Tuesday, April 17, 2012

My new story - at last!

Hey everyone, sorry I've been quiet but this is why! My second story, drawn from my diaries. Part 1 is here in it's entirety - parts 2, 3 and 4 to come - email me if you want to read them in advance of them being posted.

Hope you enjoy it - feedback always appreciated. I hope you're all keeping well, enjoy the photo at the end of the story :-)

xxx Claire

All work copyright © Claire Brighton 2012

From My Diaries

2) Before Curvy Claire

(Part 1)

In my first ‘Diary entry’ on here, I detailed how my ‘fall to the dark side’ began, and how I first cheated on my husband, Paul. That was a turning point in my life, and one from which I never looked back.

Until now.

It was interesting to go through my old diaries last year. I read so much in there which made me smile, and so many things which also made me sad. It’s almost like I was a totally different person back when I was young. I suppose everyone is the same. You almost mourn for the child you used to be; when you were innocent and you had all of your life in front of you. If only I knew what lay in front of me - I’d have done things differently. Or would I?

I can’t really be unhappy at where I am in life. There are so many people who lead such disadvantaged lives. I’ve been very, very lucky and I still am an exceptionally blessed person. I’m not short of money. I have a husband that loves me. Two wonderful children. And more sex than the average person has in a lifetime. Who am I to complain?

The only little things I would change about my past would be my attitude to sex. I wish I’d been more adventurous earlier. It took me until I was 2004, when I was 22 years old, to discover how much fun sex really could be. So many people discover it earlier on, and sometimes I wonder how much I missed out on and wish I could turn the clock back. I see photos and hear stories about wild holidays that girls have with their friends. About sleeping around with boys in college or university - going to wild parties and experimenting with drugs and doing crazy things.

I never did any of that. Can you tell me - have I missed out?

It doesn’t pain me too much - I’ve more than made up for it since! I think I’ve slept with over fifty men since first cheating on Paul eight years ago, which averages at between six and seven men a year, although to be honest most of those men were in the four years from 2004-2008, when I couldn’t help but sleep with any nice man who showed an interest. Since then I’ve settled into a routine of regular ‘special friends’ who I see regularly rather than one-off encounters.

But that is nearer the now - I’ll write what happened after I became Curvy Claire in a later story. Right now, I want to go backwards. Right back. To the beginning. Here is my autobiography, if a shortened version. Hopefully, it will help you get to know me.

I was born in the middle of May, back in 1982, which yes, at the time of writing, makes me thirty very soon! Perhaps approaching that scary milestone is what’s making me look back, I don’t know.

I was born in Chester in the UK, a prosperous area compared to some, and I had a wonderful start in life as my mother and father loved me dearly, and I had a very caring childhood. My father is called Charles, but everyone calls him Charlie, and he was and still is one of the nicest men you could ever meet. My mother was Anna, and again she was a very sweet, affectionate person who I have nothing but the fondest memories of.

My father, my elder sister, Donna, who is two years older than me, and I were devastated when we lost my mother to breast cancer after a short and brutal fight against the disease. She was only forty-five and she died just a month before my wedding, which she’d fought desperately to stay alive to see. A sad memory, but I prefer to remember her as the fun, loving woman that she was.

It feels a little weird to write like this about her, almost disrespectful, but I often wonder if my mother is where I get my high sex drive from. My father only slept with one woman besides my mother, and she was his previous wife. He never had any girlfriends before that, and he has never slept with anyone or had a real relationship with any women since my mother died ten years ago. He is quite open about sex, he always has been, he’s not a shy or prudish man, but he believes very much in relationships and marriage and if he knew just what I was like, I think he would be quite upset.

My sister takes after him, she has slept with a small number of men - I won’t disclose how many, it’s not my place to - but every one of them has been in a serious relationship. She is married now, with three children and has a fabulous marriage by all accounts. She is very much a career person and while she enjoys sex as much as the next person, she doesn’t display the appetite for it which I have.

My father’s first marriage produced a boy, my step-brother Toby, who is four years older than me. Daddy divorced his ex-wife when he found out she was cheating on him, and that she’d fallen pregnant to the man she was having a fling with. That man disappeared as soon as Daddy confronted him about his affair, and Toby never met his real father. Despite my father divorcing however, he felt guilty about leaving his ex-wife pregnant and with no-one to turn to, and although he met my mother soon afterwards and married her - he did keep in touch with his ex-wife (with mother’s blessing) and helped raise Toby the best he could, as a sort of step-son.

Quite often, as a teenager in the holidays, we would go and stay with Daddy’s other family. Daddy wasn’t fucking Jane (his ex-wife,) I’m very sure of that, but they always stayed friends, and Toby was very much seen as my brother. We would always be at each other’s birthday parties, and shared Christmases together. You might think it weird, but it felt right at the time, and it worked for us, so everything was good.

One thing I should perhaps make a note of here, as I have mentioned before - is that I speak very well. This isn’t necessarily because I am ‘posh’ as many people like to believe - rather, I was born with a slight lisp and a short tongue, which my parents sorted by sending me for elocution lessons for six years until I learned to speak properly and all traces of the lisp had gone. I was lucky enough to be put in to private education, and even though the area and the school were very well-to-do with children from some very wealthy families, I was still poked fun at for speaking the way I did. By the time I moved up to ‘big school’ though, I was simply known as ‘Posh Claire’ and the girls (it was an all-girls’ school) accepted me for that.

With regards to sex, I was very naive. I did sex education at school, but right up to then I had never seen as much as a porn film or even a naked man. I’d seen mother naked, but never father - he was very private and careful. That changed when I was fourteen but I’ll come to that shortly.

The first cock I ever saw was my step-brother’s. I know that seems wrong, but it’s what happened. We were kids - he was sixteen and I was twelve, so neither of us really knew what we were doing was wrong. We weren’t blood related, so it seemed fine. I would think it’s probably quite common, but I guess not everyone goes around spilling the beans on their early sexual experiences, unlike I’m doing now, so you just don’t hear about it.

My breasts started growing when I was eleven, and I got my first period at roughly the same time. I remember how painful my sprouting boobs were, though I was the proudest girl in the world and felt like a real woman at the time. My sister talked me through everything, which was very embarrassing at the time, but she was great, unlike my step-brother Toby who instead took every opportunity to tease me about it.

My breasts grew quite quickly; I was a C-cup at thirteen and a D-cup by the time I left school at sixteen. My boobs and my blonde hair got me an awful lot of attention during those years, sometimes good and sometimes bad, in fact I went from loving them at thirteen to hating them during the last year of school. Physical education especially was horrible. I remember telling my sports teacher, ‘Sir, I am NOT going on that trampoline!’ Can you imagine?

So, back to Toby. As well as teasing me, he would also spend a lot of time staring at my breasts. I think he thought that I was naive or just stupid enough not to notice, but every time I wore anything remotely tight-fitting, or with a deepish V-neck, he would always try and look down my top. At first, I found it amusing, perhaps even flattering, Toby was sixteen and quite a good-looking lad but it was also slightly embarrassing and made me uncomfortable occasionally.

Then one very warm summer day in the school holidays when I was twelve, I was staying at jane and Toby’s house with Daddy and Donna too. Donna and I shared the guest bedroom, Toby had his own room and Daddy would sleep on a pull-out bed downstairs, and I was walking over the bathroom that morning for a shower when I saw Toby through the gap in his bedroom doorway. The door was only a few inches ajar but something made me glance that way as I walked past and there he was. Styling his hair in the mirror, completely naked.

I looked at his body, slim and toned and then at his penis. It was quite hairy as I remember, and I thought it quite large at the time, although with hindsight it was probably a little smaller than some, but maybe average for a lad of his age and development. I was only looking out of curiosity and wasn’t turned on at all, and after looking for a minute or so, I walked into the bathroom before he saw me.

But I was too late. He’d seen me. I didn’t know - I thought I had gotten away with it - until he knocked on the bathroom door a few minutes later, just as I was getting undressed to go in the shower. I asked him what he wanted but he insisted I open the door for a moment, so I wrapped a towel around myself and opened the door and then he confronted me about spying on him. He’d seen me looking in the mirror, he explained.

I was completely mortified. I tried to deny it, but there wasn’t much point. I had been caught red-handed, and the conversation went from there to him basically blackmailing me into removing the towel which was the only thing preserving my modesty, or he would tell my father. I remember being quite terrified of the consequences of Donna and Daddy finding out how bad I’d been, and so I let him remove the towel and look at my flourishing breasts and pubes. He had a good long look at me, then let me cover myself and he stomped back to this bedroom, while I locked the bathroom door and showered, after I’d pulled myself together from the shock of what had just happened.

I hope I’m not painting Toby out as too much of a villain. In fact I have to admit that I did feel slightly excited at being exposed to him. He was very persuasive, saying that because I’d seen him naked, he should get to see me - it was only fair - and from that day onwards, we would sometimes play this ‘You show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ game. When the house was empty, with no Donna, Jane or Daddy around, we would often end up in his bedroom. I was as guilty as he was with the game. I was really curious about his penis, and I admit that I got very aroused when he would touch my boobs, and I would see his penis grow hard. I only ever touched it once - picking it up to see how it felt, and squeezing it without ever stroking it, and he only touched my pussy the once, spreading my lips open to look inside, which immediately made me feel vulnerable and a little frightened, so I never let him touch it again after that.

That was all we ever did. As I grew a little older, the games stopped - especially when he got a girlfriend, called Mandy who was very sweet and beautiful, and so Toby lost interest in me, but I like to think that perhaps I played a small but important part in his sex education, as he did in mine, I suppose. I still see him every year or a couple of times a year at family parties and the like, but of course, we never talk about those things. I wonder if he’s ever thought about it, or reminisced like I have?

My first experience with sex was, again probably like quite a few people, seeing my parents do it. I wasn’t spying again (honestly, I wasn’t) but it was very early one morning and Donna and I were awake for some reason. This was after Toby and I played our naughty ‘game’ but I think I was possibly fourteen at the oldest, because Donna was still at school and living at home. I remember her coming up to me and putting a finger on her lips to be quiet, and then beckoning me to follow her upstairs. It wasn’t unusual for mother and father to stay in bed late on a weekend. Although Daddy owned (and still does) a farm, he had semi-retired by then to a point where he did mostly sales and paperwork, and didn’t spend so much time in the fields, and this weekend was their anniversary so I suppose they decided to celebrate it in the best way possible.

Donna had heard mother moaning and had checked to see if she was alright. The door was very slightly ajar, enough to see through the gap between the door hinges and the frame. She was chuckling to herself under her breath as she told me to look and so did I when I looked through to see Daddy’s bottom waggling up and down between mother’s upright legs! It feels a little bit shocking now when I think back, to imagine Donna and I taking it in turns to peer through the thin opening, watching them at it - but that is exactly what we did. Donna didn’t lose her virginity until she was seventeen so she was a virgin then and probably as curious about it as I was. It could be said that we both led quite a sheltered life until we left school. If I recall correctly, we stood and watched for a little while until Donna told me that they had finished and then we ran downstairs quickly before we got caught. I heard Daddy grunt, presumably as he came inside mother. Oh my, it really does feel very wrong to tell you that!

So, back to explaining why I sometimes think that I get my sex drive from my mother. After my mother died, I used to talk about her a lot, both to Donna and my father, and to my aunts and uncles, and it was my mother’s younger brother, my uncle Stuart, who first told me that Anne (as he called her of course) had been quite the wild one when she was younger.

Whereas my father was very down-to-earth for someone with his money, my mother was very uppity and quite embracing of the wealth that the farm had brought them over the years. Many people saw her as posh, like me but unlike me she was often termed ‘snobby’ as well. She was kind and caring to me and all of her family, but I remember a lot of cutting remarks she would make about passers-by or people she didn’t like. She was humorous with it, but her remarks could sometimes be quite harsh, I suppose, if taken out of context.

So to find out that before she met Daddy, she had a different boyfriend every week was quite a shock! Uncle Stuart wasn’t saying these things in a bad way - rather out of fondness - but it piqued my curiosity and made me realise that I really didn’t know all that much about my parents. It was then that Daddy told me - when I asked about their past - that he’d only ever slept with mother and Jane, and if he was being honest, he had no idea how many men mother had slept with before him, but it was a lot. He insisted it wasn’t important, the fact that she had a certain reputation for being an easy lay. It hadn’t made any difference to the fact that he fancied her and loved her and from the day that they got together, she gave up her wild ways and they were inseparable after that.

I do remember talking to her about sex when I very first got my period - and then shortly after I lost my virginity when I’d just left school - and both times, she had said that she lost her virginity at a very young age to a much older man, and that she regretted it. She wanted Donna and me to be careful and not ‘give it up’ so easily. She urged us to wait until we’d found ‘Mr. Right’ and to resist ‘Mr. Right Now’ - which I think Donna and I both took on board at the time, but I didn’t quite manage it, whereas Donna did.

My first actual physical sexual experiences came about during my final two years at school. I attended a very nice all-girls’ private school, which I have terrific memories of. Donna attended the same school, but had left already, being two years older than me, and I blossomed after she’d gone, becoming dare I say it; quite popular with my peers and teachers. I wasn’t the most intelligent in the year, but I spoke well, could hold my own at maths, and excelled at English, and my projected GCSE results were as good as I could have hoped for, if not quite as brilliant as my sister’s before me.

I had a lovely circle of friends, all but one of whom I have lost touch with, sadly, and my closest friend at the time was called Sarah, a bubbly and extremely funny, lanky-tall brunette with the biggest blue eyes I can ever remember seeing. Sarah wasn’t as popular as some of the others, and she was the only one of our group besides me who didn’t have a boyfriend (Daddy wouldn’t entertain the thought of me having a boyfriend, my studies were more important) so we used to hang around a lot together after school.

We were at the stage of trying new things, different fashion, make-up and looks, indie music and experimenting with things like alcohol and cigarettes. I still love a drink and a cigarette these days, although I’m not a heavy drinker or smoker by any means, just a social one.

One night, we’d managed to get our hands on two huge bottles of white cider, and managed to smuggle it into Sarah’s parents’ bedroom at her house. I didn’t mean to get drunk - I couldn’t afford to, if Daddy found out I would be grounded for a month - but one drink led to another and before long, me and Sarah were giggling at practically anything and everything.

I can’t quite remember how but we ended up laid next to each other on the bed, almost cuddling as we looked through some CDs and our legs were slightly intertwined. As I leaned over her to put a new CD in the player, my knee pressed in between her legs, and she let out a little moan in response, and then giggled as I stared at her in surprise.

I’m not sure whether it was the cider or not, but it just seemed harmless and fun to press my knee and thigh against her again, and instead of objecting, Sarah looked at me with a smile and moaned again. I have no idea why - it just seemed almost natural - but I laid on top of her and pressed into her further, and in response Sarah pushed her groin against me, almost grinding softly against my leg.

Our eyes didn’t meet; I remember feeling a bit weird but I didn’t stop. Perhaps I should explain that we hadn’t changed from school, so we were both wearing our school skirts still, although we had both taken our jumpers off if I remember rightly. The events that followed are a bit hazy in my recollection but I know that Sarah told me that she was ‘excited’ which is really cute when I look back at it now. Her leg went between mine and we sort of dry humped each other for a little while before eventually stopping and then we started to talk about sex.

Of course, we’d talked about boys and sex several times, what girls don’t at that age? We were both fairly naive with our upbringings, but I did really fancy a young man who worked at my local stables (I’ll come to the stables and him later) and Sarah told me about her next door neighbour who she’d liked for ages, and who she’d kissed and cuddled with a few times. But then she dropped the bombshell that he’d fingered her a couple of nights ago, and she’d masturbated him in return.

I couldn’t believe it - I’d never met him, but the fact that Sarah had taken this huge step before me, made me incredibly jealous and I insisted she tell me all the gory details. She was eager to spill the beans and as you can imagine, these two teenage girls with hormones and alcohol flowing through their veins ended up both very horny indeed. We were both still wrapped up together on the bed, and as Sarah described how he’d sucked her breasts, I couldn’t help but look at her blouse, picturing it for some reason. We had changed together in the past, so I had seen Sarah in her underwear and vice-versa, but I’d never actually seen her naked and to my surprise I couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like.

I think Sarah saw me looking because she started saying how she wished she had ‘big ones’ like mine; she was tall and quite lanky in contrast to the short, curvy and busty me. I told her that mine got on my nerves and if I could swap them for smaller ones, I would. Somehow that led to us undoing the buttons on our blouses and ‘comparing’ breasts, although we kept our bras on. When Sarah told me about his penis and then how he’d got hard, I felt myself getting hot and breathless with excitement, and when she continued with how he’d put his hand in her knickers and started to tell me explicitly how he’d really known what he was doing, rubbing her clitoris and sliding two fingers inside her, my heart was beating so fast it might as well have been happening to me right then.

And that was when it happened. Inexplicably, Sarah put her hand under my skirt and rubbed the front of my knickers, demonstrating exactly what her boyfriend had done to her. Her fingers found my clitoris, pressing it through the thin material, and it was as though an electric shock went through me. It might be hard to believe, but I had never masturbated up to that point. The only time I had ever really ‘explored’ myself down there was to put a tampon in and although I knew how to masturbate I’d just never been inclined to do it.

I just lay there silently, while Sarah continued to caress me, then she shut up too and the atmosphere totally changed. I lifted her skirt up and she did the same, and I felt the shape of her pussy through her panties and began to rub her, like she was doing to me. A stand-out memory is of Sarah chewing her lip and then stopping and pulling her knickers to one side. I remember it vividly because I was so shocked - not at the fact that she’d just exposed her vagina to me, but also because she was shaved bald down there. I stared for a moment, and then touched her hesitatingly because she obviously wanted me to. I had no idea what I was doing, but my fingers slid inside her a couple of times and I rubbed over her lips, not knowing really where her clitoris was but knowing that was what you were supposed to do. Sarah’s pussy felt both soft and smooth, and hot and sticky.

Then her hand slid down between my legs again, and I remember tensing up, knowing what she was about to do, but no words were said. I felt her pull my panties down my thighs and over my knees and I actually kicked them off and opened my legs so she could touch me. I can’t explain the thrill that was rushing through me at that moment, and when her fingers found my clitoris and began to explore my own wetness, I thought my head was going to explode.

I didn’t shave my pussy back then, but I wasn’t overly hairy anyway, being of quite a fair disposition. I had a smallish triangle of soft, light brown hair and Sarah stroked her fingers through it, saying I should try shaving it because boys like that.

Again, what happened next just seemed ridiculously natural. I leant over her and our eyes met for the first time in what felt like an age and then we kissed. I don’t know long it went on for, but we kissed and rubbed each other until first Sarah, and then I, both came. It wasn’t Sarah’s, but it was my first orgasm and I had no idea what to expect. Sarah had thrown her head back and groaned so loudly that I was scared her parents downstairs would hear us So, I imagined it would feel good but I wasn’t prepared for the feeling that began as a throb deep in my pussy then exploded through my entire body.

Afterwards, we both rearranged our clothes and the oddest thing happened. I’m not quite sure how, but without actually saying the words, we sort of promised each other that this was our little secret. From that day on, I don’t think we ever actually talked about what we did that night. We both moved on, Sarah started going steady with her new boyfriend, while I became increasingly curious about boys and wanting to do the things she’d done with a man of my own.

I did wonder for a little time if what I’d done meant I was a lesbian. It was a bit of a soul-searching and anxious time, but I couldn’t help but imagining a nice boy sucking my boobs like Sarah had described, and feeling his cock grow hard in my hand. I started to masturbate on my own too, and I always thought about a certain boy’s fingers doing to my pussy what Sarah had done. Other things too, like wondering what a cock would taste like, and how it would feel to have a man on top of me, inside me while we kissed and he whispered that he loved me in my ear.

Orgasms were a new thing for me, and I probably made myself cum every day for a long time after that, and because my fantasies were always of men, eventually I became comfortable with what I’d done. I’d just experimented - lots of girls do it, right? I knew I wasn’t gay, although eventually, in the future I would play with girls again. But that’s a story for another time.

I’d just begun to discover the joys of sexual pleasure, but I really wanted to take it further and I had just the boy in mind...

To be continued soon!

xxx Claire