ManEaters: A Mature Confessions Story

Maybe I should tell you a little about me first, to give you some context. My name is Amanda Wyatt, and ten years ago I married a Wyatt Wyatt. Yeah. I know.

When I don’t roll my eyes over the insane naming choice, I just see the humour in it. I’m trying to recall if he’s ever asked me to call him Wyatt squared during naked time, but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t. If he did, I think we can rule out him having been serious.

Up until recently I was a native of Northumberland, a remote region in the northeast of England. I grew up at a time when council houses were being built in villages and everyone with a bit of snobbery bought one to prove they were moving up in the world outside of Newcastle.

Interesting times were had by all. A mishmash of people, backgrounds, and mindsets. I’m rambling, and Wyatt tells me not to do that, so… let’s get on with it.

As of today, I’m forty-eight, happily married, and have two grown, strapping sons from before I met Wyatt. I’m also the proud mother of two stepdaughters in their late teens. I have a part-time job at a clothing store, and I’m generally considered the strong mother and wife.

I’m what you’d call matronly—a word that I suppose can only be used when you’re of a certain age, because it usually conjures up thoughts of middle-aged women with big hips or bingo wings. I’m all those things and more.

But when I was a teen, I was slim and very popular with boys. I wasn’t wild about the peasant look that was in vogue at the time; instead, I opted for shorter skirts and tops that were easier to haul off. Throwback to the sixties, my mother called me.

I’m five-foot-five and, at the time, weighed about a hundred and ten pounds and had perky 32B tits. I wore my long, ash-blonde hair in a literal “Farrah Fawcett Do” that required lots of hairspray and flicking.

After two kids I became more ample all over; I’m ashamed to say. I’m now one hundred and fifty-five pounds, and I wear a 38C bra. Sadly, I haven’t grown four inches since 1978, so I’m overweight.

The reason I’m laying out these measurements is because it’s important. The first secret I’m going to share with you will set the tone for those that come after.

Yeah. I have secrets—and lots of them—but it’s time to let them out and run in the sunshine. My husband is in the dark about these secrets, and I trust him when he says he doesn’t have time for the internet. If that’s true, he’ll remain in the dark.

For a while I considered using a pen name and alter settings so no one could ever connect me to Amanda Wyatt, but I didn’t enjoy myself, so I’m taking the risk. Time will tell if I choose… wisely.

I’m starting with my first sexual awakening, so we’re going back thirty years, back to a simpler time, when I was eighteen and doing my A-Levels during the sixth form at grammar school. This all happened before I met David (my previous partner and father of my boys) in college.

This isn’t a chronological account of my sexual escapades. In the meantime, I’m st