me think about two different things… One is the paraphernalia. I think I only baby sat once as a teen. But I remember finding erotic magazines or books. Maybe I didn’t put them back properly, and that’s why I was never called back? No, I think it had more to do with the fact that I hadn’t really been loved and shown how to take care of someone at home, I probably wasn’t the best person to take care of a baby…
    Then there is the completely different aspect of rambling thoughts. I completely associate with that. It’s bloody awful, actually made me cry the other day. I’m about to write a post about that. Actually have another one in draft that talks about someone who was compiling her grocery list while waiting for it to be over. The worst thing for me is that it happens even when I’m not waiting for it to be over, not just suffering it. It happens even when I’m enjoying it. Bloody awful, I tell you! But I think it is slightly better when there is some sort of emotional connection with my partner. I don’t know, I guess I still have to think about it a little before I figure it out!
    The good thing though is that I can assure you that (for me at least), it has nothing to do with vibrator overuse. I had that problem long before I even laid hands on a vibe!

    • pivoine68

      Babysitting was sort of fascinating. I still love to look into apartments at night and imagine the people living in them. Based on how much I snooped. If I had kids I would never have any childcare happening in my home!

      Otherwise, the rambling thoughts part is sort of about me but sort of not. I’m wanting to write fiction….I figure I’m getting monotonous with all of my sadness. Plus I’m not really sad all the time. Lately I’m having random sexual encounters with strangers and even though there is not a real bond, just the sheer humanity of it all touches my heart. I have been pleasantly surprised by the experience. Life is a strange voyage.


      • Dawn D

        It is indeed a very strange voyage! Let’s enjoy the ride!!
        As for not having any childcare in your home… You obviously haven’t had children! There comes a point where it is vital to just get out of the f**king house. I mean, it’s a question of life and death, even if ‘only’ for your soul. Or maybe I’m saying that because I never had much to be ashamed of, in so far that I didn’t have any toys, and not much porn magazines? Though I realise that now that I do own a few more kinky things, I wouldn’t feel ashamed of owning them if I were confronted. At this stage, it is far more plausible that it would be by my children rather than any baby sitter. Which could make for an even more uncomfortable discussion. But I think I’m actually ready to have it. Not that I would feel very at ease with it, but I can imagine myself asking “do you know what it’s for? Do you want to know” 🙂

  3. Marian Green

    Your writing keeps getting better. Has anyone else noticed? This piece is especially nice… you should submit it to a magazine, or something. Really.

    I mean that sweet, beautiful friend.


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