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Whale Tails and Boners

I was beginning to understand what it meant to be a mother of a teenage girl. Certainly, one has to be firm and responsible, but being a confidant and friend is important also. I suggested pizza, and we all sat down. I still carried a bemused smile upon my face.

"When Candice and I were young, just turned eighteen age in fact, we had the same desire to show off our bodies. Every generation of young girls seem to possess their budding wants, exhibiting, at every opportunity, those gifts granted to them. When we were younger, whale tails were all the rage. She and I couldn't wait, but, knowing our parent's disapproval, we had to be a little sneaky."

"A whale tail was actually an offshoot of the lowrider jeans fad. Beneath the jeans, a girl would wear a black thong much like your swimsuits in construction, that fanned out as it rose out of the butt crack and tied above the hips. Combined with the blue jean lowrider, it looked like a whale tail rising from the azure sea. Guys found it intensely erotic... and I suppose it was, now that I look back."

"Well, duh!" exclaimed Jules, causing a round of giggles.

"And y'all went out in public like that?" asked Brynn, obviously tickled to get the scoop on her mother's high school shenanigans.

"Oh, yes!" I continued, and that's when things got interesting. The girls leaned forward, their hunger for pizza forgotten in the tale, or should I say 'tail,' being narrated. "It was ladies night at the local club, a retro disco with flashing lights and all that crap."

"Mom!" Jules cried in disbelief. "You went to a club when you were eighteen wearing a tail? Should I be hearing this?"

"Ha!" I retorted. "And this coming from emek escort a girl of fourteen whose gonna walk down the beach practically naked!"

"Hush, Jules," interrupted Brynn. "Go on, Mrs. Evans."

"Anyway," I continued, "we snuck out of our rooms after everyone had fallen asleep and met at the high school football field, and from there we made our way down the street toward the club. It was obvious the bouncer at the front door wasn't gonna let us through, but around back there was a service entrance that Candice knew about. We carefully snuck around back, and slipped into an institutional-green, dark corridor that led past some custodial supply closets and the kitchen door, then finally to a door behind which emanated the steady pounding rhythms of dance.

"We entered to a deafening sound that could immediately be felt in our stomachs, and we sat down. The lights were flashing, blinding any who gazed at them directly, and the servers, who dressed in the club logo t-shirts and only black panties beneath, made us look a bit overdressed. The place was a meat market in more ways than one, and the servers assumed if we had gotten past the doorman, we were of age.

"It didn't take long for the two of us, dressed in halters with no bras and our ass cracks accentuated by our obvious tails, to gain attention. A lot of cute guys were there for the taking, and Candice and I had decided to play a game."

"Let me guess," popped up Brynn, "you competed to see who could get asked for the most dances."

"Not quite," I replied. "We actually had a contest to see who could pop the most boners."

"No!" Jules put her hands to her mouth, amazed at what she was eryaman escort hearing from her own mother.

"Yup!" I continued, "we worked the crowd, counting the boners we aroused during the dances. We each had our way of getting the guys excited. My hips were more curvy than Candice's and I concentrated on the slow dances, letting the guys place their hands on my naked waist. Naturally during the dance, the hands wandered downward until they were fondling my hips. A little swaying pelvis action always elicited the desired effect."

"And my mom?" Brynn asked hesitantly.

"Well, I don't think she'd mind me telling. She had a magnificent pair of boobs. Not large, mind you, but tipped with incomparable dark, puffy nipples. The kind that men dream about. Like yours, Brynn."

She blushed at my comment, but asked with her eyes to continue.

"She had a way of jiggling them so that the friction from the halter cloth aroused them to their full potential. She would employ the same wiggle while pressed against her partners until they lost control of their inhibitions, sporting obvious erections. We danced almost continuously for two hours."

I paused and took a long sip of soda.

"Well?" they both inquired, full of anticipation.

"Well what?" I asked, teasing them and relishing the suspense I had engendered.

They both let out a frustrated yelp and were about to throw some black olives at me before I finally volunteered the outcome of the game.

"Sorry, Brynn," I continued, "but Candice sat down for drinks with a couple of her partners, which gave me the opportunity to forge ahead with a few extra boners, the tally for the night... esat escort 12-9."

An odd transition had just taken place. We continued eating our pizza in quiet contemplation of what it meant and felt to take those first steps toward womanhood and sexual fulfillment. As much as most would have us believe that it all begins with the loss of our cherries, I would beg to differ. In fact, it is not the 'losing' of an insignificant membrane, but the gradual 'gaining' of recognition and confidence in our particular power as women that makes us who we are.

More importantly, I thought of the many doors I had passed through in my life, and outside of motherhood, it didn't seem that many more were open to me. I envied the girls their awakenings, and wished I could awaken to the fresh challenges of womanhood. But the sun had set upon my awakenings and I had to accept the cards I had been dealt in life. My kids were well provided for and I wanted for nothing material, however much my physical self felt the restraints placed upon me. Micah was an excellent husband. His priorities were his family, our health, the children's education, and providing a solid home and income.

I loved him dearly; for the sacrifices he made for his family, and for always putting his family needs ahead of his own. How many wives and mothers would wish that they could have such a blessing as mine. But sometimes I would lay in bed alone while Micah sat at the dinner table, working late into the night on reports for the next day. Our mid-thirties were drifting into our late thirties.

I would tuck my hand into my pajama bottoms, running my fingers through the curls of my pubic hair, tracing a path through my bush to my beckoning clitoris... beckoning me to awaken my sleeping fantasies, arousing me to passions uninhibited. My clitoris would rise above the folds of my labia and peek through my parted curls. My fantasies rose, like my clitty, to heights unobtained in my narrow sexual prison of life, until I would bite the corner of my pillow, stifling my screams of ecstasy.