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Ran until I felt my pounding heart would burst. Ran until my lungs grew rasping raw from the effort. Ran until my oxygen-starved muscles cried out in pain. Ran until the heartbroken woman, the browbeaten housewife existed no more, until I became whole again. A woman once more. Only then did I slow, when the pain grew too great, when its pureness washed clear all other feeling other than the primitive arousal surging through my loins. Still I tried, soaking up the pain, letting out the hurt until I could no longer remember why I cried each night. Only then did I stop, pausing for breath in a shady glade. I sank to the ground, back resting against an ancient tree. I felt so alive!
I lifted my knees, parted my legs. I could smell my excitement. I touched my engorged pussy, feeling the fierce heat there, the sopping wetness. I deliberately, wantonly spread my legs wider. I didn’t want to feel ashamed for what I intended to do. I had hidden under the duvet for too long. Now I wanted to expose my longing. I no longer had a husband, any man for that matter. So what! Abstinence wasn’t a crime whatever Mother implied. I was tired of playing by other people’s rules, of unsuitable dates, of unsuitable men with unsuitable appetites. I wasn’t ready to let another man into my life. My mind was suddenly clear. It was OK to be alone, to be independent.
My sex ached for release, moist with the slickness of my juices; my animal scent filled the clearing, the musky aroma turning me on more. I had another courtship to play, a much simpler more earthy ritual. I tentatively touched my clitoris, gasped with delight as it sprang instantly to life. With one finger I traced little circles around the sensitive nub, my other hand roaming urgently over my body while the diligent finger worked its magic.