A loving, hot, wonderful woman in my life wrote this for me once. I was reminded of the entire evening once more, so I thought I'd share it with you. Lots of life left in the ole boy yet, folks....come and get it..._________________________________
The bar was busy at 8:30 p.m.
Music from the piano floated through the room, wafting between the patrons and the servers. I scanned the faces, none of them familiar. I asked the waitress if she had seen him.
“Here I am!”
I turned to see a handsome man walking down the stairs. Dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans, he was holding a package in his hand. As we embraced, he handed the package to me.I unwrapped the package. Inside were white daisies mixed with baby’s breath, a lovely spring bouquet of my favorite flowers. I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks so much,” I whispered, kissing him on the lips. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he replied, “but I wanted to buy these for you.”
“Would this table be all right?” the waitress asked, pointing to a location near the piano. “Could
you find something a little more secluded?” he asked. She showed us to a table at the back of the room, where the notes from the piano and the conversation from the bar were muted. Where we could talk.
We ordered white wine, and he turned his chair to face me. I was a bit nervous about this meeting, for I had never met any of my blogfriends in person. Now I have been fortunate enough to make many new friends through this medium, but for one reason or another our relationships have remained in the virtual realm. This man, though, was different. His comments on my entries became increasingly flattering and personal as the weeks progressed. When I learned, to my surprise and delight, that he lived within 50 miles of my home, I decided I just had to meet him. He was just as surprised and delighted about my availability, and our initial E-mails quickly turned into excited telephone conversations about when and where we should meet. I dressed simply for the occasion—white sweater over black pants with a black blazer, black winter coat and black chunky-heeled loafers—and drove to our meeting place with just a bit of trepidation. What if this didn’t work out? What if I didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like me?
Quickly, so quickly, the concerns I had vaporized into the comfortable atmosphere of the bar.
His relaxed manner put me at ease immediately. We found we had much to talk about. He is an actor in our city. I had seen him on stage many times in the past, I realized as he listed some of the productions he had been in. We also have several mutual blogfriends, we learned as we talked and laughed.And we talked about sex, more and more as the evening progressed. He told me how attractive he thought I was. I looked into his eyes and his cheerful, seductive smile and thought this is a man I could make love to. As we talked, I rested my hand on his leg. After a bit, I absent-mindedly removed it. “No, please,” he said, “leave it there.” I did.
I leaned over to kiss him. His technique was masterful: soft at first, then increasingly insistent, conveying his thirst for sexual satisfaction, his hunger for my body. At one point he grabbed my hair and pulled me toward him, holding me tightly in his embrace. I was startled, but the gesture caused me to melt inside, and the desire within me began to burn ever hotter.
I cut a piece of the bread the waitress had brought with our wine. He dipped it in olive oil and held it to my lips. I opened them and he placed the bread inside my mouth, allowing his fingers to linger. My lips closed around them and I licked them as I would a cock. He asked me to pinch his nipples, and I did it, repeatedly. He threw back his head and moaned to communicate his pleasure. He kissed and caressed my fingers in a warm and sensual way. He asked me to stand behind him and rub his neck, which I did. I leaned my entire body into him. He felt so warm and arousing. He said he would love to lick my pussy. I said that I wanted to suck his dick. We embraced again and shared a long, searing kiss.
He asked if he could feel my breasts. I said of course. He moved his hands over my sweater, rubbing my nipples. I moaned and felt my panties begin to soak through. My pussy was throbbing, aching to be filled with his cock. I was just about ready to strip off my clothes—the bar was emptying out and perhaps no one would notice—when he whispered in my ear “Please stand up.”
I did, and we moved to the corner of the room, where there was a bit of space to maneuver. The piano was still playing jazz tunes, none of which I recognized in my state of entrancement. He held me close, and I wrapped my arms around his back. We danced as one, my body glued to his, my mind tracing every movement of the erection that was straining through his pants. Dancing always makes me horny, and this was fanning my flames into a raging inferno.
About one in the morning, as the music was ending, we put on our coats and he walked me a short distance to my trusty minivan, his arms protecting me from the cold. He was parked a few blocks away, and I offered to drive him to his car. When we arrived the spaces around it had been vacated, and I pulled up behind. The street was quiet and dark and offered enough privacy for what we really wanted to do.
We kissed, again and again and again. His hands roamed delightfully over my body, and I sought to match his intensity with my own. He reached inside my waistline and pulled my pants down, which I gladly allowed him to do—the only thing keeping any clothes on my body was the cold outside air. He slid his fingers inside my panties, along my freshly-shaved vagina, and skillfully inserted two of them into my pussy. I came almost immediately, and very forcefully, in response to this stimulation.
Withdrawing his fingers, he held them up in the dim street light so that I could see my juices glistening on them. “Lick them off,” he commanded, “and tell me how sweet you taste.” I did as he said, working my lips and tongue up and down them, wishing they were his hard cock after he had spurted his semen. “They are,” I gasped, “so sweet.” I sensed more than saw him smile in response.
He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of my panties once more. Again, his two fingers worked their way between my labia, basting in my hot juices. I ached for his touch, his feel inside me, and could only think of how ecstatic I would be if he were to fuck me right then and there with what I was sure would be his thick, pulsating cock.
All too soon, after bringing me to the height of several more orgasms, he withdrew his fingers again, this time placing them between his lips, and moaning at the pleasure.“Yes, honey, your pussy is very sweet. Now I want you to go home and do something for me, before you go to bed or do anything else. I want you to sit down in a chair and masturbate yourself to another orgasm. Use a toy if you like, but fuck yourself to a cum, a hot, hard cum, before you fall asleep.”
I don’t know how I managed to drive home in my fully aroused, consciousness-addled state. But as soon as I opened the door, I headed for the nearest chair, shedding clothes as I went. I spread my legs wide and fucked myself furiously with my fingers, thinking about how hot it will be when I get filled with his cock, and then ran upstairs for a thick cock-shaped dong to finish the job.
Thanks for a memorable evening, Ron.
