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Chapter One.

Although I highly doubt that my husband would disapprove of my participation in all which I’m about to confess (he is a typical male after all) it’s still my intention to keep secret from even him (as well as everyone else in my life also) the story which I’ve decided to record here.

Not that I would call what happened an actual extra-marital affair. (Not exactly anyway.) But still, us girls do have to have our little secrets. It’s part of our charm after all. (Or so I’ve been told.)

And besides, I wouldn’t be able to fully explain to my husband exactly what happened without explaining to him also all about the only other real secret I’ve chosen to keep from him over the course of our twelve year marriage.

He asked me of course. Back when we were still only dating. If I had ever been with another girl before that is. To which I had replied (or something of the sort): “Nah. Not really my thing sweetheart. Sorry.”

Which was really more of a half-truth than an outright lie. (I may have missed my life’s true calling by never running for political office.) We never really went ‘all the way’ after all. Or at least not what I would consider to be going all the way. (Which I realize is just a matter personal opinion of course.) Me and my sophomore year dorm mate in college that is.

But I’ve still never thought of myself as being fully bi-sexual mind you. (Nor even merely bi-curious before my certain bit of experimentation back in college.) Although it is true that I’ve always found the beauty inherent in the female form. And especially whenever taking in the sight of certain other fellow females lucky enough to be blessed with a body-type best described as ‘bombshell.’

Not that I don’t have any curves of my own mind you. But even after having now given birth twice in the past decade (to first a girl then a boy) I still possess pretty much the exact same long and lanky frame that I did when attending college on a volleyball scholarship (twenty years ago now much to my chagrin). So my curves are just a bit more subtle than I might prefer for them to be is all.

I’m five-foot-ten and my dimensions measure in at 33-24-34. (Dress size two in other words.) And all of the bras I’ve owned since high school (save for those I wore during the later stages of my two pregnancies that is) have bore label reading ‘B’ in reference to their cups. But even after just recently turning the ungodly age of forty (which only depresses me just a little in truth) at least my boobs have always been nice and firm despite being a bit lacking in terms of their sheer amount of mass.

Otherwise the celebrity that I’m compared to the most looks-wise is a young Susan Lucci. (Just please Google a pic of her in her prime if you’re curious and don’t know who she is.) And yes there certainly is a facial resemblance between she and I which is only enhanced by fact that I too (like the lovely Ms. Lucci) possess a thick mane of chocolate-brown hair which I still prefer to keep grown down well past my shoulders even now with both my twenties and thirties (sigh) in the past.

But what I consider to be my best physical attribute (possibly aside from my hair) is my long pair of legs. And not only just due to their advanced length (thanks to how relatively tall I am) but also due to just how toned and sculpted are especially my calves.

Good genes plays a role in that (of course) but also good exercise too. Once an athlete always an athlete after all. Time permitting, I try to jog as often as possible while I’m also an avid cardio-workout enthusiast as well.

Now ask my hubby and he’ll claim that my butt is my best physical attribute. (I told you he was just a typical male!) And yes it is every bit as toned and sculpted as my calves but (as also is true of my chest) it’s not blessed with nearly as mass as would be required for me to call it either curvaceous or buxom. (Nor ‘bombshell’ either for that matter).

But rather than trying to sound vain about my looks (which I swear that I’m not) I just thought that it would be appropriate for me to give an accurate account of my physical appearance as early as possible here in this story I have to tell.

Or two stories really. About the two times in my life (separated by nearly two decades) that I was seduced into engaging in a series of lesbian-type encounters.

Just know that I won’t be using anybody’s real name within this narrative. Certain identities need to be protected after all. Mine included of course. There is a chance that my dearly betrothed could stumble upon this story after it’s been posted and (perish the thought) come to learn that his wife isn’t the same-sex virgin which I’ve always presented myself to him as being.

Marriages are tricky after all. (Even solid ones such as the one my husband and I have always enjoyed.) They’re full of landmines which need to be constantly navigated in fact. So I’m just not too keen on the thought of ever having bursa escort bayan to deal with the questions of, “You did what with who? And what also with who else too?”

Now granted he would probably have a hard-on at the time. (Not that I would be able to blame him for that!) Still though, I did cheat on him in a certain fashion. (At least with girl number two that is.) So please just excuse my wish to step gently around that possible landmine in our otherwise loving and stable marriage.

And needless say I’ll be deleting this document from my laptop once I’ve posted it here for anyone to read. And needless to say also that I’ll only be working on it in times when no one (especially my husband) is around to peek over my shoulder at what I’m typing.

Take right now for example. I’m currently winding my way through this little introduction on a Saturday morning when you-know-who is out golfing with a couple of his buddies and while our two kids (now aged eight and six) are too busy watching some stupid show on television to care what Mommy is doing in the kitchen.

Sneaky huh? Well I can be at times. Just please don’t judge me too harshly for that fact. After all, you would never be reading these words and learning of all of all my secrets if I wasn’t sometimes sneaky.

But sometimes being sneaky can also get me into trouble. Like the one time when I accidentally left behind a strand of my long brown hair at the scene of the crime. And like the other time when I got caught with something on my computer at work that I really shouldn’t have saved.

Chapter Two.

Where I went to college (the University of My Home State) those of us on athletic scholarships were required to live in the on-campus dorms until turning twenty-one. So I wasn’t able to move into housing off-campus (as was always my intention) until my first semester junior year. In the meanwhile I was assigned to live in a dorm hall that primarily featured rooms designed for two.

Now freshman year I was assigned a dorm mate at random. Let’s call her Amy. Like me she was a fellow freshman member of the volleyball squad but hailed from a hometown far outside of my home state. And despite our somewhat cramped living quarters, she and I always got along great with each other.

But Amy was always homesick and by the time our freshman year was coming to a close she had decided to transfer to a school closer to her hometown for her sophomore year.

Which had bummed me out at the time. After all, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of being assigned to live with someone else (for my sophomore year) who I may not have gotten along with as well as I had always gotten along with Amy. But I need not have worried as…

Over break the following summer I got a call from a girl I’ll call Becky who was another about-to-be sophomore member of our school’s volleyball squad. And with only the exception of Amy, it was possibly Becky who I had become closest friends with over the course of the previous year. (We just hit it off as best buds right from the start was all.)

So the purpose of Becky’s call was to inform me that the girl she had roomed with the year before (another fellow member of our team but one I really never cared for very much) had just called her with the news that she too (like with Amy) had since decided to transfer to another school. And long story short, Becky and I then spent the following handful of days pulling some strings to arrange for us to room together for our sophomore year.

And to think what I would have missed out on had both Amy and Becky’s previous dorm mate not decided to bail on us when they did! Fate is a fickle mistress after all as the old saying goes.

So aside from having a cute-as-a-button face which was highlighted by a pair of piercing blue eyes and which was framed by a long mane of ram-rod straight light-blonde hair, Becky was even a wee-bit taller than myself at five-foot-eleven (flat-footed mind you) and was otherwise built pretty much just as fit and trim as myself (as should be expected for such a high-level college athlete) with the exception that she had me bested by lots in reference to the size of our breasts.

Skipping ahead to a day maybe a month after Becky and I had started living together, just to settle what I swear was simply an idle curiosity of mine, I went for a little look-see inside of her drawer of intimates when she was off at class or something (I told you I was sneaky) only to discover that the vast majority of her bras bore labels reading ’34-D’ (which really didn’t surprise me in the least) with the exception of maybe two or three (my search was thorough you might say) which bore labels reading ’34-DD’ (which surprised me just a little I must confess).

And keep in mind how those bras in question were owned by a girl who was otherwise built tall and skinny. In fact, she possessed the single most impressive chest-size to body ratio of all the girls on bursa anal yapan escort our volleyball team. And it even seemed to me as if she had arrived to school for her freshman year with those big boobs of hers just as fully formed as they were when (a year later) the two of us were living together.

But Becky actually had a sense of humor about the whole thing. (And just a good sense of humor in general really.) Sometimes she would even crack jokes at her own expense like: “Don’t get near me with any sharp objects or you might pop my balloons!” (One of my favorites that I can recall.) And one of her personal mantras seemed to be: “Guys don’t so much like me for me as much as they like me for them.” (Which I found to be a bit of wisdom far beyond her years.)

And nor did I ever hear Becky doing any sort of bragging about the size of her boobs. And neither did she ever seem to wear any sort of outfits designed specifically to show them off any more than they stood out regardless. In fact, I can’t remember ever seeing her out in public while wearing anything more revealing for a top than a t-shirt underneath which it was obvious that she was wearing a bra. But I of course (even before we became dorm mates that is) had seen Becky wearing far less than that for a top thanks to the fact that we were teammates on the same volleyball squad.

Just please don’t get the wrong impression however. In my four years spent sharing locker rooms will all of my fellow teammates (something like fifty in total with each year’s squad numbering between fifteen to twenty) I can’t recall a single occasion when any of us were ever in the presence of everyone else unless dressed in at least a sports-bra and a pair of our boy-short-styled uniform bottoms. Call it a combination of the fact that we all shared a bond something akin to a sisterhood (complete with the occasional squabble between random members of our little tribe) and the fact that we only used locker rooms (both our own and those on the road while playing our away games) which were furnished with individual stalls for us to use for showering and changing into and out of our uniforms or practice attire.

Still though, just freshman year alone I had caught sight of Becky wearing just a sports-bra for a top on maybe ten different occasions. And of course my life-long admiration for all things ‘bombshell’ in respect to the female form caused for me to sneak little peeks (although always discretely of course) in the direction of those big boobs of hers whenever I saw them being held within only a single layer of Lycra-type fabric. And thanks to those certain stolen glances, I was thus made privy to the knowledge that Becky’s breasts were surprisingly orb-like in structure for being blessed with so much in terms of sheer mass. In fact, they even reminded me of the volleyballs we were tasked with knocking back and forth across the net during our matches. (All be it a little bit smaller but still big enough to fill completely full D-cup-sized bras.)

But again please don’t get the wrong impression. If our relationship was merely sister-like all throughout freshman year, Becky and I bonded more like actual sisters pretty much right away after moving in together for our sophomore year. So even were I inclined to view certain other females as objects of desire (instead of simply having an idle admiration for girls blessed with more in the way of curves than myself) I highly doubt that I would have been able to view Becky in such a light.

And nor was I ever given the impression that Becky may have been harboring any sort of romantic interest in any other fellow female. Just for one thing we talked about boys a lot on the nights we spent in together. And she was pretty much boyfriend/girlfriend with this guy who played for our school’s baseball team the whole time we lived together as well. So the thought never crossed my mind that she may have been even the least bit bi-curious.

And just for the record, though I casually dated a couple of guys myself over the course of my first two years in college (but only one at a time that is) it wasn’t until junior year before I found myself in an actual relationship. (I was picky I suppose.)

And of course Becky and I would sometimes talk about sex while we were living together as well. So come to find out (just like was true of myself) Becky too had lost her virginity the year before. And as we both remained at least somewhat sexually active over the course of time that we lived together also (she with that baseball player and me with the two guys that I wound up casually dating that year) I suppose it was only natural for us to compare some notes (metaphorically speaking of course) on the topic of our likes and dislikes in reference to all things sex-related. And since anything involving the subject of girl-on-girl never came up once between us during those certain talks of ours, I remained steadfast bursa rus escort in my belief that Becky wasn’t anything other than totally straight. (Same as I had always thought of myself as well).

Not that I really would have cared either way had Becky ever confessed to me that she was harboring any sort of bi-curious feelings. (Nor even if it turned out she had before shared a bed with another girl either.) What with us being ‘sisters from different misters’ (as we used to call it) we simply accepted each other as is without any preconditions set on our relationship.

And I only make mention of my self-assurance in Becky being totally straight just to highlight how shocked I truly was (to say the least) when pretty much out of the blue one day (with only about a month left before our time spent living together was set to come to a close) Becky made a decidedly non-sister-like move on me.

But the crazy thing was, she actually had a fairly good excuse for doing so however.

Chapter Three.

So I graduated from college with a degree in business administration and returned to my hometown (population about 300,000) before interviewing for and ultimately getting an entry-level position with the lone Fortune 500 company (let’s just call it Acme Incorporated) which has it’s headquarters in the city that I’ve always called home.

Then in the intervening years since (in addition to getting married late in my twenties and birthing my two great kids early in my thirties) I’ve remained employed with Acme and climbed the corporate ladder there to the point where (about three years ago now) I was named the head of this certain department (which I still lead today) leaving me in charge over roughly twenty subordinates.

So I was tapped by my higher-ups at Acme to ascend to my current post following my predecessor’s retirement after heading the department himself for about the previous ten years. And nor had I previously worked in that certain department myself (under the guy I wound up replacing) but was brought over from another department instead after my higher-ups decided that something of an outsider was needed to replace my predecessor. The thinking was that he had grown somewhat lax in his management style in the months leading up his retirement so his replacement needed to be someone who could come in and start cracking the whip (so to speak) right away.

And from what I heard later, there was something like a dozen of us employees at Acme who were considered for the job before it was handed over to yours truly. And the deciding factor in my favor (I later learned as well) primarily had to do with the fact that I’m pretty much a no-nonsense-type when it comes to my approach to anything work-related.

Then to go along with my new job-title (and a defiant increase in my list of responsibilities at Acme) I was granted a considerable raise (even a bit higher than I was expecting in fact) and took over this kick-ass corner office which soon became (and still remains) my home away from home.

So my first order of business after ascending to my current post was to conduct a series of interviews with my staff for the purpose of (basically) trying to figure if any were cancers within the department which needed to be removed. And long story short, I wound up handing out three separate pink-slips soon thereafter (which marked the first time I had ever had such authority at Acme) to three of my new subordinates who I felt would otherwise be a hindrance to me while trying whip my department back into shape. (But I was at least nice about it if that makes any difference.)

So then I needed to find replacements for Huey, Dewey and Louie (or whatever their names had been). But as those three slots which needed to be filled were relatively low-level within my department (in another first for me) I was granted the authority by my higher-ups to conduct the interviewing and hiring processes all by myself.

So I went online to a couple of job-sites and posted listings for what I was looking for in any potential candidates. And within those posts I made clear the fact that any responding party needed to send to me (along with a copy of their resume) any links to any social media pages which they may have maintained.

Company policy actually. And I understand it too. Imagine if (hypothetically speaking) I had hired someone on without checking and it turned out that they (say) ran a Twitter page filled with all sorts of hateful rhetoric. Then let’s further say that said hypothetical individual would go on to voice aloud a bunch of derogatory comments around the office. In that type of scenario, I would have been hauled to the mat by my higher-ups and called to task as to how I had allowed for such a thing to happen when a simple internet search would have alerted me to the problem right away during my hiring process.

So don’t call it snooping. (Or me being sneaky either.) It’s just the way of the world today is all. And you would think by now that everyone would be aware of that fact also. Like people responding to job postings online for example. And especially those doing so where it’s made perfectly clear right up front that the person in charge of the hiring will be looking at all the applicants’ social media pages.

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