Just a Little Country Girl

Born and raised on a farm in a small West Virginia town, I certainly
was not prepared for the fantastic things that have happened to me in the
last year.
I was a virgin when I married Duane right out of high school. We were
everybody’s “perfect couple” – he played football, and I was a cheerleader.
Duane worked hard for a lot of years, and, last year, got the “big”
promotion and was transferred to Baltimore. We had to leave our little
town for the first time in our lives. It was very scary, but our minister
gave us an introduction letter to a church just outside of Baltimore, and
the people at our new church were the greatest – making us feel at home,
helping us settle in, etc.
As you can guess, I was the dumb little country girl in the big city
for the first time – I had never been exposed to all the sex and violence
and four-letter words in the “outside” world. Duane and I were about even
in the sex department, and I didn’t believe people could do the things to
each other that I have recently discovered they do.
Duane and I have been married nine years and we normally made love
maybe two or three times a month, and, although I was unaware of this, I
had never experienced an orgasm in all the years of my marriage. We had
sex in the traditional, “missionary” position, and as soon as Duane reached
his climax, he would get up and take a shower, and then I’d take mine. To
me, the sex felt good, but I thought that was all there was to it. We had
never tried, or even discussed, oral sex or anything else for that matter.
Duane’s job keeps him on the road constantly and he is gone more than
he’s home. We bought a house when we moved to Baltimore, and the upkeep
and expenses in the area are demanding. We live near a large state
university and decided to rent out a room to a college student. Duane and
I didn’t want just anybody living in our house, so we were fortunate enough
to have a church member recommend her nephew to us.
My story really begins last August, when our college student, Joe,
moved in. As part of the rental agreement, I made his bed everyday and
cleaned his room. A couple of weeks after he moved in, I found a whole
stack of “adult” magazines under his bed. There were “Playboys” and
“Penthouses,” but there were also magazines with only pictures called
things like “Stockings and Lace,” “Bush Basher,” “Anal Honeys,” and “Big
Tit Fuckers.” I was amazed and shocked at what I saw in the pictures and
what I read in the letters and stories. But every day, I dug another one
out to read or look at.
One afternoon, Joe came in unexpectedly and caught me sitting on his
bed, reading his magazines. I was embarrassed beyond words, and wanted to
die!