No, the worst thing about getting older is, most of the time you're not even aware of it. Inside, you still feel the same as you used to, and it's only when you're actually confronted with reality... a friend asking if you've yet received that first mailing from AARP, or your GP telling you "at your age, you should start..." what? Drooling? Forgetting your name? Eating strained vegetables?... only then do you think, "wow, half a century. I wonder where it went?
The guy in the drugstore carded me the other day. At first, I felt fairly flattered. Until he said "you look a lot younger than your photograph."
I mean, how do you even respond to something like that? I dunno. I nodded, I think, and probably glared, paid for my cigarettes and then out of there. But five minutes later, sitting in the coffee shop a few doors down, I'd completely forgotten him until, halfway through a not-bad latte, I sensed someone hovering by my table.
I looked up. It was the guy from the drugstore. Although I say "guy," but I doubt he was more than early 20s, and looking very sheepish, too. "I just wanted to... what I said in the store., It didn't come out quite as I intended."
I gave him what hopefully passed as a smile. He was still wearing his name tag - "Hi, I'm Peter." "That's okay. It's the thought that counts." He looked around. "Do you mind if I sit with you? This place is always packed at lunchtime."
I nodded; waited a moment and thought I might as well have some fun with this. "So how was it meant to come out?"
"I'm not sure. It was supposed to be a compliment, but I don't think I thought it through properly."
"Don't worry, I'm sure I've heard worse things. Somewhere." And then, "so how old are you?"
"25."
"Well, you look younger than that, so now we're even."
We chatted for a while, then he announced he'd better be getting back to the store. But I did I want to step outside and have a cigarette with him first? I said yes because... well, because I didn't want to say no, and it was only after we'd finished and I said I'd probably see him around that he asked if I would go for a drink with him that evening.
Which, I suppose, I should admit I'd been hoping he might, but I looked surprised anyway and we set up a place and time, even as I resolved to neither change my outfit or freshen up my make-up in the meantime. A resolution, I should add, that I almost adhered to. I did exchange jeans for a skirt, though, and maybe fixed my face once I'd taken a shower. Nothing I'd not have done before going anywhere for the evening, and we'll leave it at that.
Peter was already seated in a corner of the bar when I arrived, and hurried to bring me a drink. The place was fairly busy... the after-work crowd, I guess... so, while we were alone at our table, someone had already taken the chairs some place else, leaving us both on the bench with our backs to the wall.
Again, though, we just chatted and, if I noticed how he'd occasionally shift in his seat, with his knee not quite pressing against my leg, I didn't say anything. What I did do, however, was lean in a little myself and whisper, "you may want to put your jacket on your lap." He'd changed as well, out of store-clothes into a T-shirt and shorts, and it looked like he'd brought a tent along with him.
He looked down, flushed bright red and hastily pulled his jacket over. "I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be. I don't mind, I was just thinking of anyone passing by and looking over. I'll go get us more drinks; I don't think you should be standing up for a little while."
Did I smile to myself as I walked to the bar? Maybe. Just a little. It had been a long time since I'd seen... but no, let's not go there. And besides, I doubted whether whatever was going on down there had anything to do with me. More likely it was the crowd of girls who were clustered around the bar, toasting one another with some vicious looking green stuff.
Back to our table, sitting down. "How's your friend?"
Another flush. "Better, I think."
"Interesting choice of words," I teased. "Although I guess it depends on the situation."
"Better for in here, then," he clarified, and raised his jacket just enough. The tent had indeed subsided, but the bulge was still... well, it was still. Earlier, I swear I saw it twitching. I gave his knee a reassuring pat - which wasn't quite where my hand wanted to go, and I don't think it was what he was hoping for, either. "Okay, better keep it under wraps for a while longer. Just in case anything else catches its attention."
After that we just chatted, both of us I think desperate to keep to the most neutral subjects we could. A couple of times, our hands brushed one another, and his knee now seemed permanently pressed against mine beneath the table - or was it mine, pressed against his? Hard to tell. But when his hand fell onto my leg, just above the knee, and gently caressed, my body was wracked by a thrill that literally took my breath away.
We were both silent now. Maybe he was waiting to see how I would react? Maybe I was wondering the same thing? Only for a moment, though. I lay my hand atop his, stroked with fingertips and felt, too the edge of the jacket heaped on his lap.
I raised it slowly with two fingers, and let them slip beneath it. I heard his breath catch and, emboldened, I pushed them a little further. And a little more.
I could feel his heat, as hot as my heartbeat was loud. Peter, though, was motionless, neither breathing nor blinking, just staring into his beer as though afraid of breaking the spell. My fingers stretched further, brushed hardness that flexed beneath their touch, and gently, I closed them around him.
He felt good.
For a moment, I was motionless. Then I squeezed, heard his gasp and squeezed again. Beneath the fabric of his shorts, his cock was rising again, and I shifted my grip, further up the shaft, to enclose his tightly-wrapped cock head between fingers and thumb.
The fabric of his jacket felt damp, and my mind pictured the precum that had likely been flowing all evening. Again I squeezed. Rubbed with my thumb. Brushed with my palm. And with every movement, a reciprocal twitch or flexing, like a caged animal testing the confines of its prison. Which I guess it was.
Did I think about liberating it? Of course I did. I also considered allowing my fingers to find a rhythm, and caressing him until he came. I even wondered how close he might already be to crisis point? But no, I continued just squeezing and toying through his shorts, until finally his own hand fell on mine, stilling my movement, just holding me in place.
"Have you eaten this evening?"
His question took me by surprise and I struggled, for a moment, to even put it in context. Eaten what? The only thing I wanted in my mouth right now was... but I wasn't sure that's what he meant. He was still speaking, though. "There's a good Chinese just down the road. Or I have a couple of frozen pizzas at home, if you want to...."
My hand was still there, his cock throbbing against my fingers. I nodded. Words were suddenly beyond me, but somehow I managed to stammer out a reply. "Pizza sounds good." Reluctantly, I removed my hand; thoughtlessly, I raised it to my face and inhaled. He smelt as good as he felt.
We stood, his jacket in one hand, hanging down over what I knew was an even more pronounced tent than before. We made our way through the crowd, then out onto the street, his arm folding around my waist as we walked, while my mind continued to race.
How long do frozen pizzas take to cook? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Long enough for what I had in mind, I thought, but in the end it was longer than that before he even put the oven on to pre-heat. Because the moment we were inside his apartment - second floor, tidy, walls lined with books - my back was against the wall and we were kissing deeply, while my hand slid down his body to touch, again, the cock that was insistently pressing against me.
His hand rolled up my T-shirt and grazed the hard nipple that had been aching all evening. He squeezed, then tilted his head, took it into his mouth.
He sucked like an angel, his tongue a wild thing in the confines of his mouth, and I wondered what it would feel like on my cunt. Wondered... imagined...and finally, demanded. My hand was already in his hair. Just the teensiest pressure and he got the picture, kissing down my belly as he tugged at my skirt. Now he was pulling at my panties too, then rearranging himself on the floor between my legs, and as I reached down to part my cunt lips with two fingers, his tongue swept into action.
It felt incredible. He was incredible. He knew exactly when to lick, when to suck, when to bite and when ("don't stop") to nod his head till his face was a blur, and his tongue became the rollercoaster that my hard clit could have ridden all night.
My legs were trembling, my entire body tingling. I heard him swallow the juices that I knew were flooding out of me, and his breath on my wetness only made me buck harder, pushing my cunt into his face as a leg wrapped around his back and I felt myself coming... and not stopping.
He was tireless, he was wild, he was sucking my cunt lips into his mouth and crushing them between his molars - there were moments when I didn't know if I was going to scream with pain or just come once again, because at this point there really was no difference. And when finally, exhaustedly, I couldn't take any more, he rose and I collapsed to the floor, knowing exactly what had to happen next.
Standing, he dropped his shorts. His cock, hard as ever, was just inches from my face. I leaned in and I didn't even think. I simply took all that I could into my mouth at once, looked up to see his eyes wide and watching, and I started mouth-fucking him.
No finesse, no trickery, no teasing, no tongues. Just sheer hunger, need, lust. Feelings I'd forgotten, greed that I thought I'd grown out of. And that, this, is where age comes into it, because he tasted so good, so young, so powerful, and I could feel his strength and his youth in my blood, in my bones, in my brain and all I could think about now was, how much I needed him to come in my mouth, so I could suck him back to hardness once more, and feel this all over again.
His hands were in my hair, twisting and tugging; my nails were digging into his hips - we were both going to be sore when this was over. But not now, not yet, not while there was still another ounce of stamina left in his body, and me, I could do this all night as well. So when he came I didn't even need to swallow, the whole lot just slipped down my throat like nectar, and I swear my next orgasm began in my belly, ignited by the heat of his come, and amplified by my own need for more.
Then we turned the oven on.
Twice more I sucked him off that evening, once in a delicious 69 that left both of us close to comatose; and later too, when at last I was able to take my time, to tease and torment and put on a show; to let him know just how much I loved doing it to him. Then he walked me back to the lot where I'd left my car, and I drove home still flying, to make my excuses to the cats whose supper was I don't know how many hours late.
My phone pinged as I placed the can into the fridge. "Thanks for a fantastic evening." I smiled to myself, then hit back a couple of laughing emojis and a misspelt "how's your friend?"
A pause. "Great! Wanna see?"
Another smiley, and I watched as a row of dots flickered on my screen. Then a photo of his rock hard cock, and the words "4 erections in 1 night. That's a record for me."
I looked over at the clock, then back at the stiff dick that consumed my entire screen. "If you want to make it 5, you're only 10 minutes away."
He was still sending me dick pics as he pulled up outside my house.
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