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Karen was a typical, bored housewife. The reality of marriage was far different to the starry-eyed beliefs she once held and her husband Geoff spent more and more time at the pub with his mates. And then Karen met an older man, and the spark was rekindled and Karen started her journey down the slippery path of waywardness, to becoming the wanton slut that had laid dormant all those years.

I was I suppose, typical of many new housewives up and down the
country, worldwide even – bored with marriage even after such a
relatively short time and - utterly disillusioned. Like the many, I
married too young, was starry-eyed and filled with rose-tinted visions
of making a home and having children.  When other girls were out
playing the field and living life to the full, I had made a commitment
to give it all up and to become a wife and mother. I imagined cosy
nights in front of the fire with the man I though I loved, my husband,
of making love on the rug and living I suppose, in a fantasy world of
make believe. Then came the harsh realities: mortgage to pay, gas,
electric, rates and water bills and after food shopping – next to
nothing to be able to go out on and to enjoy myself. Having children
was out of the question; we would never have been able to survive if I
had to give up my job to have them. But that came about anyway, due to
my increasing withdrawal into myself and, things got financially and
socially worse from there.
	 Increasingly my husband, Geoff, would be out at the pub with his
mates, coming back late and most times drunk, using what little money
we had to pee it up against a toilet wall. His initial interest in me
began to wane and I felt it. I felt hurt, rejected, unwanted and,
worst of all for a woman, unattractive. He didn’t seem to want to take
me out to the pub at all, but to leave me at home whilst he watched
football and laughed and joked amongst his friends. I went through
various stages of depression, not perhaps clinical depression but a
worst kind in a way, the drudge of household chores with no enjoyment
as an outlet. I became withdrawn, hateful and resentful of my husband,
the arguments increased and, looking back, I see now that we were
drifting apart and - only three years after our wedding.
	Things came to a head one day when, in a fit of tears, I walked out
of the house one lunchtime, swearing to myself that I had had enough
and would never return. To the park I went, to the children’s play
area and sat on a swing, kicking my feet in the dirt like a little
girl and sobbing my woes to the stillness around me. About ten minutes
I suppose I had been there before I noticed him, standing back a way
but looking directly at me.
	He was old… Well compared to my age he was anyway, I was twenty-four
then. The man was respectably enough dressed in a business suit with a
rolled umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other. About fifty
I guessed him to be, with silver hair, thinning but not bald. He stood
stock-still and staring, not moving or uttering a word. He was
confident and brash, not caring that I had noticed him, he simply
continued to ogle me hungrily.
	At first I was disgusted, and perhaps a little scared too, his
piercing stare and leering sending me into shivers of revulsion. I
squeezed my knees together, not that my skirt was all that short but I
didn’t want this dirty old man seeing my thighs. I wished that he
would go and leave me in peace but something; I can’t say what it was,
held me there, glued to the swing seat as this stranger leered so
disgusting at me. Annoyance bubbled up within me, anger and rage too
as the man took a few paces forward, halted and then advanced again. I
was alone and vulnerable, sitting in a near-deserted park with not a
sole to come to my aid should I need it. I recall looking around me,
praying that someone, just someone would come by but of course, when
you are in need there is no one to be seen.
	These mixed emotions increased and then suddenly began to fade as I
stared back at him. His face was handsome enough and kindly, his eyes
adoring and not threatening as I had first thought. He was looking at
me not only with sexual lust but also with a sort of mesmerised awe,
spellbound in some way by something I was wearing or my hair perhaps.
I remember thinking that apart from the sexual element in his stare,
he could perhaps have been a father mistaking me for a long-lost
daughter, seeing in me what he had long since lost – but that was not
the case.
	Closer he edged and until he was just some fifteen feet from me, his
stare was fixed in my direction but was moving up over my legs,
thighs, waist, my bust and then to my face before working back down
again. It was after several more moments that it hit me, okay he was
leering, but he found me attractive. The dowdy housewife that her
husband had all but rejected was an attractive woman after all, old as
he was I felt complimented and, I have to admit, pleased by his
attentions. I felt my spirits rising, my tears drying and a wonderful
tingling sensation rippling through me. He represented a presence to
me now, not that of a threatening and sex-starved letch but one of a
devoted and love-struck male.
	I had never in my younger days found older men attractive, quite the
reverse was true in fact, I had always wanted young men, vibrant men,
full of life with energy and zip. Somehow though, this man appealed to
me more and more as time passed and I, actually began to respond to
his leering. I can remember breaking a weak, and perhaps, slightly
mocking smile, one that let him know that I knew, and he matched it,
smiling back at me. That warmed me more to him, he became kindlier and
less threatening by the moment and, I found myself actually willing
him to come close and to look.
	This might sound a little silly, outrageous even, but I found my
nipples firming as the tingling began in them. Little flutters of
sensation gripped in my pussy and my heart rate increased to make my
breathing a little short and laboured. This man, this total and older
stranger, was giving to me what my husband had neglected to give me,
attention as an attractive woman. I felt complimented, more confident
now and – not just a little bit sexy I have to admit. The surge that
shot though my pussy almost took my breath as I noticed for the first
time, the bulge in the front of his trousers, the man was excited, his
cock was hard and, best of all, I was the reason for it. A pumping
thrill within me tightened my throat, my mouth was dry and I found my
hands trembling with excitement – I was actually enjoying his ogling.
	With my head up and stare back at him I arched my back to push my
chest out, offering the thrust of my bust to his leering stare,
wantonly displaying my breasts as they pushed against my thin jumper.
I felt a thumping grip low in my vulva at his wide-eyed stare, his
gaze fixed on the points of my breasts. I guessed he would be mentally
undressing me, imagining my breasts and nipples beneath my clothing,
perhaps even he would be fantasising of feeling them, kissing and
licking them. The pulse throbbed wildly throughout my body. Here I
was, a married woman, flaunting herself before a man old enough to be
my father and – gaining sexual thrill from it. I tried to check myself
and to stop the silliness but the pounding sensations and the terrific
buzz it gave me felt simply too good to want to stop.
	I eased my knees apart a little, not much, and thinking back on it
he really couldn’t have seen anything but, the thrill it gave me
brought my clitoris erect and to a wonderful throbbing stiffness. I
was offering myself, willingly parting my knees to excite and to
encourage the man.
	His response had such a powerful effect on me that I felt my pussy
leaking juices; the man drew breath, his eyes wider still and his face
a mask of sexual thrill and pleasure. Absently almost, in a dream-like
state with his gaze fixed on the hem of my skirt he moved slowly to
his left and sat down on a small bench opposite the swings. 
	My heart thumped so hard I felt it might burst, wave after wave of
sensation ripped through me with an intensity that I hadn’t known for
sometime and even then, not I think to the degree with which it did
that day. His seated position brought his head about level with my
waist, a level at which he could better see up my skirt and, I didn’t
care one bit, it actually excited me further. I recall wondering at
that moment just how much sex the man got, not much if any I guessed
but, his experience was showing through and that intrigued me. My
husband was a fumbler; in fact all the boys I had known in my youth
were too but this man? He was different, very different. He seemed
knowing and aware, realising that I was receiving his ogling with
pleasure now and using his knowledge to entice me further, guiding me,
imploring me, begging me even, but all with his eyes and his manner
and without a single word passing between us. 
	I responded, tartily if you wish to call it that, blatantly and
whorishly. I eased forward on the swing seat to shift my backside more
to the front edge, the action drawing my skirt further back up my
thighs and allowing me to part my knees a little wider. Again a
thudding surge ripped through my insides to end deep down in my vulva
and to give sensations to me previously unknown. I watched his face
with bated breath and almost cried out as his mouth dropped open, his
eyes locked wide and he drew breath at what I had done. That he could
see now up beneath my skirt wasn’t in doubt, he would have been able
to see the triangle that my white panties formed between the tops of
my thighs and he surely could, for he ogled most intently and shifted
a little in his seat to ease the pressure on his bulge.
	There I sat, with my knees slightly apart and my skirt pulled back
up to mid-thigh, allowing – no, not allowing, encouraging - an older
man to look up my skirt for sexual thrill. Was I mad? Had my recent
depressions unhinged me? I asked myself but no, I wasn’t unhinged, I
was awakening from a years-long sleep, finding myself again and
becoming the woman I once was.
	More daring I became. Again I wriggled forward on the seat and
parted my knees wider still, indecently wide actually, so that the
outsides of my thighs pressed against the supporting chains and so
that the gusset of my panties would be on full and unhindered view.
The surge of sensation that passed through me as I did this could
never be described; it was one of those moments that had to be
experienced to understand fully. I sat there offering him sight of my
thinly veiled sex, a wanton woman teasing and tantalising an older
man, working him up and showing him what he probably hadn’t seen in a
long time. My nipples throbbed to aching and my wet pussy now gripped
in continuous little spasms of delight, the tight pull of my panties
against my erect clit added to the thrill and I was revelling in
flashing to him.
	My breath was stuttered and my chest tight, the pumping thrill was
to wonderfully intense, my face was flushed I know but that wasn’t
important, it wasn’t my face he was looking at. My breathing almost
stopped as the man slowly stood, his body hunched slightly to ease the
strain of his erection against his trousers. I recall giving a
whimper, not a nervous one you understand, but one of longing and
pumping thrill.
	Closer he came, and then closer still, both of us silent and
staring, I at his perspiration coated face and he at my offering
between my legs. Not more than three-feet now he stood from me, his
cock hard and jutting to push his trousers out at the front and his
eyes boring down between my thighs. What possessed me to do what I did
next I don’t know, again I must have been mad, could have been seen,
looking back it even surprised me that I could do such. I reach down
with both hands, my fingers trembling so much that I had some
difficulty gripping the hem of my skirt with them. Then, I took a deep
breath and began easing the hem of my skirt higher, back up my thighs
to the tops, exposing my panties totally and giving him sight of all
beneath my skirt. 
	He gave a low groan of appreciation, licked his lips greedily I
recall and gripped his cock through his trousers. Whether that was to
either squeeze it or to ease it a more comfortable position, I could
not tell but the act made me cry out involuntarily as a bolt of
electric sensation tore through me to bring me to a level of arousal
just teasingly short of orgasm.  I hovered there, in a heady and
wonderful world of pounding sexual thrill, my body pulsing with
excitement and my breathing so rapid and hard that my throat felt as
dry as desert sand. I whimpered softly as he gripped his cock, this
time I could be sure because, it was a rhythmic and continuous motion,
as though he was masturbating himself before me.
	“Please,” he said, speaking for the first time, his voice dry and
croaky and his tone pleading. “Show me more.”
	By now I was lost in a detached world of throbbing sexual bliss,
close to orgasm but not quite there, aware of my surroundings and of
what was happening but bathing too in the wonderful cotton-wool
smothering of warm and comforting sexual state of thrill. I was
confident again, in control, this man actually asking, begging
actually for me to show more of myself to him. That had a profound
effect on me, my couldn’t-care-less husband would never plead or beg
and to have a man do so – heaven itself.
	I looked around me, flicking my head to the sides to check if we had
been seen, but the park was deserted, we were alone. I gripped the hem
of my jumper and lifted it slowly, teasingly slowly both for him and
me, easing it gradually up over my stomach to show my bare mid-drift. 
A thud jolted in my pussy and strangely, I felt my anus grip in
reaction as I eased the thin jumper up to the points of my breasts,
showing the little white bra and just a hint of swelling cleavage to
him.
	“Oh God!” he muttered and began to tremble, or so I thought at that
moment but, he was actually coming! He tensed, his whole body racked
by a series of little jerks as his cock spurted his sperm into his
underpants. That did it for me. I felt a tidal wave of sensation so
forceful and intense that I cried out, my hand gripping the chains of
the swing to steady myself and then I too went into spasm. I was
jerked by a rapid succession of jarring convulsions that gripped me so
hard that my legs extended, locking rigid as my orgasm tore through
me. A blanket of mist covered my mind and for a few moments I was
transported to paradise, my entire body washed by wave after wave of
beautiful sensation and then it began to subside.
	We both, he and me, remained silent for minutes afterwards, both
reflecting on and recovering from what has to rate as the most intense
orgasm ever – up to that point for me but later I will explain more.
Neither of us spoke, there was no need to. It was a shared and
understood thing that didn’t require words. Two people, strangers to
one another, sharing in an experience of deep pleasure but without
commitment or other emotions, sexual thrill only being the object of
it.
	I remember smiling as he held his briefcase across his groin to
cover the wet stain on his trousers. Several times he tried to speak,
cleared his throat and tried again but no words would come, such was
the depth of the pleasure we had shared. Finally, his head lifted, his
eyes looking up at my face sheepishly, pleadingly, like a little puppy
seeking praise from its master and asked in a strained and hope-filled
voice. “Tomorrow?”
	I felt another rush of thrill and nodded. My voice too was quavering
but more coherent than his had been. “One o’clock,” I said, not as a
suggestion but more as a command. A flicker of a smile broke on his
face and then the man turned and walked away across the grass towards
the park gates.