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Psychologists have long noted that man is a gregarious animal whose need for approval and affection is as real and basic as his need for food and shelter.
This social need is reflected many times over in our everyday lives. There is the teenaged boy who frequently smokes marijuana, though he dislikes it, because he fears being branded a “straight” by his friends. There is the suburban housewife who turns to illicit affairs because her husband, totally dedicated to his business, cannot or will not give her any affection.
This is the story of one of those housewives, Kim Sanderson. A young attractive woman who has what many women dream of — a lovely home, status in the community, financial security — Kim seeks to fill one big void in her life. She is ignored physically and emotionally by her busy, hardworking husband. In her overwhelming need for physical attention, Kim ignores all the moral rules she has been taught and dares to venture onto forbidden ground. And is Kim to blame?
For Kim, seeking affection becomes a way of life, her norm. This is a novel that poses a timely question for our increasingly decentralized American families.
Kimberly Sanderson squirmed sideways on the hard wooden bench. The naked studs of the locker room wall were digging into her shoulder and back, distracting her from the simmering lust in her gut. Bracing one heel against the bench, the other in a crack on the floor, she fingered her nipple, pinched and rolled it, stoked the fire under her pot of horniness.
Feet and chattering voices passed the door of the cubicle. Kim thought of the teenage boys passing, thought of them seeing her toy with her naked body. Her lust soared. Closing her eyes, she imagined them watching her, seeing her mature tits, her thick brown bush, the pink petals of her inner pussy. Her lust boiled higher.
She let a finger steal down through the wiry kinks of her muff. She let her finger stroke the soft, puffy lips of her pussy, skate around the pleasure nubbin of her clit. A bar of sunlight speared through the foot-high gap above the top of the flimsy door and painted a warm stripe on her trim belly. When it touched the untanned skin that was usually under her bikini, it felt like it was burning her.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.
Note: This story is the same as catalog number TB-1053 in the original publications (a duplicate).