The funny thing is, she was the most straight-laced, button-down, uptight woman on the face of the planet by day. She was my best friend, Sarah’s, mother, the woman who insisted we take our shoes off the moment we walked in the door, who required coasters under every glass, and who took down and washed her curtains twice a week.

Tall, thin, with short, blonde hair and bright blue eyes behind sensitive-80’s-glasses, she wasn’t what anyone would really consider a sexual powerhouse.

At night, however, Mrs. L turned into an animal. This was the woman who taught me-at a rather young age, and of course, unbeknownst to her-how to talk dirty.

Really, really dirty. The sound of the headboard against the wall usually woke me up, a rhythmic pounding. I knew exactly what the bed looked like, where it was placed. I could even imagine Mrs. L, naked and spread wide, Mr. L towering between her legs. I have to admit, the thought excited me. Mr. L always had a ready smile, he liked to tease us girls, and once, I’d been spending the night over there and had walked by their bedroom on the way to the bathroom and saw him snoring away, covers thrown off, his cock standing straight up, hard as a rock.

It wasn’t Mr. L I heard, though. It was Mrs. L, telling him what to do.

“Come on! Fuck me harder! That’s it! Ream that hot, wet little cunt!” I told you it was dirty.

My face flushed in the darkness, but the ache grew between my legs as I listened. I couldn't believe it was Mr. and Mrs. L on the other side of that wall, rutting together on their bed in total abandon. "Give me that big dick! Come on! Ahhhh god, that's so good! "The fire that spread through my body at those words was so hot I thought I'd explode. I couldn't help touching myself. My pussy begged for it, and I gave in, pulling my nightgown up, my panties aside. I was wet already, just from listening. My fingers slid easily between my slit, parting the soft, red pubic hair and searching in the darkness for my throbbing clit. It always thrilled me when I heard him, too. Mostly it was just her, but sometimes I heard him growl or grunt something low and oh, so hot: "Get on your knees, bitch! Suck it! Suck it!" Then I wouldn't hear anything for a while, but I didn't stop rubbing, the delicious sensation growing between my thighs as I tweaked my nipples through my nightgown. I strained to hear something, anything, trying to imagine Mrs. L on her knees like he told her, sucking his cock. I'd had a cock in my mouth before, I knew what it felt like, the insistent thrust, the tangy taste of precum. "Oh god, yes!" Her voice rose, grew closer somehow, and I arched toward the wall, my fingers buried in my wetness. "You like me bent over for you, baby? You like fucking me like a dog?"

The heat of her words made me want to hide my face in the pillow, but my fingers worked faster, harder under the covers.

"That's it, don't stop! Oh god, don't you fucking stop! You're gonna make me come all over that big, hard tool!"

Mrs. L was a slut. A naughty, dirty whore. She said so herself. "Fuck your little whore! Fuck her 'til she comes!"

I heard him groan, long and low, and that made me twist and buck on my little twin bed, hearing her finally lose her words, lost in her orgasm, just moaning with it now, over and over and over. My climax found theirs and I came, too, whimpering and shoving my hips up to meet the wet thrust of my own fingers, shuddering with pleasure as the sound of their coupling faded.

I always had a hard time looking them in the eye the day afterward. Of course, they didn't know I'd heard. And I never said anything. But they sure taught me a lot, late at night, after everyone else was asleep…

Confessions: Union Station

It's been over ten years ago, now, that my ex and I were separated, and I flew to Chicago to meet a cyber lover. Dan was a former DJ, charming, arrogant, cocky, and a staunch Republican. We were like gasoline and a match- the sparks flew. I was twenty-five, separated with two kids. He was thirty-something, a year out of a serious relationship with the "love of his life" and liked kids… the way some people like cats…

"with a nice honey glaze sauce."-Those were his exact words.-I don't know what I was thinking. Okay, I know. I thought I was in love. I probably really was. But it was doomed from the start. Still, love doesn't pay attention to that, does it?

Perhaps my body knew, because I got my period the Friday I left. It started heavy and fast and I called him in tears, because of course, after all the cyber sex and phone sex, real sex was definitely on the menu. I had new lingerie and had planned not to wear any panties on the forty-five minute flight. My body had other ideas. He comforted me on the phone, said it was okay, we'd just spend the weekend together doing… other things.