My road from a baptist preacher’s widow to po

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My road from a baptist preacher’s widow to po
I am in my mid 50’s; I needed money and was approached by my church’s
videographer. He embarrassingly confessed to peeking in our cabin
window at a Christian retreat once. After my minister husband died,
he said what he saw that night has burned in his memory ever since.
He is a professional videographer and an industrial designer who creates
all kinds of sets and techno toys so that he can, as he puts it,
“Capture that orgasmic demon inside me fighting to be set free.”

Can you imagine a minister’s wife having a demon secretly living inside
her for 35 years of marriage?

I met my husband as I was beginning my novitiate at the Dominican
Convent of Saint Jude in 1980. He was older than I and was attending
his last year at New Orleans Baptist Seminary. As a Postulate I thought
I had “let go” of my needs of the outside. But that all changed when
I met my future husband.

We first met on a farm where we both were working to pay our way
through school. It was hot that year in Alabama, as it always was; but in
mid-July of 1980 it was on week 2 of +100 degree weather on the farm.

Since we were in the ministry, we were frankly quite taken aback by how
pathetically little male and female farm hands wore to fight the summer
heat, Obviously, we had to be covered neck to toe. Being a Baptist,
he had to always wear pants and I obviously had to wear long skirts.
Up until then we just suffered. One of these +100F days, we found
ourselves suffering through lunch under the only shade tree in the field
we were working.

Normally we were so formal around each other, but in the heat a more
simple language finally broke through. We both finally realized that no
one there knew we were religious, so the next day we decided to shed
some of our clothing burden in search of relief.

He showed up in the same pants except he had cut them with scissors
to make shorts. He also was wearing his normal shirt that he
unbuttoned halfway down.

I didn’t have as many choices. I rolled up my skirt the best I could and
undid a couple buttons on my blouse, but this didn’t help much. That
night while I was walking back with one of the share croppers daughters,
she asked if I wanted to borrow some of her field clothes. I said to
myself, “H*ll Yes!”

However the next day as I got off the bus, the looks I got from all the
other men made me question my fashion choices.

Sure, all the other “girls” were wearing just about the same thing I
was, but for some reason it must have looked a heck of a lot better on
me than them. Basically they all wore what amounted to a tube of cloth
that just covered and hung off their breasts like a shelf for support.
The shorts probably were a little shorter on me than the original owner,
they were cut short enough that the pockets of the pants they originally
came from were sticking out.

That was the day I knew I was going to marry my future husband.
That whole day he rarely left my side and acted like he was protecting
me from the gazes of all the other men. All along his “excitement”
struck a very prominent pose in his shorts whenever we were close
enough to touch.

When I got off the bus at the convent, I looked back and was surprised
to see he got off with me. I laughed and said, “Hey are you going to
protect me to my door?” That is when he put his arm around me and
kissed me, long and hard! When we pulled away I could taste the sweat
on his lips as he was licking mine off his.

Next thing I knew we ran into a garage with the door open and got into
a new Chevrolet Fleet-line sitting there. It didn’t take long to break in
that bench seat as he kept pulling out of me the cum covered my
tummy and naked breasts. I smiled as loads of his seed which spilled
off on either side of me to become practically invisible on the tan seats;
which sealed the secret of our gloriously sinful… first date!

So… I wasn’t going to be a nun anymore!

We got married right before he started his last year.

He loved sex! We made love like rabbits, but it didn’t take long for him
so see it didn’t do much for me. As time when on this bothered him
more and more.

Eventually, he seemed obsessed with me experiencing the same feelings
that he did. He would hump on me furiously, it felt good but nothing.
Eventually, fueled by his growing frustration, he humped me so hard
the bed was slamming into the wall. That is when a small jar on the
shelf above the bed fell off and hit the nipple on my right breast.

The pain was excruciating but he kept going as I tried not to yell out.
Suddenly as I massaged my throbbing nipple I felt a swelling joy rising
within me running from my breasts down to where his entered me.
This strange feeling grew and grew until my mind exploded with
feelings that made my heart almost jump from my chest.

I said afterward, “Oh, so that is what I have been missing.”

It didn’t take my husband long to make the connection, which eventually
lead to rougher and rougher sex, all of which I enjoyed thoroughly, all
of which revealed a darker need for something that wasn’t at all at home
in the body of a Baptist preacher – masochism.

I never realized any of this until after he died and my videographer
friend made me realize how unfortunate and fortunate I was for having
such an abusive husband.

So, there it is! This is where I am right now.

Please visit me as I try to get my life back together. My producer has graciously set me up at a clips site: He says my store number is 111784, but I think you can search me as BBWow my nick name.

I tried it and you can search for me under BBWow here too.

Thank you for your time to read this!

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