Dear Dirty Diary - part 8 SeXStoRY

Dear Dirty Diary, After receiving that less than glowing reaction to my diary, I resigned myself to a summer of boring, doting wife activities, all centering around my husband’s convalescence period. However, I was surprised at how quickly he bounced back from his heart attack. He was enrolled in a wonderful Cardio-Rehab program through the hospital that completely took over his life. He’d walk for hours through the marshes and the lakeshore trail. He attended weekly lectures that taught him about heart and cardio-vascular health. He stuck to the Canada Food Guide’s principles and in only six weeks had lost 25 lbs. Most curiously of all, Doug’s eyes changed. They were clear, sparkling and blue as the Alberta sky! I guess the eyes are more than the gateway to the soul. It seemed they were also the best indicator of bodily health. One Saturday in mid June, Doug brought home a lightweight aluminum canoe from a yard sale and an electric trolling motor with battery from a sporting goods store. Halfway through our maiden voyage it became aware to me that my paddling was more hindrance than help. The little electric trolling motor pushed our canoe up our meandering creek effortlessly. After we passed through the immense 401 culvert sunken bicycles, tires and old shopping carts halted our expedition so we turned around. I had Doug stop inside the giant culvert so I could have a pee without exposing myself to the truckers whizzing by up on the highway. With all those babbling brook sounds echoing under the six-lane, a certain middle-aged mother of two dribbled profusely as she swung her leg out of the canoe and onto the bank! Once I was completely relieved, I climbed back in but chose to face rearward to get a different perspective of things and keep any eye on that damaged husband of mine I felt like a Victorian heroine, dreamily gliding along and trailing my fingertips in the water. As idyllic as it all seemed, the fact still remained that my wet panties felt gross and were dampening the joy of the experience so I whipped off my shorts to speed my underwear’s drying. Suddenly a face I hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years was starring intently at my crotch! I’ve never understood why men were turned on by women’s erect pink nipples peeking through wet white T shirts, so I certainly wasn’t prepared for the glimpse of passion in Doug’s sparkling blue eyes. It seemed my husband was turned on by wet panties as much as wet T-shirts! He stopped the motor dead in the middle of the stream and reached out to the center thwart. He pulled himself up then kneeled on the floor. When he ran his thumb up my crotch, I said, “They’re not that kind of wet, you old fool!” “They could be,” he mused as he clinched his fingers down inside my waistband. He dragged down the front of my silken white briefs then jammed the pee-soaked billow of nylon against my pussy. Three wiggly swirls and I felt the tautly stretched spandex fold my labia lips tightly into my vulva. I felt the narcotic pleasure of that gossamer-cloaked thumb grind into my ever so pleased vagina. After thirty seconds or so of deep French kissing and intense massaging, he pulled his thumb from the wet silky wad and proudly observed, “Now they’re that kind of wet!” When his lips approached mine once more I closed my eyes and did we ever kiss. He tickled my tongue with his then took a breather to suckle my earlobes. As my eyes took in the splendor of the scenery around us, I suddenly felt a cool sensation on my chest as he whipped off my floatation vest. He unbuttoned my blouse, reached around behind my back, unhooked my bra then pushed the cups up to let my breasts fall out. At that point he kissed me once more, nuzzled down my neck then began to circle my nipples with his tongue. Doug licked and sucked my teats up ravenously while diddling down below. I felt more coolness between my legs as he stretched the crotch of my panties out of my pussy. When I felt their elastic leg band dig into my outer thigh it told me more serious things were on the way. “Perhaps something better was in the making,” I thought so I leaned away from him and laid my back down onto the life preserver that had dropped behind me on the floor. In some kind of involuntary reaction, my thigh muscles then thrust my legs up and out. I felt the cool aluminum gunnels of the canoe radiate into the back of my knees and felt my toes dip into steam water on each side of the canoe as I relaxed. As we drifted along with the slow current I watched seagulls lazily soar in circles high overhead in the pale blue early summer sky. I felt one, two, three then four fingertips push into my hungry vulva. I heard a honking choir of approach from the east then watched them lumber by in their usual V pattern as we drifted under a creosote-smelling trestle. I heard squirrels chatter in the trees overhanging the creek about the time I felt his busy fingers slip out of my pussy. I watched their fluffy tails flick madly in circles as a rasp of whiskers between my inner thighs, hot breaths and a hot wiggly invasion of my vulva told me that for the first time in three months, a real live tongue was about to do me! I felt my lover’s tongue thoroughly slurp my vulva then lick up to my clitoris. I tried to see why the squirrels were so alarmed but that flicking, licking, slurping suctioning just made my eyes close dreamily. I heard a horn blow in the distance but paid no attention until the deafening clatter of the VIA express from Montreal abruptly wrenched open my eyes!!! I watched startled faces in the train windows stare at us as the blue and yellow passenger cars rumbled by on the trestle but I just couldn’t care less at that moment. I reached down, cradled my Dougie’s head in my hands then humped and writhed in a screaming, moaning orgasm just as I noticed the train’s steward! Having a smoke break out on the rear platform of the last coach, he grinned and gave me the thumbs up sign as the train clickety-clacked away!!! Oh my, it was so good to have the man I married back again. I sat up, unzipped him and with more than a little difficulty, extracted his wonderfully erect penis through his fly. It was hard, purple and ready for action but Doug looked a little apprehensive. I said told him to relax and promised to be gentle with him as I began to stroke him. He seemed to have a lot more bl**d coursing through those veins, for his shaft was hot and red and thick. What to do with him was the quandary, however. I pulled back his foreskin with the fingers of one hand then tickled all over and under his knob to remove any stinky, foul tasting moisture. I licked my lips wet, summoned up a tongue full of spit then smeared my juicy lips down over his corona. I licked quickly like a dog lapping an ice cream cone to neutralize all tastes with my saliva. I tilted my head back a little so his knob slid along the roof of my mouth rather than down the back of my throat. I called upon my salivary glands once more to slime his penis up good then began my sucking head-bob routine. There was no way I was going to spend ten minutes in a canoe, gagging on a throat full of semen, so I sucked him off clean, pulled his foreskin back up and jerked him mercilessly. My gamble was well timed for his face began to flush. I knew I had to get him off quickly and I was already a mess so I just aimed it down at my pubes and stroked like crazy. I pulled the soaking crotch of my panties aside to give him something to think about and wouldn’t you know it, thirty seconds later, he lunged ahead, planted it slightly into my pussy then squirted two great pumps of sperm into me plus a third as he was pulling out! He tidied my panties up as he pulled out but gave me one more poke to wipe off his last drip then smiled back at me and uttered the magic words, “No pains! There are no pains whatsoever!” I was so relieved, especially when those deep blue eyes flashed back toward me. “Look at the ducklings behind you babe!” he pointed behind me. I swiveled my head around for a few seconds to have a look and heard his camera click repeatedly as he photographed the dear little things. Since it was a windless day, on our way back Doug zipped by our complex and headed out into a dead calm Lake Ontario. The shimmering green water was amazingly clear, apparently due to the Zebra Muscles. In a bay I suddenly became aware that we were being stalked by, of all things, three-foot long carp fish! The trolling motor made virtually no noise in the water so four or five giant bottom feeders swam along with us for a good mile, breaking the surface occasionally like little dolphins. -------------------------------------------------------------- A week later, Doug dragged me out to a slip in front of our unit and introduced me to a bright yellow 14-foot fiberglass runabout boat with a 9.9 Johnson motor at the rear. It had a full front deck, two front bucket seats, a steering wheel, controls and a full-length perfectly flat floor, carpeted with brown tweed Astroturf. Through June and July we followed the shoreline from up as far as Pickering and all the way down to Cobourg. Between Bond Head and Port Granby we discovered 100-foot high sandy bluffs whose shapes and grandeur took my breath away. On the way back it occurred to me that no houses were built on the unstable bluffs. No boats except ours came closer than a mile from shore and we were completely, utterly alone, except for the flocks of shore birds. Canada’s busiest arterial highway and rail lines lay within half a mile of the shoreline but none of those thousands of travelers had any idea of the beauty and tranquility along the lakeshore. With that in mind, off came my top, my bra, my shorts and my panties as well as Doug’s shirt, shorts and briefs. I smeared him with suntan lotion as we bobbed fifty feet offshore. Then he slathered me from head to toe and back again in return. Suddenly that familiar old expression came across his face. He shuffled back toward the idling outboard motor, adjusted its tiller up to a 45-degree angle and exclaimed, “Laura, I’d like to introduce you to Johnson. He’s long, thickly ribbed and obviously all abuzz over meeting you!” The dirty old bugger squirted sunscreen along the tiller of the outboard motor and spread it all over its handgrip. He reached out for my hand and carefully assisted me over to the jiggling black protuberance. He sized up the possibilities then had me steady my right shin against, while planting my left foot on top of the little rear deck. Just like that I felt the tiller jiggle against my crotch. Doug reached under me from behind, tapped the tiller up a little then firmly guided me down onto it! No need to undulate my hips to ease it in. It just wiggled and jiggled its way into me. Simply flexing my left knee impaled me very nicely upon it. Doug revved the motor up for me to no advantage, but putting it into forward gear at a very low idle made the tiller thrash about violently inside my pussy. That settled, he set our course about 100 feet off shore then stepped up behind me. I felt him squeeze his unusually stiff penis between the tiller and my right inner thigh then resumed massaging sunscreen into my breasts. Oh how I wished Louise’s locket were on my clit ring that instant. All that jiggling would have sent me into orbit!!! Instead, three minutes of massaging my boobs and vibrating his penis got the motor hood all splattered with his semen! However, another two minutes of my pressing my clit ring against the tiller did earn me such a formidable orgasm that the echoes of my squeals off the bluffs startled an entire flock of cormorants. To see their wings flapping and little webbed feet run madly along the surface of the water sent the pair of us into hysterics! Doug thought sure I’d win the Guinness award for the most startling orgasmic squeal in history, but my reward was seeing that all his equipment was functional once more. --------------------------------------------------- Two days after I finished this entry, I checked for new emails. I found a curious reply from Louise to a message I don’t remember sending her, entitled, “Think about what you’re missing back here!” All it read was, “I see Doug’s feeling better, and I’m very jealous!” I scanned down her short reply to the original note and found a nice photo of Doug and I canoeing past some Canada Geese on the creek. Another showed a Red Winged Blackbird clinging to some bull rushes. A third featured the trees overhanging the creek and a fourth displayed a crotch-eye view of me lying on my back in the canoe, bare-breasted and gazing up into the heavens as my husband ate me out! Two more showed those darling little ducklings, followed by close-ups of my torso, still bare-breasted and legs splayed out over the gunnels. Three escalating images highlighted his sperm oozing disgustingly through the crotch of my poor ravaged panties!! f******n pictures of the bluffs along the lake followed, interspersed here and there of me impaled and joyriding on the outboard motor tiller!!! He sneaked dirty pictures of me when I wasn’t looking and sent them to my girlfriend!!! What would possess a man to do such a thing? Where is My Pictures? Here they are. Delete! Delete!! Delete!!! What would make him think anyone else would want to see pictures like that of me?