For Her Pleasure

Following my recent departure from Corporate America (and divorce) I went to work at the local juggernaut coffee shop. While it was far from glamorous, it allowed me to interact with a lot of people, so in that respect it was good for me. I was supposed to spend this time figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I was more or less set; the Ex had left me very well off (not by his choice) including a nice set of tits with plenty of mileage left on them before they would need a tune up. I wasn’t expecting too much: busty but aging divorcée pouring coffee all day. But to my surprise this one beautiful hunk of a man started to hang around, showing definite interest and we both flirted as time allowed. He was very young though, but I figured escaping the hells of a difficult marriage allowed me some leeway as far as propriety was concerned. Maybe leeway or maybe I felt like being damn reckless, selfish, and every other nasty term you wanted to throw at me. He was young, but he acted older, seemed to have his shit together, from his clothes to the Beemer I saw him carry his tall Americano out to. He never had any women with him – my heart raced hoping he wasn’t gay. Not that it would be a problem. I mean it would be for me, but... I seriously wanted to fuck the shit out of him. But who was I kidding? Why would he be interested in me? Maybe he was just being nice. Friendly. All doubt was removed though at least as far as which way he leaned when one day he asked me out. Out out. Like a date. I was thrilled. Can I be honest? I guess so. It’s my story after all. I wanted him inside me so badly I was a lunatic when I was around him. It made my stomach ache thinking about his hopefully immodest endowment. Would he give it to me? Perhaps. Perhaps I would just have to take it, come what may. Oh God at what point did I become too old to expect him, or any man, to try everything to fuck me, and be rather obvious about it? I was worried, off my game, and more self-conscious than even I had thought possible. We went to California Pizza Kitchen and then caught Couple’s Retreat which was OK. He talked about himself not much more than you would expect, and I was happy to have the focus off of me every chance I got lest I look pathetic, desperate or even old. But I had to come clean with most of the bare necessities – yes, I was divorced, no kids, no one else in the picture. He was apparently not at all disappointed, in fact he admitted to only dating “older women” – just a personal preference of his. “No girls,” as he put it, smiling. He did have money, most of it a huge inheritance, but he was supposedly doing a little “this and that” and DJ’ing at weddings and the occasional nightclub fill-in spot. He was not up to the level some of his friends were with it, so it was a little more than a hobby, a dream, perhaps, but he had the resources where it really didn’t matter. In the car, after the movie, he kissed me. He was damn talented. “I want to see your place,” I said. “OK,” he said, grinning. We got to his house – beautiful modern architecture, plenty of windows and open spaces. Was this all his? I thought. I told him I was going to the bathroom and he pointed to it down the hall. Inside I was really nervous. Was this going to be totally awkward or what? I was so out of practice trying to score. That’s what marriage does. Or at least one of the things it does. You hear about couples having to put sex on the calendar in order to fit it in. In reality, maybe that would have helped my marriage, even if you can’t really stand the person. What did that say about how difficult and isolated life seemed to be? I came out of the bathroom and walked back toward the living room. To my utter shock he was sitting in the recliner completely naked – with his swollen prick standing at attention. “Can I help you with something?” is all I could say. How pathetic! I was already starting to sound like a fucking barista. “See anything you like?” he asked assuredly. I didn’t know whether to scream, run, or what. But I did what I wanted to do all night, for a change, so I knelt beside him and kissed the swollen head. He was really a dangerous size, not anything close to what I had experience with. I took as much as I could, but really was in no hurry. He kept trying to put it back in my mouth, but I teased him with small licks and flicks of my tongue. I thought this SOB was going to remember me, perhaps not for what he gets, but what he doesn’t get, at least so easily. I slid the straps of my dress off my shoulders and let it fall on the floor, revealing my big store-bought tits. Unhinging the bra, they came flopping out as I bent over him from the side and caressed his balls as he finger-fucked me through my panties. I kept trying to remember the order of things. This was just for my pleasure, not necessarily his, right? Although, he was good, fun and gorgeous. And why shouldn’t I? He ached and moaned for me…for me as I dragged my nails up and down his six-pack abs and sucked his enormous cock. Why was it so hard to reconcile the two: giving and getting pleasure? Surely it was a mutual adventure, but I was more concerned with how he made me feel than what I meant to him…which was? In any case, I couldn’t wait for him to shake it loose…he could recover and then give it to me again, in bed, like adults. But then, of all things, the front door opened and in walked a woman! My head was about to explode – as was he. I had never been caught like this. I didn’t know what to think or say – who was she? Was I the one in the wrong or was she? Why didn’t I know about her? Because you didn’t ask, my mind answered.