I can't explain these thoughts and feelings and fantasies that have overcome me in recent weeks.  I am such an average, typical and normal woman.  A wife.  A mom.  A career.  So happily satisfied with my life and who I am, yet these very new, strange, erotic and yes, very exciting thoughts that seem to have emerged from a place I don't know.  They play and dance in my head most of my day, leaving me only momentarily when I am completely engrossed in my work or with my children.  Even when I'm with my husband, the thoughts are there, ever present, always taking me to a place where I don't know if can or ever will go.  Still, no matter how I try to tell myself that these pictures in my head and these desires in my heart are somehow wrong, they don't leave.

            I turned 40 last month and maybe that's where this is all coming from.  For much of my life, I have not been particularly fond of my looks, though never really ashamed of them either.  My dark blonde hair carries a few streaks of gray now.  I run regularly so I stay reasonably thin, but my skin is not quite as firm as it was when I married at 25.  My small breasts, which only required a bra for certain outfits before, have softened to where I really don't need a bra at all, no matter what I'm wearing.  But looking at myself at 40, and comparing what I see and feel to so many other wives and mothers out there, I'm slowly realizing that I do have something to be proud of.  And maybe, because I'm finally finding some satisfaction in my own appearance, I find myself noticing the appearance of others, particularly those I am close to and in contact with nearly every day. 

I've known Kelly for about four years.  She and her husband and daughter are good friends of our family.  Our daughters were born within two months of each other a couple years ago.  Kelly had a bit of trouble losing that extra weight we all inevitably gain during pregnancy.  About a year after the kids were born, she came to me needing motivation to start exercising to lose those last few pounds.  That was when we started running together two or three times a week right after work.   

At first, it was only about running together, but with time we developed an even closer friendship.  Between the heavy breathing that comes with running in the high desert heat, we talked about our marriages, our kids, and our friends.  On a few occasions, we even discussed our sex lives.  Hers was so much more interesting than my own since she had slept with several men prior to marrying Dan.  Though I'd messed around a little with a couple of boyfriends before marrying, I married the first man I ever made love to.  Though I was not jealous of her, the stories she shared of how different men could do different things in different ways for her fascinated me.  Jay was a good lover, but I sometimes longed to know what the touch of another person could do to me.  She is still the only person who knows the intimate details of my sex life, and a couple of my fantasies, besides of course my husband. 

It was several weeks ago when I first became aware of these new feelings within me.  Kelly and I had gone for a run and returned to her house.  Our husbands and kids were going to meet us at the local park later for a picnic so we'd planned to shower at her place before heading into town.   She handed me a cold beer as I headed down the hallway to her shower.  I closed the door, stripped, started the water, and stepped in.  I kept the water lukewarm, just barely above cool, since I was still hot from the run.  Physically tired and with the sudden rush of the alcohol working its way into my moisture depleted body, I turned toward the shower head and closed my eyes.  I relished in this brief moment of relaxation, letting the soapy water glide through my hair and down my neck, criss-crossing my chest through what little cleavage I have to offer, following the slight curves of my hips, finally slipping through the soft mat of blonde pubic hair between my legs on its inevitable path to the drain below.

Halfway through my shower, my momentary respite was interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door.  Here's a clean towel, Kelly said, as she came in and dropped a towel on the edge of the sink.  Through the clear shower curtain I could see Kelly had undressed to her panties and sweat-stained sports bra.  She looked over and smiled at me.  Being modest, I quickly tried to cover myself up, but the soft steam from the shower probably hid me more than I knew.  Kelly soon retreated to the hallway, leaving the door wide open as she left.

When I was done washing myself, and as I left the thin protective cover of the shower curtain, I didn't close the door.  I still wonder why I didn't.  I've always been a very modest person, but though I thought about closing it to protect my privacy, I didn't.  I knew she was in the next room and would soon follow me into the shower, but for some reason, this time it wouldn't bother me to be seen naked by her.  The thought that I could be comfortable with my body and with my best friend seeing me that way was really very exciting for me.

And follow me she did.  Kelly joined me in the small bathroom.  We shared a brief smile in the mirror as I dried my hair with my towel.  Proving that there was to be no such thing as modesty today, Kelly promptly sat down next to me and peed while we talked, kicking her  panties to the side as she finished. I turned away from her and leaned over to dry my calves, my thighs and between my legs.  I'm glad there's someone else who doesn’t shave down there, she said.  Dave tries to tell me that every other woman in the world does and I should too.  I just tell him to be happy that he's getting what he's got and leave me the heck alone.  She laughed.  She had looked at me…there.  Was it intentional or just that she had happened to be turned that way?

Kelly slid her hands across my hips, moving behind me in the tight space between the wall and the sink.  I could feel the soft fuzz of her hairs brushing against my butt.  Bending over the rim of the tub, she turned on the shower, pulled her bra up and over head, and stepped inside.  She stretched her head back into the stream of warm water and closed her eyes, her pink lips just barely parted. 

I watched her, trying not to be too obvious.  She was shorter than I was by about 4 inches.  While she had lost much of her baby weight in the year or so we'd been running together, her butt and upper thighs retained their soft and rounded, yet not unattractive curves.  My eyes scanned the entire length of her body, finally settling on her breasts.  They are probably close to the same size as mine, but because of her smaller frame they look larger and better proportioned.  Her aerioles are a deep chocolate brown and larger than my own which had quickly returned to their pre-pregnancy pale pink after my daughter stopped nursing.  Small streams of warm water ran off the tips of her elongated nipples.  Seeing her in profile through the softly steaming shower curtain, I could see a patch of thick brown hair, now wet with water, spreading outward below her stomach from between her thighs.  It was only then I noticed her eyes watching me watch her.  Was that a smile on her face?

With just a touch of real embarrassment, I took the towel from the edge of the sink, wrapped it around my still naked waist and retreated to the bedroom.  I dressed quickly into the white panties, khaki shorts and cotton tee I'd brought with me wondering what I was doing and what I was thinking.  Why had my eyes lingered on Kelly as they had?  What would she think of me looking at her?  How did I become so lost in visually exploring this woman, my best friend?

I heard the shower stop moments later.  Kelly soon joined me in the bedroom, her short, dark hair dripping wet, a white cotton towel loosely wrapped around her torso as mine had been a few minutes before.  She picked an outfit out of her closet, a bra and panties from her dresser and dropped them on her bed.  She removed the towel from her midriff and started drying her hair.  Once again, I felt my eyes going to her, curious, even anxious, to see more of her.  I shook myself out of this trance, grabbed my beer and headed towards the kitchen, not wanting to embarrass her, or myself, again.

Damn it, I heard her cry from my crimson-faced hideout in the kitchen.  What's wrong, I asked as she walked around the corner and into the kitchen.  Does this stain show, she asked.  I had to tell her that it was pretty obvious.  Help me pick out something else then, would you, she said.  She was already unbuttoning her shirt as we returned together to her room.  Dropping the shirt to the floor, she stood in front of her closet in a thin white bra, which was at least a cup-size too big, and her plaid shorts.  From behind, I gazed at her soft skin that held the taut firmness that proved her 7 years my junior.  I could see the soft brown freckles dotting her shoulders and back, stopping just below her shoulder blades and just above the narrow straps of her bra. 

Out of her closet she pulled a sleeveless white silk top with buttons up the back and a short light blue skirt.  Her shorts fell to the floor.  I could see the soft hairs of her unshaven mound curling around the edges of her panties and just barely down the tops of her inner thighs when she leaned over and picked the shorts off the floor.  With the skirt pulled on and zipped up, she slipped her arms through the sleeves.  Could you button me, she asked.  I fumbled with the buttons on the back of her blouse, my hands occasionally brushing against her freckled skin, strands of her damp hair brushing against my fingers as I reached the top buttons.  I could smell the shampoo in her hair mixed with the sweet clean smell of her skin.  I smiled to myself, I remember.  I enjoyed being close to her.  But why?  Why was I finding this much excitement in this?

The straps of her bra peering out from under the shoulders of her blouse were a bit too obvious, she thought.  She asked me to unbutton her shirt.  I complied, slowly, trying hard not to imagine what this would be like if I was undressing her as her husband would later tonight.  I also unhooked her bra for her, and watched as she pulled it over her shoulders.  From her side, I could again see the soft swells of her breasts, small mounds laying gently atop her ribs.  Was that a moment's hesitation when her eyes caught mine just before she pulled her shirt back on over her now naked chest?  What would happen if I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close to me?  Would she let me touch her, cup her breasts in my palms, run my hands across her belly and down?  Never to know, I buttoned her up once again, my fingers nimbly slipping each button through its matching tight buttonhole.

Is this too obvious, she laughed, pulling her shirt tight across her breasts, the sensitive tips of her nipples stiffening from the contact with the sheer and silky fabric.  I smiled and lied and said, No, not so much.  Not any more than mine, I said sticking my chest out, pushing my similarly uncovered nipples into my teeshirt.  She looked.  We both smiled.  Then we left to join our families.

That night, I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  Her smile, her laugh, her naked breasts barely hidden to me under the thin fabric of her blouse.  I wanted to believe that she harbored similar thoughts and fantasies, but I could never be sure.  I wanted to believe that the smiles we shared that evening spoke to something more, something that we shared together, something that only we could know and understand. 

We enjoyed our family time that night, as we have many times since.  I made love to my husband that night, but my mind was somewhere else.  I was with someone else.  He kissed me and his tongue traced delicate circles over my belly and my thighs and inside of me, but it wasn't him that I saw when I closed my eyes.  The mouth and lips and tongue and fingers that took me to a wonderful place that night belonged to someone else. 

I still don't understand what has changed in my mind, or what was awakened inside of me that would lead me to think or fantasize or daydream about my friend in this way.  I find my mind wandering back often to that first afternoon when I really noticed her.  In those increasingly rare moments of pleasuring myself, I find that it is her face that I see, her eyes that look back at me, her lips that kiss me, her fingers that caress me and enter me.  It's all so confusing sometimes, but it's a confusion that I am ever more welcome to entertain and enjoy, even if it's only inside my head and in my heart for now.


Email the Author