A covid inspired fantasy. I know the Lit crowd wishes more happened here, but this is my true story. Sorry if you are bored. I certainly wasn’t.

After ending a 17-year marriage back in 2018 (I almost can’t believe how long ago that feels), I tried to find my “new normal” as a newly single woman. I envisioned all these soap opera-type romantic flings or even daring erotic rendezvous–I was determined to find out who the real “me” was after a very restrictive and depressing relationship. I bought new clothes, new lingerie, new cologne, I cranked up Gloria Gaynor in my Jeep and sang along way too loudly. By the time 2019 rolled in, I vowed to myself that it would be My Year, whatever that meant. I was excited to find out.

My Christmas decorations were barely down, and I remember hearing about this SARS-like virus that was spreading in Asia. I wasn’t necessarily sweating bullets, since I felt like we already knew the drill, and like most people, I never imagined something like the coronavirus could impact the US like it eventually did, but I did keep my eye on things, reading whatever I could. As a high school teacher, I knew that whatever form a new virus took, I was almost certain to be among the first group who would be impacted.

It was one of the first times I admit I hated being right about my concerns. By March, US businesses were shuttering doors, and by April, my school moved to remote learning. 2019, it seemed, would definitely, most assuredly, not be the year I had envisioned for myself.

Months wore on, and I found it impossible to get used to an empty bed after nearly two decades together with my former partner. Summer came and went, and my daughter went back to college (ridiculously taking her classes on Zoom, which made me wonder why she had to go back in the first place). By September it dawned on me, that here in my too-quiet house, I was alone for the very first time in my life as an Adult.

I hated it.

I tried. I read novels. Then I read sexy novels. They just made me feel more alone and frustrated. Eventually I found this site, and a while after that, the chat rooms, which were a wonderful distraction. But…I ached for something real. I was so mad at the world for seemingly conspiring against me in my darkest times. I wanted to move on, and I was ready to. But there was nothing to move on to.

I fantasized and tried to be happy with little fits or bits of excitement. I am a suburban mom, a teacher, a former Wife–it’s not like I was the kind of person to jump right into orgies or whatever sexier, more exciting people than me do. So, I’d do things like–wearing a sexy lace bra under a snug tee-shirt to the grocery store. After a bit of pep talking, I even went braless a few times. I am a 36 E cup, so going braless isn’t exactly something I do a lot of. Obviously I never dressed provocatively for work, so even doing something like going braless to the store felt exciting and new. Plus, since everyone, including me, had to “mask up,” there was little risk in it. It seemed to be a safe way to be a “naughty woman.”

My heart would race every time I caught a man’s eye, and I was flattered that it happened pretty much every time I did my new little routine. I would pretend not to notice, but then arch my back to tighten the fabric of my top to my chest. I would feel a wash of excitement knowing my nipples were stiffening with my excitement, and sometimes I would even get an unmistakable smile from someone, even beneath his mask. I knew it was a silly pastime, but it was also a delicious treat for me. On one occasion, behind the anonymity of a certain stranger’s mask, he breezed past me as we were alone in an aisle and whispered, “you have perfect tits.”

I showed no outward reaction in the store, but felt so, so aroused. I barely made it back home with my groceries and actually had to masturbate even before I put the ice cream in the freezer. It was a reaction–a real one. I wondered about him. Who was he? Was he married? Was he doing the same time I was doing right that moment? Pleasuring myself for that short exchange at Stop and Shop? It made me soaked, and I climaxed intensely, more than once.

I realized this mask–this depressing piece of cloth we were all subjected to, might be my way into some unique experiences. I immediately began planning something much bigger and more daring (at least for me).

When I was married, my husband too a shine to a lot of pornography. I didn’t mind, really. I almost wished he’d share more. At least it might have been something that brought us together. But for whatever reason, he seemed to keep me at arms length where that was concerned. For instance, it was easy to see from his reactions that he was intensely turned on by pierced nipples on curvy women. Years ago, while we were having Sex, I whispered what I thought would be a turn on for him. I asked him if it would excite him if I had my nipples pierced for him.

I’ll never forget the disappointment of his reaction. I felt judged, terrible. I felt like he dismissed me. I felt like he thought of me as a “slut” or something worse. I couldn’t figure him out at all. I guess that’s why our marriage ultimately didn’t work, hm?

But now my mind was roaming again. So what if I couldn’t get my nipples pierced “for him.” Maybe in a small act of sexual defiance I could get my nipples pierced–for me. I found myself more and more aroused by the thought, and began pleasuring myself to the fantasy. I began to investigate the details.

Damnit, damn you covid. Most of the places I would think of choosing (several towns away) were combination tattoo and body art facilities, which were all closed during the lockdown. I sighed. Jesus, was there anything in this damn world that might actually work out for once? I tried to be patient. It wasn’t easy.

Months and months, and seemingly an eternity later, I remember hearing news that tattoo parlors were opening. After school one day, I drove 20 minutes to the one I had picked out in my head. I nervously walked in, and asked a few questions conversing with a young late 20something guy, heavily tattooed. He was rough. He was incredibly sexy. And finally I “popped the question.” He smiled, made me feel relaxed, and answered like a professional. I spent ten more minutes with him and made an appointment to come back to have the piercing done. By him, personally. My god. I was going to do this.

The following Saturday, I picked out my clothes like I was going on a date. Look casual but put together, I thought. I picked out a fitted tee and a scarf, and a sexy black mesh bra, front clasp, since I didn’t want to start doing nervous gymnastics when I got back to the parlor. I was ready. I was aroused. I was nervous. And as I walked into the place again, I was wet. Very.

When I made eye contact with “my guy” I almost shivered. His sexy eyes were sea blue, and he seemed even sexier and more attractive than the day we met, just a few days earlier. Eventually, we he walked me back to a curtained booth, along with a female employee who helped with certain details, but I am sure she was also there to be a witness that everything would be legally and medically on the up and up.

He asked me to remove my top–all the way, which I did. When he asked me to also slip off my bra so we could begin, I almost fainted. Here I was–a 44 (at the time) year old divorcee 12th grade school teacher, masked but completely topless. In front of not one, but two complete strangers–my heavy E-cup breasts and erect nipples broadcasting my arousal. He was talking, but I was barely hearing as he took just a second to lubricate my nipples…oh dear god. It took just a few seconds before I felt the needle pierce my flesh–it didn’t hurt nearly as much as I feared. I crossed my legs nervously trying to stave off a very inappropriate Orgasm. By the time my second nipple was done, the young woman held up a mirror so I could inspect their work. I luxuriated in the attention, turning my shoulders to the left and right. I was on fire as they looked on, and complimented me on my choice of stud (a simple silver barbell stud in each).

I needed to get home. This was intense as hell. I slipped my clothes back on, gave my man a hug (not caring if it was appropriate or not) and hightailed it to my car. I was electric. My body felt ignited. To hell with making it home….I drove to the far corner of the parking lot (the tattoo parlor was in a large strip mall) and I fucked myself right there in the front seat. Not just once.

When I finally made it home, I headed right for the Shower and masturbated again and again recalling his coarse but gentle fingerpads on my nipples–a perfect stranger. I hoped he remembered me. I hoped my giant breasts aroused him. I wished I had a reason to go back again and again. I loved it, my god I loved it.

And I still Love my sexy pierced nipples, even though I can’t really show them off. I realized I got them for the most important person in the world–me. And I highly recommend it to anyone.