Her birthday wish came true

"Happy birthday!"

Surrounded by friends and family, I blew out the few candles on my cake, made the obligatory birthday wish and listened to those closest to me sing happy birthday and wish me love and happiness.

My children told me the initial plan involved getting one of those big number candles, but they didn't want to embarrass me by having a giant "56" on the cake reminding me of my age. Instead, they littered the cake with a few candles, just to give me something to blow out while everyone else sang.

I assured them I didn't care about any of that. I was proud to be 56. I had come a long way in the past few years, finding my best self as I chugged along toward 60. My early 50's were filled with regret and sadness, divorce and weight gain, and things I never expected to experience as a young woman.

But I made a conscious effort to change several years ago. I ditched the sweat pants and couch sitting for exercise and healthy living. I dropped the weight I gained when my husband walked out and added muscle and a brand new sense of confidence.

I felt so good I even started an Instagram page dedicated to my fitness journey. I posted about my eating habits (lean meats, fish, limited dairy, greens and hardly any sugar), my exercise routine (light weight training, cardio and, most importantly, stretching and breathing) and how I dealt with my insecurities and mental health.

I amassed more followers than I imagined. Somehow, more than 20,000 people showed an interest in my life and journey, and much to my surprise they weren't all older women. No, young men filled my page with comments about how good I looked and how attractive I was. I mean men younger than my own two kids.

Sure, I posted some bikini photos, because I felt good and wanted to show people the results. I just never expected them to garner so much attention from 20-something men (or ‘boys" really). Comments like "damn!" and "sexy!" and even more explicit ones that made this older woman blush flooded my timeline.

In one particularly popular photo, liked more than 1,000 times, I wore a yellow two-piece bikini with my blonde hair blowing in the wind and my blue eyes sparkling. I felt sexy that day, felt strong and powerful, so I asked one of my friends who accompanied me to the beach to snap a picture.

I only posted it to Instagram after reading a story about how women in their 50's didn't feel comfortable showing off their sensual side any more. I thought it would make for a good push-back against that notion, not realizing it would become "masturbation material" for horny men. How naive I was.

Once that photo received such positive feedback, especially from women my own age and even some younger who wanted to know how I looked so good, my Instagram journey officially began. I often received comments from women, some even questioning my age and suggesting I must be in my 40s.

But the comments, flirtations and downright propositions from men really surprised me. Even though I felt good about myself and loved my body, I couldn't imagine it would garner this type of reaction from the opposite sex. It's not like men were throwing themselves at me when I went out to a restaurant or a bar.

One young man in particular caught my eye. He seemed to comment on every photo with flirtatious lines about what he would do if I was his girlfriend or how he wished he could find someone as beautiful as I am. Eventually, he "slid into my DMs" as my kids would say, and began flirting with me even more aggressively.

I found out he played minor league baseball. When I got around to checking out his own Instagram page, I found out he was 22, lived in the Northeast and just graduated college. He played first base for the team and was apparently pretty good.

Not being a sports fan, I knew very little about him. But from scoping out a few of his photos, I saw a gorgeous man with the body of a Greek God. I learned from the bio on his team's website that he stood six foot two, loved to lift weights and stay in shape, owned a dog, and baked. What a man, I thought.

We began seriously talking months before my birthday. I told him about my children and he talked about his siblings and family life. He flirted with me so I flirted back, though I was out of practice since I hadn't been with a man in years. He said the photos I posted turned him on, so he messaged me some photos he hoped would do that same.

He sent over three photos of himself in various states of undress including one where he was only wearing a pair of what appeared to be tight boxer shorts. I could clearly make out his enormous bulge. I messaged him about his obvious lack of shyness and he replied that I had inspired him to love his body.

I think his love for himself had less to do with me and more to do with his pecs, abs and manhood. I tried to play it cool and act like his beautiful face, amazing body and spectacular piece didn't have any affect on me. It did. I found myself posting more and sexier photos, almost as a way to tease him.

One day, he sent me a picture and simply titled it, "What your latest photo did to me." Apparently, I got him worked up, because the photo showed a large bulge in his baseball pants. I joked he probably shouldn't leave the locker room like that, and he told me not to worry and that he would "take care of the issue before the game started."

That caused my dirty wind to wander and all I could think about was this tall, gorgeous creature touching himself, his huge dick in between his strong hands. I imagined those hands wandering my soft, delicate frame, searching every inch of my body. I had often fantasized about us, sometimes making love, other times fucking like two animals.

He'd push me down, jump on top of me and cover my entire body with his massive frame. I would look like this tiny, little thing as this big baseball player towered over me, just itching to devour me. I imagined his stiff cock pressing against my stomach, against the entrance to my womanhood.

I usually went to sleep with those images in my head and woke up with sticky bed sheets beneath me. I did so much laundry that I'm surprised it never set off any alarms with my children, especially as I washed so many pairs of my wet panties. But those were dreams and not reality, no matter how powerful they felt.

A few days before my birthday, he sent me another basically nude photo with another suggestive caption: "Do you want this?" He had a glove covering his private parts. He knew the answer, and after I replied, he told me to come and get it. Now the teasing had gone too far, because he knew it just wasn't a possibility. I couldn't travel all the way to see him without admitting our relationship to my children.

As I started to respond to his demand, he sent another message: "You don't have to come far, you know." Confused, I erased what I wrote and asked him what he meant. He said his team had a three-game weekend series against an opponent only one hour from me. He then resent the photo and added, "I have a birthday present for you if you want it."

I almost blacked out. I didn't even answer and he told me he would leave a ticket for me at the window, front row near his dugout. After I hesitated in answering, he said he knows I'll be there because he knows I want him as badly as he wants me. That next morning, I had to wash the sheets again.

When the day came, I told my children I had plans with some friends and I would return later that night. I left the house in loose-fitting jean shorts, a plain t-shirt and some sparkly sandals. I only covered my face in minimal makeup; I kept it simple as I didn't want my kids questioning why I looked so fancy for an afternoon with friends, and I also didn't want to deal with any unwanted advances at the baseball park.

A part of me wondered if this was all true. Was I being catfished? Would this ticket really be there? Would he really be there? When I arrived, I found the ticket window and sure enough a ticket with my name on it was waiting for me. I took my seat in the front row by the dugout, exactly where he said.

I looked around for him, but didn't see his jersey number. I smiled at a couple who sat down a few seats from me. With my back slightly turned to the field, I heard a voice call out my name. I turned and there he stood, just a few feet from me, just as tall and handsome as his pictures.

He smiled and thanked me for coming. He wished me a happy birthday. I blushed. The couple asked if he was my son. I lied and said I knew his mother. They told me he was one of their favorite players on the team. I said the same thing.

It turned out to be an exciting game. I had a hot dog for the first time in years, and drank two beers. I watched my tall, handsome man get two hits including one that drove in two important runs that helped them win the game. Afterwards, he said he needed to meet with the team and coach but told me where to meet him.

The nice couple next to me cheered all game long and seemed to have a great time. As they stood to leave, they both wished me a happy birthday and hoped I had a wonderful night. I assured them I would.

I waited by the gate until he sauntered over in his uniform. He was sweaty and dirty, but did he ever look good. He towered above me as we made small talk while other fans congratulated him on the win. He took his cap off to wipe away some of the sweat and shook out his dirty brown hair. His arms looked so big as he leaned against the fence.

When most everyone cleared out, he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.

"I've been waiting three hours to do that," he exclaimed.

"I think you mean three months," I corrected, which brought a smile to his lips.

"Touche," he responded, kissing me again.

"You look nice," he said, as our lips parted. "Like a real baseball fan."

I told him I brought something better that he might like even more. He asked if I was hungry and could he take me to dinner. I accepted. After I grabbed the bag with the outfit and shoes I packed just for him, I hopped in his car and we drove away.

All through dinner he acted like the perfect gentleman. He pulled out my chair, stood when I got up to use the bathroom, didn't start eating until I returned, and even squeezed my hand when I admitted to being a little nervous.

"Relax," he told me when I noticed people looking at us oddly. "Focus on us, not them."

After a sweet dessert, he held my hand as we exited the restaurant. Once outside, he kissed me again by his car. I felt like a teenager. I put my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to do it, and leaned in to the kiss.

He asked me about this special surprise I had, telling me he thought he had the birthday present. I asked if we could be alone and he suggested his hotel room. On the way there, he teased me about my height, so I reached into the bag and pulled out the 5-inch black stilettos I brought. I asked if these would help.

Once we pulled up to the hotel, or rather motel, he helped me out and carried my bag into the room. He asked if he could shower and I said it would give me time to get ready. He stripped down to his underwear without even hesitating, quite proud of the show. He took his time making sure I saw every inch of his magnificent body. My eyes didn't miss a centimeter.

When he finally left the room, I unpacked my bag of goodies: the 5-inch black pumps, a little red dress, black lace panties, and a black lace bra. I stripped off my jean shorts, tossed the shirt over my head, unsnapped my basic cotton bra, slipped out of my cotton panties, and kicked off my sandals.

I looked at my naked body in the full length mirror next to the couch. I tousled my hair, pouted my lips and ran my hands from my chin, down my neck, over my full breasts, along my hips, over my stomach, and between my legs. Three or four years ago I never would have guessed I"d be in the motel room of a professional baseball player about to have what I imagined was mind-blowing sex.

I turned to the side and wiggled my little butt. It was full and firm; enough to squeeze, but not flabby by any means. I laughed at myself for acting like some 20-something Instagram model who probably stares at herself all day. Here I was, a grown 56-year old woman checking herself out and honestly loving everything I saw.

I heard the shower turn off and realized I had spent too much time admiring myself, so I quickly pulled my panties on, snapped on my bra, pulled the dress down over my head, and slipped my feet into the towering stilettos. I then reached back into the bag for the makeup and applied a liberal dose to my eyelids, cheeks and lips.

I finished just in time as the door opened and my tall, handsome ballplayer strutted out in nothing but a towel, his wet body glistening.

"I think I'm a bit underdressed," he exclaimed, as he saw me all dolled up.

"Underdressed is how I prefer you," I teased.

"Really?" he said, as he pretended to remove the towel. "Should I drop this, then?"

"Depends on what's under there," I said breathless.

"It's where I'm hiding your present," he joked.

He came to me and we embraced. In my heels, I still stood several inches beneath him, but at least I didn't have to stand on my toes to kiss him. Our tongues met halfway between our lips before his completely enveloped mine. His tongue overpowered me and I had no choice but to allow this intruder inside my mouth.

We french-kissed for what seemed an eternity until I pulled away. I reached for his towel and yanked it from his body. His large, thick member sprang into view. I pressed my lips to his chest as I slowly made my way down his body. I planted kisses on his abdomen while I sunk to my knees in front of this statuesque being.

It had been so long, but one advantage of growing older meant I possessed years of experience when it came to pleasing a man. I kissed his long rod as I rested my chin atop his impressive pole. I slid my tongue along the top side of his cock until I reached his bulbous head.

"I see someone has done this before," he breathed, clearly enjoying the attention I lavished upon his body. "I'm so glad I reached out to you on Instagram."

I moaned something in response as I slowly sucked the head of his cock between my dark red lips. I gripped the base with one hand and cupped his balls with my other hand. I planned to bring him to the edge, to tease him and to make him beg me for more. I knew the best way to accomplish that involved sucking the head while I controlled his rigid member with my right hand, squeezing the base so he didn't cum too soon.

I briefly entertained the notion of trying to deepthroat him, but I knew it would never work. Instead, I slipped inch after inch of his stiff pole into my mouth until I had about half inside. I continued to massage his balls with my left hand while my right hand now began working his hard cock.

I stroked him as half his member laid between my lips. He placed his hand behind my head, not to force himself deeper into my mouth, but rather to let me know he appreciated the effort. I looked up at him with my blue eyes and he bit his lip when he saw me.

After a few minutes of oral pleasure, he leaned his head back and let out a soft moan. He ran his hand through my blonde mane. I pulled back slightly, leaving some of him still in my mouth. His thick rod caused excess drool and saliva to drip from my mouth down onto my dress.

He noticed and suggested I take it off so as not to ruin it. I had to remove him completely from my mouth so he could bend down and lift the dress up over my head exposing my black lace bra and panties. Once he removed the garment, I spit all the excess saliva all over his still rock hard cock. I used the liquid to speed up my stroking.

"Careful," he cautioned, "you don't want the fun to end too soon."

He suggested I get more comfortable, so he brought me over to the bed and laid me down. He removed each of my 5-inch black pumps, kissing my legs and ankles while doing so. He then nibbled on my exposed toes causing me to giggle.

"Someone is ticklish," he said.

"Perhaps," I answered.

He wasted little time in removing my panties and spreading my thighs open and dipping his tongue in between. He used his fingers to open up my vaginal lips so his tongue could dart in and out. He took his time pleasing me, alternating between pressing his thick tongue against my clit and pushing it inside my pussy.

My moans, groans, sighs, and squeals acted as a roadmap. He knew where to go based on how I reacted. A deep moan meant he hit the right spot, but a deep groan meant he moved to the wrong part of town. Thankfully, he heard more deep moans than groans.

After he worked me up sufficiently, he slipped one, then two fingers inside me. He moved them in and out using his thumb to press against my kitten. That elicited much moaning, plus a few sighs whenever he slowed down. I squealed when he pushed a third finger inside me.

I couldn't remember the last time a man had his way with my body in this manner. Three fingers deep and I swear he wanted to make it four. My toes gripped the bedsheets below me while he worked his three digits as deep as he could get them. I arched my back and he lifted my ass off the bed with the three fingers currently fucking my once tight pussy.

"Jesus, fuck," I said, followed by some gibberish due to hiim pressing down on my abdomen while simultaneously pressing up on the inside of my pussy.

He rolled me over onto my stomach and reinserted his invading digits. He squeezed my full and firm ass with his free hand, occasionally biting down on the exposed flesh.

"Is this what you hoped for all this time?" he teased. "Did you get wet thinking about what I would do to you?"

"Yes," I hissed. "It's been so long."

I grabbed onto the sheets as I felt my first orgasm coming. I closed my eyes and rode the wave of pleasure as it flowed through my body. I swore I could feel it in my toes.

"Ugh," I grunted. "I'm coming."

I must have repeated those words 10 times. I exploded all over his fingers, coating them in my sweet and sticky girl cream. He wasted no time bringing those sopping wet digits to my mouth so I could taste my own cum.

We kissed so he could have a taste for himself. I squirmed onto my back again as he eased on top of me. He kissed my neck, jaw, cheek, and even nibbled on my earlobe.

"Is there anything else I can do for the birthday girl," he whispered.

"Yes," I said, barely managing to get the words out after that intense orgasm. "You know what I want."

HIs massive cock pressed against my stomach as he feigned ignorance about what I really wanted. After threatening to murder him if he didn't give it to me, he obliged by pressing the tip of his cock against my opening. He waited forever before he pushed forward. Then waited even longer before thrusting more of his magnificent manhood inside me.

He really took his time, as inch by agonizing inch of cock broke through my vaginal opening. I felt every vein, every pulse; he stretched my pussy in ways I never dreamed possible. Eventually, as I lay panting beneath him, his entire shaft had penetrated my body.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, but he was in no hurry. Maybe he needed time to recover as well, because we simply laid together. He managed to stay hard while we made out, his tree trunk of a cock still buried deep inside me.

I bit his lip, his tongue as we hungrily devoured each other. Even though it laid dormant for years, my sex drive never left. Meanwhile, he could probably go all night. Ours was a made match in sexual Heaven.

With my mind wandering, I felt him begin to stir. HIs cock began to move, inch-by-inch, slowly leaving my body. He exited, leaving just the tip, before he slowly inserted all 10 or 11 inches back inside me. He repeated this move, allowing my pussy to get accustomed to him. He wanted me to enjoy every second.

Once he began to pick up the pace, the fun really started. Suddenly, his hips were moving more rapidly, his thrusting was more forceful, more determined. This gorgeous man was now giving me exactly what I wanted for my birthday - the best sex of my life.

I wasn't sure how long he would last, but it didn't matter because I came a second time. I let out a guttural moan as pleasure took hold of my body. He could sense it because he slowed his rhythm and let me have this moment of bliss.

"Do you have one more in you?" he asked, once I came down. "I want to cum with you this time."

I shook my head yes. He grabbed my legs and pushed them as far back as they would go. He had me almost bent in half, as all of my stretching and breathing techniques really worked to open up my body.

My tall, handsome ballplayer picked up the pace again. This time he pushed even deeper inside me. I used my own fingers to rub my clit as he forcefully entered my body. We stared at each other the whole time, his brown eyes locked on to my blue ones. I could sense his oncoming orgasm because his breathing changed from deep, long breaths to short, quick ones.

Thankfully, he had me on the edge again, ready for orgasm number three, a feat I never achieved on my own and rarely with a sexual partner.

"Ugh," I spat out, unable to do anything but make sounds.

"I can't hold it any longer," he shouted, as his cock unleashed a torrent of sperm inside my vaginal walls.

He came so aggressively and I followed suit. He collapsed on top of me and my legs fell with a thud on to the bed. Neither of us could catch our breath, speak or do just about anything other than lie there in blissful silence.

I rubbed his back and moved down to cup his rather impressive backside. He simply groaned in appreciation. He rolled off me so I rolled myself onto him. I laid my head against his chest. I reached down and gently tugged at his cock. I squeezed out a few remaining droplets of cum. He kissed my forehead, then cupped my full and firm bottom with his free hand.

"Did you have a good birthday?" he asked, once we both managed to speak again.

"I couldn't imagine a better one," I said, honestly.

"Well, just wait until next year," he teased. "Or, maybe tomorrow."