If Not Now, When?

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Leena Remark

This is the first story in a series of sexcapades. Many, many thanks to my editor ThatsBogus, who gave me the encouragement to dive into character development to make the story stronger. I hope you connect with the characters and even possibly see yourself. Any feedback is welcome.


After more than 25 years, Richard and I were in the all-too-common mature (read ‘rut phase’) of our marriage.

We ate at the same restaurants, even though we lived in an area with diverse choices. Since we moved from the Seattle 22 years ago, we have hung out with the same network of couples. In addition to a few camping get always with reservations at the same locations and times each year, our other vacations were identical: time at my parents’ cabin in Eastern Oregon over Memorial Day weekend, the other on the Washington Coast with his folks in the fall.

Our house that we lived in from almost 19 years is nearly untouched (not for my lack of trying — ‘why do we need a change? It’s great the way it is’ — was the resistance I’d get from Mr. Dick.) Hell, we are still driving the same paint chipped, yet trusty Subaru we’ve owned for two decades.

Not one to cause a fuss, a debate (he wouldn’t listen anyway), or be too bitchy, I didn’t say anything when I’ve found our lives become b-o-r-i-n-g and routine. Fight your battles, I kept telling myself.

Our sex life, other than the obligatory ‘duty’ on our birthdays, like an untended plant, has shriveled up. That was a decade ago. Our life has become like our parents — something I told myself that would never happen.

Oh, there were the occasional attempts (on my part anyway), especially after I’ve had too many adult beverages while reading one of my erotica books or stories on Literotica. The images in my mind got me pretty damn horny. After an adrenaline rush for the anticipation of an orgasm not brought on by my own hand, plus the liquid courage of the wine, I would get up the nerve to say something.

‘Heh Richard, sweetie, I’m not wearing any panties,’ in my most seductive voice. ‘I’m feeling turned on after reading the sex scenes in my book. They fucked in the shower. How hot is that? Let’s go upstairs and recreate what they did!’

“M’kay, good night then,” Dickless said, preoccupied watching a documentary on PBS. Other than standing complete naked in front of him, I knew I wouldn’t get his attention.

My shoulders slumped. ‘For fuck’s sake Diana, in your drunken state did you truly believe the answer would be any different this time?’ I thought to myself, exasperated at being turned down — again.

Thinking back, even before the sex famine, I had to initiate any type of physical fun. Then it was ‘meh’ and unimaginative with, you’ve got it, guidelines. It was predictably in the bedroom with total darkness, no experimentation with varying positions, no adventures with toys or oral sex (god forbid!). Dismal Dick’s idea of spicing things up was for me to be on top.

Anyway, when the stars aligned and we actually did have sex, it was all about him. He could get off (literally) after only about 10 minutes. Then he’d roll over and promptly fall asleep.

‘WTF? Thanks Richard (you’re a Dick all right, too bad you don’t know how to use it),’ I thought to myself as I snorted like Sandra Bullock in movie Miss Congeniality. What about me and my sexual desires?

Once again, feeling discouraged and unfilled, I grabbed some lube (I was barely aroused enough to even be slick) and my vibrator from the nightstand next to the bed. I’ve gotten used to the fact I can orgasm sooner and make it more intense by having some ‘self-satisfaction’ as I like to call it. Imagining someone licking my pussy makes me cum every time. Routine Richard is such a prude, he looked at me as though I had had one eye and fangs the few times I suggested he might enjoy kissing and tonguing me ‘down there’.

How sad is it that I’m getting off by myself while Dick, the not-so lion-hearted, is snoring away next to me?

Intimacy and hot sex were currently alive only in my mind. Yet, a sense of emotional connection and desire was something I longed to have in my life. Having someone pleasure me for a change would be incredible. For three years now we’ve had separate bedrooms. A ‘sleep divorce’ as my friends call it. The only way to fulfill myself sexually was to make it on my own.

Let’s face it, Dickface doesn’t excite me either way anymore. He wants routine, I want spontaneity. What we once had, is now gone. At 55, my life is a bit more than half over, but one foot isn’t in the grave, either.


Why did we marry in the first place? I guess because it was the ‘thing to do’. After all, I was nearly 30 (gasp!). Maybe I was tired of my older relatives asking me when I was going to find a ‘nice young man’ and settle down. I dated before, but Küçükköy escort bayan had a few bad experiences. Richard showed interest in me, and I was of course, flattered. Besides, when we married, my ideas about sex were pretty naïve. I thought it was my role as a wife (how I hate that word) to satisfy his needs before mine. How ass backward is that?

Being a middle child, I have been programmed to be the harmony maker and pleaser. Diana the kindhearted.

I’m not saying that Richard is an asshole, he just doesn’t ‘get it.’ Believe me, if that were the case, I would have left him years ago. Yeah, I knew going into this marriage that he could be a dick, but I took it as my challenge to change that. What was I thinking?

Admittingly, we did have our good times together, especially when were first married, most likely because we spent more time outdoors. What happened to the adventures we used to have? We were gone every weekend: camping, exploring — or even just going somewhere without planning, other than making sure the gas tank was full. Maybe adulting became too much of a priority.

We’ve obviously grown apart. Not only physically, but emotionally too. Even though we are in a room together, I feel lonely. What’s worse, being alone, or feeling lonely with someone? As much as society will paint the picture of the perfect pair holding hands into their 80s, we just aren’t one of the ‘together forever and ever’ or ‘until death do us part’ couples.

My friends call me a slow learner for staying in my lackluster marriage for so long. I’m sure my weekly bitch sessions over cocktails with my friends was becoming annoyingly repetitive. Perhaps I chose to stay because of guilt (thanks grandma, you instilled that!) or what others might think about me or Richard that is holding me back from making a change.

There was effort to get the excitement back, though. At my insistence, we tried marriage counselling — three different occasions — each saying that this time we’d discover the magic ingredient and have the perfect life. Nope! Here we are.

I guess they are right when they say the third time is the charm — but in this instance, it’s not to save our marriage, but for me to finally realize that the time is now for my own happiness and fulfillment. Dammit anyway, life was for living and experiencing — not simply existing.

People might think I’m having a midlife crisis, but I see it as a midlife realization.


Confrontation is something I will avoid if possible. Maybe that’s why it has taken me so long to make a move. But someone has to be truthful enough and be willing put an end the turmoil.

I spent the afternoon psyching myself up. Just do it, Diana. Stop wishing, start doing. If not now, when? What have I got to lose?

‘Unfortunately, nothing,’ I frowned. We’ve always had separate bank accounts, so no issues there. No huge assets to divide up. He could buy out half of the house. No kids, no dog; not even a goldfish to fight over.

All afternoon while Dickface was at work, I practiced what I would say.

I heard the garage door open, then close. Mr. Mundane was barely in the door when, with my heart pounding and my mouth dry, I blurted out in rapid fire, the way I do when I’m nervous, “Richard, you know things haven’t been right between us for some time now. What do you think about spending some time apart? I’d be the one to leave,” I said breathing a sigh of relief.

Expecting pushback, yelling, or even some tears, I was surprisingly met with, “sounds like a good idea, Diana. When do you want to move some stuff?” asked Richard the Dull, not looking up from today’s mail that was neatly placed into the basket on the kitchen table.

I felt a twinge. A part of me was hoping there would be SOME sort of heightened response, anger or tears. There’s the perpetual ‘what if’ and hope. But like our marriage, even our fights were bland. Why was I even surprised?

“Er, okay, well then, I’ll make arrangements to leave in the morning,” I said walking out of the room.

Dickwad seemed excessively drawn to this month’s issue of Consumer Reports about the newest upgrades in rototillers. He didn’t even acknowledge I left.

Well, fuck him! Both pissed at his non-reaction and thrilled for the possibilities, I texted Leigh, my sister and best friend, as soon as I got upstairs. She TOTALLY gets me, and has been my cheerleader when I complain or just need to vent.

Diana: Guess what? He agreed to take a break. I’m moving out.

Leigh: Holy Crap! Really? Good for you! (clap emoji)

Diana: I surprised myself! It felt good to FINALLY say something.

Leigh: How’d he take it? What did he say?

Diana: Nothing of course. He’s such a dick!

Diana: I should have said something years ago (angry face emoji) if I knew it was going to be this easy. I’m such a wimp.

Leigh: You are not. Escort Mecidiyeköy Stop saying that.

Leigh: What are your plans? You know you can transport yourself over here anytime.

Diana: Thanks, but I’m not sure yet. I need to think.

Leigh: You know I’ve got your back. You’ve got this!

Leigh: Just keep me in the loop.

Diana: Love my twister! (heart emoji)


Whew! I fired up my laptop to search for a place to stay. I had the flexibility to work anywhere there was WIFI access. Even though I had a standing invitation to visit Leigh back in Michigan, I decided true alone time was needed to start my journey of self-discovery.

Living in the Pacific Northwest, nature is in my backyard. It also happens to be my therapy when I need to think. So, I booked a one-bedroom vacation rental for a week at an easy-to-get to, yet non-busy mountain lake. I was counting on the ‘excellent WIFI coverage’ the place touted in its description. Rather counter intuitive for a get away, but I needed to have some sort of normalcy by doing at least part-time work for my day job. The one-hour drive would give me time to think about my life’s fresh direction and make a plan.

I told myself I’m not going not obsess either. I refuse to be the stereotypical ‘love-is-lost, will-I-ever-find-it-again moper who binges by eating a carton of ice cream or getting drunk on box wine. Now was not the time second guess my actions or feel sorry for myself. It’s a celebration!

I dug through my limited clothing collection and threw my favorites in the suitcase we used on our last vacation. Mostly casual and comfy clothing: jeans, lounge pants, swim suit, and my puff jacket for the cool nights. I threw my hiking boots in the duffle I used for camping.

Solo play will definitely be on the agenda. I packed my vibrator, extra batteries, and lube along with my toiletries into my overnight bag. I’m hoping the rental is secluded enough so I can enjoy being outside ‘au naturel’. I’ve always wanted to fuck outside, to feel the sun on my ass, and the cool air in my slit. Not surprising, stick-in-the- mud Dick was too afraid we’d get caught. Well, that’s part of the excitement, isn’t it?

My mind started to wander about the other things I’d need for my time away, but then I remembered I was close enough to drive back into town if I needed anything. I slammed the top shut. Little was I aware that my sassy, satiny panties (most likely in anticipation of vacation sex with Dick) were still stashed away in the secret pocket of my suitcase. They were noticeably spotless and unused. Just like my pussy.


Even after savoring a snifter of Canadian honey whiskey and taking a melatonin tablet, sleep didn’t come easily. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop. I was too energized about my new adventure. Besides, the perpetual pleaser in me was wondering if I tried hard enough to make things work. Then there is the hurt in his eyes and knowing that I was the one responsible for his sadness. Ugh. Guilt! When will I stop trying to please others before myself?

Someone please turn my brain to the ‘off’ position.

After staring at the large, red, glowing numbers on the alarm clock for what felt like hours, I decided I might as well get up and be on my way. It was 5:34 and the sun was already beginning to rise.

Text from Leigh: You are a rock star! I’m so proud of you.

Me: Thanks for the encouragement. I’ll text you when I get to my place.

Leigh: Be safe and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. (smirk emoji)

In my rush to avoid any awkward moments and possibly seeing LimpDick, I decided not to shower. From the clump of clothes at the end of my queen-sized bed, without thinking, I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans, threw on my ‘Explore’ t-shirt, sans bra, underpants, and a cozy fleece.

As I quietly strolled past his bedroom, I could hear Mr. Monotonous snoring away. ‘At least one of us was able to sleep,’ I thought, proving to me he didn’t care that I was leaving.

On auto pilot, I instinctively made an 8-cup pot of coffee, brought two cups out of the dishwasher, cream, and two spoons (habits die hard). Noticing what I had just done, I put one cup in the cupboard and took out a travel mug for myself. Something I’ll have to get used to. I may as well start now. I grabbed a container of yogurt and a power bar. I figured I’d stop later for some food supplies. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

After several trips to schlep my duffle, suitcase, and computer bag to the car, I was on the road 20 minutes later.

Armed with strong coffee and my new mantras of no regrets, and ‘if not now, when?’, the ballads from REO Speedwagon on the Oldies radio station (it’s only ’80s music, when did that happen?) comforted me into my own world as I started the hour-long drive. I’ve been up this road so many times to go camping, Merter escort biking or kayaking, the car could have driven me to the cabin on its own.


Once off the main highway on the spur road to the rental, out of the corner of my eye, a steel grey BMW SUV zipped past me. Luckily, my trusty Subaru Outback handled well when I veered off into the gravel of the practically nonexistent shoulder.


I turned off the engine and just sat for a bit. Startling, for sure. But the adrenaline rush was just what I needed to zap me into paying attention. Besides, the coffee was working its way through my system. I had to pee.

After squatting and emptying my bladder in the bushes a few feet from the side of the road, I felt as though I could focus better. With renewed enthusiasm for the potential of my future, I proceeded down the curvy, one lane road. The brown forest service sign to Crystal Lake let me know my destination was a three miles away.

I slowed down to enjoy the breathtaking view. The mountain lake reflected the still snow-capped mountain and tall pines surrounding it. Maybe skinny dipping later tonight I thought. I then rolled into the gravel spot next to my vacation rental—and parked right behind the same damn SUV that passed me earlier. Out of state plates. Of course.


Well, shit! Isn’t this just craptastic? What a way to start my journey of self-discovery!

As usual, I was questioning what just transpired 12 hours ago. Was this a sign I made a mistake? Should I have just stayed home, complacent in my steady, reliable, and unfulfilling life? Was I fooling myself? What was I thinking, changing my life now?

‘Shut it!’ I told myself. ‘Remember your new attitude’.

I whipped out my phone like a pistol from its holster to check my reservation. (Yes! Five bars of coverage.) The email message confirmed the date and cabin number. Someone is in my rental.

This is my time to shine, and this is my cabin. The entitled Beemer driver needed to get back in his yuppy car and get the hell out of my house. I slept like crap the night before AND I was getting hangry. Not a good combination. What I need is a long shower, a quick bite to eat, a date with my vibrator, then a soft bed with uninterrupted sleep.

Confidence began to build, followed by frustration, then anger. The door was slightly open, giving me the permission and justification, I needed to peek inside. “Hello, is somebody here?” I asked.

No answer.

I pushed the door open into the 1990s era small cabin even wider. I could hear the shower running. No fair! That’s what I wanted.

Turning toward the noise of the water, I saw the Levi’s, Teva’s, and V-neck athletic shirt lying in a heap next to the open bathroom door. Without thinking, my mind imagined the body that would fill out the jeans. It wasn’t a bad image.

Geesh! I’m reading too many steamy stories. Speaking of steamy, the small cabin was filled with humidity from the open bathroom door.

“Excuse me, um, I think you are in the wrong place,” I tried yelling over the sound of running water.

“What?” came a voice from over the shower curtain. “Is someone there?”

I repeated myself, louder this time. “There’s been a mistake . . .” The water stopped abruptly.

“I think you are in the um, the um…” My voice trailed off as I gaze at a male figure stepping out of the shower in full nakedness. He wasn’t ashamed of his body–nor should he be! My eyes followed from his curly, dripping wet blonde hair, to the two-day beard growth, down to his sun burned shoulders (my guess is he worked outside). With my eyes, I travelled along his slightly bulging tummy and wisps of hair that accentuated his love trail, down to his package. I lingered on his package. His impressive cock was stirring. Was I imagining things? Did he know I was inspecting his every curve and muscle?

“Can I help you?” he asked, reaching for the towel bar. Much to my pleasure, he used a fresh hand towel to dry his hair. Other than that, he stood totally naked and at ease.

I shook my head in a pathetic attempt to clear my fogginess and turned my back away from the handsome stranger; I didn’t want him to see my perked nipples under my t-shirt. My lips were dry, but my panties were wet with desire. It’s been, what, 30 seconds, and my girl parts were quivering with lust. Clearly, I haven’t been with someone in too long, so my body reacted swiftly.

“Well, I think there’s some mistake,” I mumbled as I fanned myself (was it due to the clamminess from the shower or my own quickening pulse and breathing because this hot guy is standing in front of me?). I clumsily tried to take off my fleece. My legs became like a newborn fawn, as my head started to swim.


He must have read my mind, because he did his best to steady me by holding me around my waist. Even though I was in shape for my age, I was suddenly all too aware of my mature body with its lumps and bumps, but I couldn’t resist his touch. A long-dormant feeling overcame me.

“Whoa, are you okay?” his hand towel fell to the floor around my feet.

I am now, I thought to myself.

“Here, let me help.”

“No, really, I’m fine.” I insisted. “Mr. . . .”

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