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The Place, yes, the capitalization is correct, was a college bar. It was almost a cliche with the video games and jukebox and pool tables and dartboards and loud music. The only thing that kept it from full cliche status was the music which was not quite as loud as in the college bars that catered to a younger crowd. The Place was where the seniors and graduate students congregated. Places like the End Zone or Last Chance were for the younger crowd.
Even in this relatively mature crowd, she stood out when she came in.
I was alone, the fellow-veteran of the female persuasion with whom I had a maybe-date hadn’t shown, and had been thinking about heading home and, yuck, studying on a Friday night.
I couldn’t help but think of that old Jim Croce song about the Roller Derby Queen (“I had just got ready to get my hat when she caught my eye and I put it back”) when she walked in.
The front door was about 20 feet from where I sat, so I could see her clearly, and she was worth seeing. I guessed her at 50, plus or minus 2 years. She was best described as “attractive” rather than “cute” or “pretty.” The thing that caught my eye first was the crown of that wonderful silver/grey hair, that color so many women pay a lot of money to achieve, and few ever do. She was overdressed for this place in moderately high heels, nylons, a dark pencil skirt, a blouse, and a short jacket. She looked like she had just come from the office which, as it turned out, she had.
She stopped in the front door, framed nicely, and I thought deliberately, so I hopped off my stool and went over to her.
“Welcome,” I said, making an expansive bowing gesture, sweeping my arm in an invitation, “to The Place. If you are not lost I would love to buy you a welcoming drink.” All in all, I thought it was a pretty good off-the-cuff speech.
She smiled and I liked her smile. No tooth bleaching for her. Ivory teeth, with one incisor pointing slightly out of line keeping her from being truly pretty but still very attractive. Up close I revised my age estimate up a tick. Her makeup was excellent, but those little tells – that bit of sag under the chin, the darkness of the veins along the top of her hand, those tiny wrinkles in the softness under her eyes – don’t lie. I had once spent a summer working with some carnival folks (friends of my alcoholic mother’s) and one of the things I had learned was to operate the “Guess Your Age” booth.
None of which made her any less attractive. Her eyes were wide-set and so dark brown they were almost black. Her nose was small, with one of those little round knobs on the end. Her lips were full (I suspected a botox injection almost worn off now). Small ears and a round chin completed the picture. Well, and that wonderful cap of silver-grey hair of course.
That inspection took much less time to do than to say or write.
“I’m not lost and I think I’d like that,” she said, and I liked her voice too. It was low for a woman, kind of gravelly. Think Peri Gilpin, the woman who played Roz on the “Frasier” sitcom or, even better, June Allyson or Barbara Stanwyck from the old movies I like.
My luck was with me and I spotted a booth open so I led her to it.
“And what would you like?” I asked.
She smiled and said, “a screwdriver I think. A double.” She reached into her purse but I held up my hand.
I got her drink, and a fresh beer for me, and sat across from her.
“Dave,” I said, reaching across the table, “graduate student, history major, economics minor, Air Force veteran, and all-around nice guy. Now you know all about me.”
She smiled again, took my hand, and said, “Laura, urologist, cougar, and now YOU know all about ME.” I liked her hand too. It was big for a woman, almost the size of mine, with a firm grip and, not quite calluses, but not soft either. Her nails were polished in a clear polish and cut short.
“Urologist, huh,” I said, “gonna give me a prostate exam?” in one of my attempts at humor that sometimes work and sometimes fall flat.
She grinned then, what I came to think of as The GRIN. It was all teeth, no eyes, and made you think of a wolf or, well, okay, a cougar.
“If I do,” she said, “you’ll enjoy it.”
The GRIN faded to a smile and she lifted her glass in an across-the-table toast. “Gotcha, didn’t I?” she said, looking kind of smug.
I chuckled, returned the toast, and said, “touche’.”
We talked through three rounds. Well, we talked and we played darts. I liked that she kicked off her heels to play. I beat her, but she gave a good game. It wasn’t her first time at a dartboard.
As I drained the last of my third beer, feeling a definite buzz, I caught her looking at me in what can only be called a “speculative” way.
“What?” I asked, feeling slightly off-balance.
“Just deciding,” she said.
“Deciding?” I replied. Okay, sometimes I’m not the rapier wit I like to think I am.
“Yes, David,” she said, “deciding if I want to take you home or not.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling completely at a loss for words casino siteleri for the first time in years.
She nodded, just a little nod of her head, and said, “I think I will,” and stood up and started for the door.
When I didn’t move for a second she stopped, turned, and said, not yelling but in a voice that carried, “Shit or get off the pot, David.”
I chuckled and got off the pot.
There was The GRIN again and I knew, on some level, that I had lost a round in a game in which I wasn’t sure of the rules.
I had expected her to call an Uber but instead, she led me down the street to a parking lot.
I had expected her key fob to make a Lincoln or a Cadillac or maybe a minivan to chirp in response but instead, it was a Dodge Challenger resplendent in the hood scoops and a decal proudly announcing “392 Hemi.”
“Niiiiiiice,” I said, “can I drive it?”
She laughed at that, a throaty sound that I liked, and said, “in your dreams.”
So I laughed too and opened the driver’s door for her.
We headed north, out of town, into the county subdivisions where single houses sat on large lots. I was not surprised.
The house she pulled into was a large ranch-style, with an attached two-car garage, sitting on a lot I estimated at two acres.
“Nice shack,” I said and she chuckled, another deep throaty sound I liked.
“I like it,” she said, “and the privacy fence means I don’t need to worry about a suit when I swim.”
By then the car had stopped and I got out and ran around to open her door for her.
“You are a gentleman,” she said, “I like that.”
“Mom taught me good,” I said, doing my best “aw-shucks” accent and making her laugh again.
She smiled and said, “good for her.”
She went to the refrigerator, the door from the garage opened into the kitchen, and got out a couple of beers, a foreign brand I didn’t recognize.
“Come on then,” she said, “let me show you the shack.”
I chuckled at her use of my word.
It turned out to be a three-bedroom house with one of those “open” floor plans. The “great room” had a couple of overstuffed recliners, a large couch set in the corner, a wall of shelves, an absolutely huge flat screen (I guessed it at 72″) and, be still my beating heart, the latest version of the xBox with a rack of games, controllers, and paraphernalia.
One of the bedrooms was, obviously hers with a king-size, four-poster bed, two giant chests of drawers, an attached bathroom, and a walk-in closet that would have served as a bedroom in many of the places I’ve lived.
A second bedroom was clearly a guest room, and the third was her office. The kitchen, to which we returned, would have been in place in a restaurant. Out back, the pool, well lit, was Olympic size and when I dipped my finger in was heated to almost blood temperature. I wanted to do a few laps it looked so damn inviting. I chuckled at the gym equipment at the side of the oversized patio.
“Naked weightlifting?” I asked.
She flashed The GRIN and said, “of course.”
“Show me,” I said and she laughed.
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said.
“And tonight?” I asked.
“I don’t intend to lift anything heavier than a dick tonight,” she said, meeting my eyes, very serious.
Usually, I’m pretty damn articulate, but that one stopped me.
“So come on,” she said, taking a drink of her beer, and crooking her finger for me to follow.
And again, I knew, on some level, I had surrendered another bit of control over the situation.
In the bedroom, she sat on the bed and said, “okay sweetcheeks, pants off.”
“Ummmmm,” I managed, “you said you’re a urologist. Don’t you get bored with, you know, dicks?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh no,” she said, dragging the vowel out for a full second. “Every one is a fresh delight, a beautiful, wonderful symbol. Now pants OFF!” she snapped at the end.
So I undid the button of my jeans, unzipped them, and pushed them down. Then I had to do that awkward two-step as I shed sneakers and socks. And I stood before her in boxers and a T-shirt.
She pointed, imperiously, flicking her forefinger down, and it was clear what she wanted.
So I pushed down the boxers but left my T-shirt on.
She smiled and crooked her finger, beckoning me and I went to her.
She flashed The GRIN then, and lifted me, very professionally, measuring my dick in her hand, lifting it, manipulating it, cupping and lifting my balls, squeezing gently making me wince a little.
“Nice,” she said, using her thumb to pull my circumcised foreskin away and then rolling the glans in her fingers. “Good shape. Excellent job on the circumcision.”
I was coming erect as she manipulated me.
“Good blood flow,” she said smiling up at me.
When I reached for her she spatted my hand.
“Not yet,” she said.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked, feeling like I was regaining my balance.
“I think I’ll try one of my toys,” she said.
There was The GRIN again.
“Are you ready for some new sensations, güvenilir casino David?” she asked, meeting my eyes.
“Always,” I said, full of bravado.
“You stay right there,” she said, and left me standing.
She was back in a couple of minutes, still fully clothed although she had left her jacket somewhere.
“Here,” she said and she handed me three pills. I recognized the blue diamond of Viagra but the other two, one a small white tablet and one a bright blue capsule, were new to me.
“What,” I started but she put a finger on my lips.
“Don’t you trust me?” she said, standing on tiptoes and kissing me lightly.
I grinned in my turn, flashed my best boyish grin, well-practiced in the mirror, and popped the pills and capsule in my mouth and washed it down with beer.
“First things first,” she said, taking my hand and leading me into the bathroom.
“We’ll want a nice empty bladder for this,” she said, lifting the seat of the toilet and then aiming me, expertly.
“I know,” she said, lightly caressing my ass, “it’s a bit hard to get going sometimes when it’s hard.”
She touched a spot, low on my belly, with just the right pressure, and I went soft almost instantly, like the air had been deflated from a balloon.
I was soft in her hand now, and she held me, aimed, and waited.
When the stream started her hand held it, not tight, but holding me firmly. Then she surprised me by lowering her left hand into the stream, almost washing her hand in my piss.
When I finished she expertly gave a squeeze/tug and shook that final clinging drop off.
She flashed The GRIN and licked her wet hand before going to the sink and carefully washing her hands.
She laid my cock in one hand, used her forefinger, starting at the base where my pubic hair formed a little mat, and very slowly drug her finger along the top, bringing me instantly erect.
As I watched she brought out a ring of brass and slipped it around the base of my cock. There was a small wingnut at the bottom which she tightened, slowly, holding my eyes as she did so. When she had the tension where she wanted it she used a tiny key to lock it in place and removed the wingnut which was actually a tiny key, like an old-fashioned skate key.
There was pressure but no real pain. And the drugs were doing their work.
As I stood there she took me in her hand and masturbated me, quickly and efficiently, but when my body tried to ejaculate the band prevented my release and I felt a deep ache rather than the release of climax.
“Now let’s see what you’ve got, David,” she said, flashing The GRIN again.
“Undress me and take me to bed,” she said.
I was surprised that my fingers were very steady as I started on the buttons of her blouse, undressing her slowly, one button at a time, kissing the skin I revealed. And it was good skin, soft, as befitted her age, but smooth.
Her bra was beige and lacy. I reached under her open blouse and reached around and found the hooks, undoing them expertly. Her breasts were heavy and sagged dramatically when I pulled the bra away. Her nipples, above the bottom of the sagging pancake boobs, were small and dark and stood on the wrinkled cones of her areolas. When I touched them she drew a sharp intake of breath.
I undid the buttons on the sleeves of her blouse and then slid the blouse and the bra off together.
I smiled, kissed her, and got to my knees. When I lifted her right foot and placed it in my lap, next to my newly erect cock, she had to grab my shoulders for balance. I got her shoes off and then her pencil skirt, pantyhose, and panties.
Her pussy was absolutely beautiful. Her pubic hair was gone except for a small triangle, tip-down, pointing to the spot where the slit of her entry ended in a tiny, but very distinct flap, almost a belly button, where her clitoral hood met her labia. The labia were full and smooth and very pink, and just a hint of those delicate pink folds of her inner lips were peeking out. A very beautiful pussy, too young for her body and so I imagined some expensive work by a plastic surgeon. But it was too pretty to pass up so I leaned forward and kissed it, very softly.
“That’s nice, David,” she said, her fingers stroking my hair, “don’t stop.”
So I gave her the classic American blowjob in reverse. This time it was the man, me, on my knees before the woman, offering pleasure but receiving none back.
It felt natural.
I was proud, on some level I don’t really understand, when I started to feel her responding. My hands found her ass and partly held and partly supported her as her knees bent and her back arched as she sought my mouth and the pressure she needed.
“That’s right, baby,” she said, her fingers entwined in my hair now, twisting, not quite hurting, but controlling, as her hips started rocking.
Suddenly she was wet, the vaginal mucus of her natural lubricant thick and warm and salty on my lips and my tongue. And I liked it very much.
I started lapping canlı casino at her like a dog and she giggled and said, “ohhhhh, nice, baby.”
Suddenly she pulled me hard against her, made a sort of grunting sound.
“Open your mouth, David,” she said, her fingers twisting, hurting now as well as controlling.
I opened my mouth, covering her pussy and she grunted again, and came, her release thick and warm and sticky.
“Don’t swallow, don’t move,” she said, twisting a little harder, definitely pulling my hair and hurting now.
She grunted again, and I could feel the tension in her muscles through my palms on her ass. The second wave of her orgasm filled my mouth and left it overflowing.
She took a deep breath and let out a high-pitched keening sound as she came a third time, this time her release was much more liquid, hot, splashing on my face. It felt like she was peeing but there was no scent of urine, only that wonderful smell of a fully aroused woman.
She relaxed, slowly, her fingers easing their grip on my hair.
“Very nice, David,” she said in that husky voice, “now swallow. Don’t you waste a drop.”
So I did. It was like the biggest, warmest oyster ever brought up from the sea. It was salty and a bit slimy.
I liked it.
She turned suddenly, leaving me there on my knees, and got into bed.
“Come on, David,” she said, “let’s see what you got.”
I got to my feet, a little shaky, and climbed into bed with her.
She was on her back, her legs spread, so it seemed natural to just slip inside of her.
“That’s nice,” she said, wrapping her legs around me, her heels on my ass pulling me in.
I was supporting myself on my arms. This was really the first time I had a chance to look at her naked. She was clearly athletic, with strong shoulders and good muscular definition. Her breasts were small and the nipples tiny, almost a boy’s nipples although there were sensitive enough that she drew a quick intake of breath when I bent to kiss and suck lightly.
Her heels were drumming on my ass and she said, “keep moving baby.”
I came, well, my body tried to cum again but the band blocked me, and when I stopped moving like a man will in that instant of release her heels hit my ass as if she was spurring me.
“Keep going,” she demanded.
I was so sensitive, my body kept trying to cum. The pleasure and pain were merging into one long sensation.
And I was tiring. Those muscles low in my belly, and my hip flexors, my ass, my thighs, were all burning now. I was sweating and panting.
“Stay with me, baby,” she said as I started to slow, my body getting exhausted.
I was trying now, but getting exhausted.
“STAY WITH ME,” she said again, her hips thrusting now, bucking under me.
I was gasping for breath, and I could feel myself getting light-headed from oxygen deprivation.
“STAY WITH MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE,” she said and I could feel the spray of her final release soaking us both.
It was my turn to yell as I felt her fingers digging in, thinking she had probably drawn blood.
“Oh, I’m SO glad I brought you home,” she breathed and I felt her fingers again, deliberately scratching across my back making me yell again.
I hadn’t finished and was still hard, still inside her.
She finally kissed me and I realized it was our first kiss, never mind what had gone on so far.
She had her breathing back to normal and sort of pushed me away.
“Okay, honey,” she said, “let me do some of the work.”
She used her hands to guide me, first pulling out of her and then rolling me onto my back beside her.
She rolled up onto her side and traced down my body with her fingertips. I could feel my skin crinkling into goosebumps as she did so. She ran her finger down the shaft of my erection, tapped lightly on the brass ring holding me so tight at the base of it, and then lightly cupping my swollen balls making me groan and squirm.
I flashed back, the memory so perfect I felt like I had been transported in time, to coming home from a frustrating date with swollen balls, what we called “blue balls” back then.
“You’re close to ready,” she said and she flashed The GRIN as she took me in her hand and masturbated me.
I was so sensitive my body was trying to ejaculate almost instantly, the band preventing release, and the combination of ecstasy and agony started making me cry out very softly.
She didn’t stop as my body tried to cum, bringing on a second and then a third wave without any time between, until I was begging, “please, God, no more,” and rolling onto my side, curling into the fetal position to protect where I was hurting so badly.
She snuggled against my back, kissing my neck, and sort of crooning in a soft husky voice, “come on sweetheart, roll over and let me see if you are ready.”
I felt stupid and embarrassed to realize I was actually crying a little.
“It’s okay honey,” she said in that same soft, persuasive voice, “now let Laura check you.”
I knew she had me then. I was enjoying the attention on a level I didn’t understand. That realization made me cry more, curled up protectively, wanting her attention, wanting her to care.
“Come on now, baby,” she said, her hand on my shoulder now, pulling me to turn over.
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