Goody Two Shoes
Authors: Laura Cooper
By Laura Cooper
Published by:
Goody Two Shoes
Copyright © 2013 by Laura B. Cooper
ISBN: 9781310731365
Cover Design: Copyright © 2013 Christopher Cooper
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All rights reserved under the international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from another publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
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Dedication
For my BFF Patty
Table of Contents
You may feel very secure in the pond that you are in, but if you never venture out of it, you will never know that there is such a thing as an ocean.
~Tara Townsend
Graduation Night
Handcuffed, Blindfolded, Nekkid, Gagged, in Jonathon’s living room.
At some point in our lives there are those moments we look back on and wonder what in God’s name we were thinking. Believe it or not, this isn’t one of them. As a matter of fact, at this moment I feel completely free, like a captive bird rescued from near death on its long awaited release day. I’m blindfolded; it wouldn’t do for me to meet the eyes bearing down on me in my current state: naked. As confident as I may seem with my nudity, I assure you that without this blindfold I’d be cowering in the corner of this fine mansion, perhaps seeking a vase or piece of furniture to cover my most private parts. The blindfold provides me the anonymity to stand here, tied to this polished brass pole without shame. Behind this silken blindness I am alone. And in my world, the hands that touch me all belong to my husband Simmons, and each small touch will be a prelude to orgasm. I am beautiful in my blindness; Mrs. Universe in the making.
Now, you must be wondering how a reasonable, sweet, MAM (Middle aged Mom) like myself has ended up tied to a pole, blindfolded, and gagged in a man’s (not my husband’s) living room. Let’s push aside the fact that it’s a special occasion and I’m the nude centerpiece. I’ll get back to that. Because the first thing you need to know is that my marriage is shit. Pure ‘T’ total shit. We woke up the first day after becoming empty nesters and voila, nothing. And it’s been this way for a long, long time. So I took a leap of faith, an enormous leap of faith, the Niagara Falls of all leaps: A giant leap for all woman kind in the name of saving my marriage.
Oh sure, I could’ve spent hours and zillions on marriage therapy, but that would’ve required effort on the part of my husband, Simmons Townsend. Yes, the same guy whose books make alligators, snakes and bull sharks seem like world’s most misunderstood creatures. I don’t get it; they just freak me out, and after thirty years of marriage to the illustrious naturalist, I’ve decided I really just don’t give a damn. So that’s where we are, purgatory, the land of lackadaisical marriages. Standing in this room of strangers tied to this pole is my last ditch effort to keep my husband, and I really do love the man, faults and all.
But I didn’t walk into this room tonight out of the blue and ask to be tied to this pole. No, things don’t work that way. I had to be ‘trained’ to stand here. And tonight is my last lesson. If I can stand here and let these strangers touch me, prod and tease me, use me in any way they desire, then I’ve succeeded at the greatest quest of my life. I’ll be armed with enough assertive ammunition to win my husband back and that my dears, is the ultimate goal.
Popular Southern Definition; The word Naked means that you have no clothes on. The word Nekkid means that you have no clothes on and you’re up to something.
I’m definitely Nekkid.
Something presses against my body, and damn it feels a lot like Simmons’s hand! Ah… such ridiculous and borderline schizophrenic thoughts pass through your head when you’re tied to a pole, naked in a room full of people. Imagine if Simmons could see me here. Oh my God, he’d have a heart attack right here and now if he saw me like this! His snowy white, almost puritan, little homemaker who makes sure the towels are fluffed extra soft just the way he likes them, tied to a pole. Oh the horror of it all! “She’s a Tramp!” he’d yell, point and condemn me.
I groan as fingers begin prodding me, pinching my bare nipples until they burn with electric shock at every touch. The rawness of it pulls at a need within me that I didn’t know existed until now. It rattles me to my very core, and beneath my blindfold I silently beg for more. Having been gagged into silence, the monologue in my head is pleading with them to give me more; touch me here, touch me there, yes there… again please. Still there are moments when it’s all I can do not to flinch or pull away from the touches, even though they’ve trained me not to be ashamed of enjoying it. Old ways die hard. Just because you never forget how to ride a bike doesn’t mean you can jump on one tomorrow and ride the Tour de France. It doesn’t work that way; nothing does. So if you think I’m going to tell you that some flash of lightening bolted down from heaven and suddenly turned me into a complete slut, you can forget it. That’s just not the way it happened.
But do let me tell you, before you rank me with the heathens, I may be tied to a pole blindfolded with my naked body screaming to be touched, but at home my oven is set to begin baking four sour cream pound cakes in two hours. As it turns out, I can live an exciting, fulfilled life and bake for the church Bazaar too. Who knew? If you were in my ‘Goody Two Shoes,’ I bet you’d be standing here ‘nekkid’ too.
But this path to the pole hasn’t been an easy one; I’ve questioned my sanity, my religion and mostly my morals. When my BFF Patty showed up donning a new Tramp Stamp on a Tuesday morning, I was completely convinced she was on a straight path to hell; no passing go, and no collecting two hundred dollars.
So this how my path to the pole began. I remember it well; I was wearing my LL Bean anchor bathing suit with the skirt, the exact same kind that twenty years ago I would have called an old lady suit. She, Patty, shows up, miniscule wrinkles and all, in a string bikini the likes of which I couldn’t knit a coaster out of.
~Tara Townsend
My Path to the Pole
Six Weeks Ago
“What the hell is that?” I gawk as she plops lazily into the lounge chair beside me.
Patty lowers the ridge of her bikini bottom with her thumb. Sure as the day is long, there is a brand spanking new tattoo just above her ass. “What?” she feigns innocence, but the writing is on the wall so to speak.
“That! On your back,” I say, pointing at her ass accusingly.
Taken aback by my condemning outburst, she smiles devilishly all the same, “It’s a tramp stamp. I’ve always wanted one, but Momma said to wait till I’m old enough to make that kind of decision. Guess what? I decided I’m old enough!” But she double crosses her heart and whispers some mumbo jumbo, “For good measure I stopped by the cemetery on the way home and showed it to Momma. I came here so when lightning strikes my house, I won’t be there.”
“No way. There is
no
way on God’s green earth Steve let you get a tattoo!” And I manage to turn the word
no
into three syllables.
