Friday, March 13, 2015

Taking a new lover

No, I didn't get drunk and drive a car into the crime scene by the White House, so stop asking. What a bunch of idiots.

Something has disturbed the sex time-space continuum. I have lately received emails from a number of men and women who are considering bringing a new lover into their relationship. For example, men who are intrigued by the idea of watching a stranger fuck their wives. Or women with the same idea, but more often, "My husband wants me to do this, what do you think?"

My advice: Proceed with great caution. This is real life, not a story on the Kristen Archives.

When I suspected my then husband was having an affair with his assistant, Heather, I took action. After all, I know a thing or two about surveillance. So I rigged up two cameras with sound in our bedroom, along with an actuator to turn them on if more than one person came in the room.

Work took me out of town so he had the place to himself for a couple of days. When I got back, I poured myself a glass of wine and watched the video.

Sure enough, I got to watch my husband be unfaithful. They came in the room taking each others' clothes off and passionately kissing. Pretty soon, he had her bent over the bed and was taking her from behind as they both stood. He was rough with her in a way he had never been with me. Then he gave her a long missionary fucking and she rode him to orgasm. They lay there, legs entwined, him softly calling her name, just as he did with me. Later, she took him in her mouth and brought him off a second time.

By this time, I had stopped the video long enough to pour a second glass of wine and then bring in the entire bottle. I wished I had a martini.

I was angry and jealous. This girl was canoodling with my husband in our marriage bed. She was younger and me and pretty. Blond. Unlike me, she had large breasts, which my husband eagerly sucked as she rode him. She was a moaner (I'm a screamer), so I took a little comfort in that. Less so in that they obviously were having a great time. That I loved him and he had betrayed me. I so wanted to be wrong about my suspicions

But I was also very aroused and territorial. As I watched it a second time, I fingered myself to an explosive orgasm. But nobody was there to hold me afterwards. My feelings were scrambled and strewn all over the room.

I wondered how I would have felt if he had asked my permission. If we had agreed that I could hide in the closet and watch. Maybe join them. It might have been different. I would have had a vote in the matter. But I would have had all the conflicted feelings.

Before I confronted him and took my revenge, we continued to have sex — the ghost of Heather in the marriage bed, of course. I asked him if he wanted to spice things up, if he was bored with me. How would he feel if I took a lover while he watched. Or maybe he wanted to bring in a woman? Or even experiment by being with me and a strange man, taking the man's cock in his mouth? He was turned on by the conversation — the talk ended with him fucking me, my legs up over his shoulders, a hard, frantic fuck where we were both very loud and I came about five times (at least he remembered to call "Linda" instead of "Heather).

Later, he was less enthusiastic. "What if you fall in love with him," he asked. "What if he's better hung and a better lover? It might break up our marriage." Yes, said with no irony.

But he was onto something. I had a girlfriend whose husband was turned on by the idea of being cuckolded. She was initially not interested. They had a good marriage and she had been raised strait-laced. In fact, he was her only lover. But he kept bringing it up, and indeed she had a co-worker who had been hitting on her for some time, a man to whom she was attracted. She warned her husband that if it happened, it might hurt their marriage. But he persisted.

So they had the man over for dinner, a handsome, charming single dude. After enough liquor had been consumed, they brought up the idea. He didn't need any convincing and soon all three were in the bedroom, the husband only watching. To make a long story short, she loved it. The newcomer fucked her like she had never been fucked. He was very skilled, including in cunnilingus where her husband was bumbling at best, and he had, as she said, "a monster dick on him."

For weeks afterward, the husband sulked and was overtaken by bursts of anger. She saw the other man on the side, and eventually moved in with him.

I've heard other stories where things worked out better. I've been to lifestyle clubs with experienced swingers. But these people knew themselves, knew the true state of their relationships, and knew their internal bottom lines.

No two couples are the same. But remember, real life is different from a fantasy.

I'd love to hear your stories, for better or worse, in the comments section.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015


I know. I've been gone.

Since we last visited, I've made some changes in my life. The biggest is that I am no longer playing "cougar."

Don't get my wrong. Parts of it were fun. It was definitely good for my ego to be attractive to younger men. I liked their stamina and their ability to get hard so quickly after coming. I love that strong stream of semen that most young men have. Young, taut skin, washboard abs, muscles and stamina. I had my share of long, thick cocks that stretched me like a virgin. Sweet.

But other things were either turn-offs or got old. In some cases, I was fucking guys half my age. In other words, young enough to be my sons...I tried not to think about that part. I did try to be a good teacher, the older woman initiating the young man into the arts of love in the European way, and in many cases I found willing and grateful pupils. There are women out there thanking me now for the skills their lovers picked up from Linda Sue.

Yet the majority either pretty soon wanted to move on to women their age. I tried not to be jealous, but that green-eyed monster is real. It made me aware that I wasn't 25 any longer. Others wanted a mommy substitute, and I definitely didn't want to play that role.

The thing that started to bother me was when these young bucks complained about my pubic hair and wanted me to shave. I'm proud of my natural red hair down there and it's not as if it is a jungle. It creeped me out that a lover wanted me to look like a prepubescent girl. There were young men who would pull out and masturbate until they came on my belly. This was fun once, because he seemed turned on by it. But it left me feeling unfulfilled, pun intended. I want a man to come in me, and then to feel his penis stay inside me as it became soft, and have him hold me. Their love-making was artless despite my best efforts. I realized that so many young men are porn addicts that they "learn" about sex from videos that show these acts.

No offense to readers who get off on this. But it's not my thing.

Then there was, in most cases, a big cultural and generational divide. I have a job with heavy-duty adult responsibilities, life and death. I like adult things and keep learning and growing. So many of my young lovers acted (and dressed) like adolescents frozen in their teens. They don't read books.

Lately, I've chosen men my age or older. I'm still juggling, but fewer. Two men — one my age, and another one who is ten years older. Both are great lovers (and for those counting, their penises are average length but lovely). And one lover is a woman my age. Jenn is also a natural redhead and my height. To be honest, I have been to a lifestyle club again, so I haven't lost my edge or curiosity. I still love short skirts, garters and stockings. Yes, I'm still a multi-orgasm screamer.

Jenn slowly opened up and told me how she had been brutally raped while working late when some hoods gained entrance to her office. There was nothing sexy about it. No enjoyment and unexpected orgasm. Just cruelty and brutality. It made me question my submissive side and rape fantasies — and I had one scary episode myself that I may tell you about. Anyway, I've tried to set those things aside.

I'm back in country for at least a while. I've grown my hair long, over my shoulders. I think you'd like it. Thanks for all your emails while the blog has been dark. I can't promise to be diligent about posting. Blogging is hard work and I have a fulltime job. And three lovers to keep happy...and to keep me satisfied. Life is good.

P.S., I am looking for some new blogs to link. Ideally, they are real stories like mine, not fantasies. But send me your nominations.

Friday, August 23, 2013

The fluffer

"Jennifer" was a beautiful girl, 5'5, 100 pounds, killer body, strawberry blond hair, the younger sister of a friend. She came from a comfortably affluent family. Deadly normal. This caused her to flee when she was on the verge of beginning her freshman year at the University of Washington.

She drove to Los Angeles, a city she had visited many times before. At first, she crashed with friends and said she was determined to become an actress. After all, she had excelled in theater in high school and everyone told her how good she looked, how she was a natural. The real world was much tougher. Everyone in LA, at least in "the industry," was more beautiful, more connected, richer, thinner. When she finally found an agent, she knew it was too good to be true. And it was. She went to a second-floor walk-up office in a dingy building on Van Nuys Boulevard. There was a job for her, all right, but it was in adult films.

"I should have run away right then," she told me later, "but I didn't."

Why not? Why do any of us do stupid things when we're young? An internal dare. Rebellion. Facing our fears. Convincing ourselves it will lead to something better. "I just wanted to," was all she offered.

Her "audition" was perfunctory. She was told to get on her knees and suck the cock of the "agent," a sweaty fat man with a small penis. And she did, bringing him off quickly. Jennifer had been hooking up since early in high school and was quite proficient. He seemed impressed, and not. "You're gonna have to learn," he said.

Two days later, the man picked up Jen and drove her an address in the Valley, an ordinary suburban house, a little down on its heels. Inside, however, it was a studio for filming adult videos. A dozen people were inside, some dressed (the crew), some not. "This is your new fluffer," the man said to another man she learned was the director. She had never heard the term. It would be her job for the next year. Although "fluffer" is often associated with gay porn, it's also a job in straight adult film. Usually teenage girls, fluffers are there to help the male porn stars get hard for their scenes with the women. Jennifer was 18 but looked younger. She wondered if she would be asked to disrobe. She was comfortable with her body, even an exhibitionist. She was not, at least not at first. As the job was explained to her, she also felt a little let down. Although adult videos were not "Hollywood," she at least assumed she might be featured as an actress. Hell, it couldn't hurt. Other adult stars had crossed over. She might meet important people. But, no. She was just part of the crew. A very special part.

She was lectured by the director and his assistant, a woman: Your job is just to get the guys hard when they can't do it on their own. Never bring him off. It became obvious that the men, even though they were quite handsome, were "props." The women were the stars, and most of them had little patience for male co-stars who couldn't get it up. That's where a fluffer came in. There were three studs that day, each one with a bigger penis than she had ever seen before. She dutifully stimulated two of them during the multiple takes. The third seemed rock hard all the time ("if you have an erection lasting more than four hours..."). That first day, it was "phat" to be there, sucking the cocks of strange men. They were all clean and had great bodies. As far as she could tell, the "plot" was a husband who tries to defend his wife from a gangbang and fails. The female stars ignored her.

In good months, she might work every day, making enough money to get her own place and buy clothes without asking for help from her parents. As far as they knew, she was getting work doing commercials for local television (that way they couldn't look for her). On big shoots, there might be two or even three fluffers. But Jen was the most attractive and skillful. Only once did she get so involved with a stud — and he with her — that she brought him off in her mouth. That led to a hard slap from the director and a black eye that lasted two weeks. She was a beautiful girl, and a few of the studs came after her when shooting was done. She enjoyed being fucked by such skilled lovers, once she learned how to handle their size in her pussy — there was a difference. Somehow she thought the adult industry required regular checks for STDs. Later she learned this was not necessarily true. The money and productions got better as she got a reputation as one of the most skilled fluffers in the business. Her agent took a percentage, of course. Eventually, she was cast in a few videos, always as a teenage cheerleader, babysitter or, in the creepier plots, a daughter who got fucked by "daddy" and his buddies. Truth was, she liked the sex. She liked the scene as some of the women actors warmed to her. When she came on camera, it was usually real.

But this is a sad story. The fluffer did not become even an adult video star. She was not a young woman in charge of her wild side like my friend, Mary Beth. A second-tier actor became her boyfriend and introduced her to cocaine. Unfortunately, she loved it. By the time I found her, she was wandering Hollywood Boulevard (true story) at one a.m., high as a 747, dressed like a cheap prostitute. In fact, that was what she had become. There was an echo of her beauty left, but the life was gone from her eyes and her 22-year-old face looked 40. Her sister had asked for my help. As I was half dragging, half carrying her to my car, a big dude came up. Her pimp. He made a couple of threats before I kicked him in the balls and, as he bent toward me, drove the heel of my hand into his nose. I could have arrested him, but who needed the paperwork and the suspicion of the local cops? I took her back to Seattle. She's been in and out of rehab ever since. That's my fluffer story, gentlemen. Wish it could have been a turn-on without consequences.

Friday, August 2, 2013

The voyeur

Here's a story I've never told you. When I was married, my husband and I did **everything**. He was the man who got my anal sex cherry. But he was always pushing the envelope, and over time he kept wanting to see me fuck another man. I had my worries and warned him that he might not really like it if it happened. We talked about this extensively — he knew all my sluttish past — but he kept after me. So I agreed.

One afternoon, I brought home an old boyfriend, assuring him that my husband was on a business trip, and took him to our bedroom. I'll call him Tom. Unbeknownst to Tom, my husband was sitting in our walk-in closet, in the dark with the door cracked open. It had a great view of the bed as Tom and I got it on. My husband had an average size penis, but quite nice and really knew how to use it. Tom, on the other hand, was very well-endowed. He carried a log: Almost nine inches, thick and uncircumcised. Once we were naked, I put on quite a show, pulling my long red hair over one shoulder and licking his big dick like a lollypop and then gently lowering the foreskin and taking his sensitive head in my mouth. This went on a long time. I was so wet from the knowledge that my hubby was watching all this.

We fucked in all sorts of positions: Missionary, me on top, him taking me from behind and then him on top again with my legs pulled over his shoulders and then pulled tightly toward me in the crooks of his elbows. I had not forgotten what a good lover Tom was — how sweet that log felt inside — and I must have come four times, each orgasm more intense than the previous one. We fucked for about 45 minutes. When he finally came in me, my mind was floating somewhere up on the ceiling, the walls echoing from my screams. I completely forgot that my husband was in the closet.

Afterwards, Tom had to go. He was like that. Not one to stay and hold me. I had never liked that part. When I came back to the bedroom, my husband was still invisible. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," I said. He appeared and sat on the bed, an expression on his face I had never seen before. The room carried a very strong smell of pussy and semen, a stranger's semen.

After a long time, I asked, "Do you want to talk?"

No, he wanted sex. I was only wearing an old Harvard T-shirt, my nipples pressed against it, my red bush flaming in the ambient light, and he kept that on as he pushed me down and licked my pussy. I came almost instantly, but he just held on and kept the tongue work going. He tongue-fucked me, tasting Tom's come. My pussy was throbbing with arousal and electricity. Then he fucked me on top, very hard, and turned me over and raised up my ass, fucking me even harder from behind. I didn't expect it when he slid his cock into my ass, which was only lubricated by my juices, thrust a few times and came with his own guttural scream.

He reached into the bedside table, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. He hardly ever smoked, but when he did he chose expensive Dunhills, a reminder of a trip we had made to London. He offered me a drag and I took it. We sat in silence. I was very sore. Come was seeping out of my pussy and ass.

I was trying to stay awake.

"Are you still happy we did this?" I said.

"You looked and sounded like you were really having fun."

I hesitated and then told the truth. "I was."

After more silence, he told me how he felt. He was and is a very articulate man. I'll paraphrase because of course I don't remember it exactly. He felt all sorts of things: Jealousy, arousal, humiliation, anger, arousal. He needed to fuck me "to take back my woman." I told him he had never lost me, and gently reminded him that this had not just been his idea, but something he had been pushing me to do. "I know." His tone was unreadable. He was very curious about how it felt, especially how Tom's large penis felt inside me. I did my best to describe it. He wanted details. And how was it different from when we fucked? And was I turned on by knowing he was watching? We talked a long time. I told him he was my best lover, which was true, but I knew he didn't believe me.

Our marriage settled back into its normal patterns and we didn't do this again. I felt bad for him, because as much as the experience satisfied his appetite for kink, he had watched himself be cuckolded, watched his wife not just like it but lose herself to it. And, as with any man, the big dick really stuck with him. I'll never know how much this played into his later infidelity. I think he felt he had to prove something. And I am in no position to judge.

Friday, January 25, 2013

He's changed

I'm totally exhausted from the inauguration. No time for sex. I forgot to tell you about going home to Seattle to see my crazy family. Mom always wants me to stay at their house, but I like the freedom of having my own hotel room downtown. I did make time to see my friend and former lover Mike, who is still stationed up there. He's gotten married, but agreed to have a drink. Knowing him, I didn't think a wedding band would stop him, especially with the miniskirt I was wearing, and I would get a good submissive fucking like he used to give me. Our affair is chronicled here, here, and here.

Even over martinis, he seemed very different. More mellow, actually interested in me, talked lovingly about his wife. Still, he accepted my invitation to come back to my hotel room, we took off our weapons, and eventually got into a mad makout session on the couch. I kept feeling his big, hard cock through his slacks, feeling my pussy getting very wet. Memories of our affair were bombarding me. I had his shirt unbottoned and loved the feeling of those washboard abs. He was breathing heavily. At any minute, I expected him to throw me to the floor, hike up my skirt and fuck me from behind. But he didn't.

"Come over to the bed."

" should go..."

"I'm not the morality police, Mike. I can feel your cock. I know what you want." I sure as hell knew what I wanted.

I took his hand and pulled him toward the bed.

He grabbed my shoulders and looked at me a long time. I could see him wrestling with himself. Then he gently sat me on the bed and pushed me down. Getting on his knees, he stoked my legs and took off my shoes. Then he pulled off my panty hose without creating a single run. I was shivering with arousal as he sucked my toes, licked the tops of my feet and ankles, then started kissing and licking up each leg. Just when I thought I would feel his tongue on my pussy, he just brushed it with his face.

"I love your scent," he said. "I never forget that."

"I want you inside me," I commanded, but it probably came out more as a begging whimper.

Instead, he just kept teasing for the longest time. Then I felt his tongue lightly tracing along my vulva. I almost came right then. He could sense it and pulled back, nibbling on the inside of my thighs. When I was cooled down a little, he would lick me again. I had the beginnings of a massive orgasm, my feet burning and seeing colors through my closed eyes. And he backed off.

His tongue came back again, so lightly. I was clawing the sheets, reaching for his hands, but he kept them on my ass, holding my firmly in place. His entire face was hidden by my skirt.

Suddenly, it felt like my whole body exploded. I could hear some woman screaming. It was me. Pulses of orgasm radiated out as he just kept it going and going. When I was completely spent, he tongue-fucked me into another orgasm. Then he licked me gently for a few more minutes as I lay whimpering.

"Fuck me."

"I can't, Linda." He didn't even call me "Sue," as he used to do to irritate me.

"Let me suck your cock.

I reached for his zipper, but he just took my hand and kissed it. Then I heard the door closed. For about an hour, I just dozed, completely satisfied. Well, not completely. But it was pretty damned sweet. His wife is lucky.

Monday, January 14, 2013

The pickup artist

Between work and life it's difficult to keep up with this blog. But I get so many nice emails from men — and some women, that I'll keep trying.

So I've been trying to get my young man hooked up with women his age. We've been to bookstores, art galleries and even bars (which I don't think work that well). I've coached him. Before we go out, I give him a great cock-sucking, but I won't let him come. I want him to be motivated. So far, not much. He's not bad looking. He's smart and emotionally intelligent. We were at one gallery when he started talking to a woman, an attractive brunette, while I hovered in the distance. Pretty soon she's got her hand on his arm. As I paid more attention, I realized she was my age. So I went over and broke it up. He was mad at me, but for God's sake he doesn't need to go from one fortysomething to another. He's got his whole life ahead of him.

It made me call my ex-husband for advice. He reminded me that he never had luck with women his age when he was in his twenties. It was only in his thirties that he learned how to talk to women (get them talking about themselves, be a great listener, dress well) and flirt ("Linda? That's my favorite name"). He said if he could go back to his twenties with the knowledge he learned later he would have "cut a swath through the young womanhood of the East Coast). Instead, he was initiated into the arts of love by older women. "Don't let him fall in love with you," he cautioned.

Back to the problem at hand. I've made him talk about the girls in his classes that he lusts after. I've made him start to go to parties at school. He hates small talk. I'm trying to fix that. Young women don't want to talk about government dysfunction or the demise of the Whig Party. I keep coaching — and fucking him. I probably shouldn't do the latter, but he's safe and fun.

It is still hard for men. I've been hit on since I was thirteen. When I was in college, especially, I was so overwhelmed by the offers, come-ons and my own horniness that it just seemed like a blur of cocks inside me and my legs in the air. But unless a guy has a certain look and way of carrying himself when he's that age, say the cool bad dude persona, he likely won't get easy access to young women. Would I have been attracted to my young man when I was his age? Probably not. I was stupid.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Women talk about sex I

Yes, we do. You men just don't know it. We talk about sex at work, in the gym, over drinks and dinner, driving in the car together. Here's a sampling of what I've picked up: Heather has had 38 lovers. As she's gotten older, she feels chagrin about so many. She claims she had a guy with a 12-inch cock once. "What did it feel like?" I asked. "Different. It hurt at first." Her favorite lover was average sized but thick. She loves his cock, can't get enough of it, loves to suck it. The problem: She can't stand to swallow. My suggestion was that she suck him off after he had come inside her and then spit it out on him if need be. Problem solved. Heather's average-sized lover is a happy man.

Jennifer doesn't suck cock or let her lovers go down on her. I don't get this, but she is adamant and quickly retreats into a defensive silence. Is she afraid of losing control if he licks her? Did she learn "it's nasty down there, that's where you pee...," as my mother told me? I can't figure it out. Beautiful girl. Sad.

Amber (not my sister) is married to a man who fucks her, missionary style, once every ten days. She counts it. Hates it. He comes in about two minutes, then is off to his man cave to watch "motor sports." She stays with him for the children. About two years ago, she started falling in with married men and has affairs. "It's the best sex since college," she tells me, "and they don't want to marry me or be in a relationship. It's just about the sex." She loves being given cunnilingus again, taken from behind and fucked in the ass.

The anal thing was very difficult for Steph. Her boyfriend was after it and she was afraid of the pain. It got to where she wouldn't let him fuck her doggy-style because she was afraid he'd try to take her sweet ass cherry. I talked her through teaching him about her concerns and trying things such as ass-fucking her with one finger while he was fucking her pussy with his dick (she liked it). We talked about positioning her pelvis and having him go very slowly. I learned the sweet surrender over time and now adore it. Well, she gave it a try and it didn't hurt. But she didn't like it. In my experience, only a small percentage of women like being fucked anally. More want it as a one-time novelty or because of the "forbidden fruit" nature. "My boyfriend/husband wants anal sex" is a big conversation topic.

I'll tell more later. Meanwhile, I've been taking the virgin to museums, gallery openings and bookstores — not bars — to let him work on pickups. So far, slow going.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

A good angry fuck

I've been out of country and of course my lovers don't understand. This is particularly true of the (recent) virgin. How can somebody who works for the Department of Agriculture be out of pocket and not even reachable by email? Of course, I can't tell him the truth.

He has been watching Homeland and the series kind of creeps me out. I am definitely not Carrie. Her tradecraft is totally unrealistic and she'd be drummed out of the agency in a heartbeat in real life. Still, it makes me uncomfortable. The virgin can tell. I would like to spend the night with Claire Danes.

Anyhoo, the virgin was disappointingly faithful So when we got back together, he game me a good, long angry fucking. I think I came about a dozen times. He doesn't think I have been faithful to him, but the truth is that I didn't get laid the whole time. Hence, my dozen orgasms as he slammed his young cock into me. Afterwards, while he slept, I looked at him and couldn't believe how young he is. Young enough to be my son. But I have taught him how to fuck. Later, he licked me for about an hour until I was quivering and my throat was sore from screaming.

I've got to take him out and teach him how to pick up girls...

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Fast learner

The virgin loves sex. Like most young men, I've had to break him of some bad habits he's learned from seeing porn on the Internet. It made me glad to find this site by Cindy Gallop (I bet she does). The New York Times also did an article in the Style section about this cougar. I'm doing my modest part.

The good: He's very eager to learn. So as his stamina has increased, I've taught him tricks such as "riding high" in the missionary position, which lets him apply more pressure on a woman's clitoris. And to swivel his hips when he puts my ankles over his shoulders or takes me from behind. He's become very good at cunnilingus and I reward him with feather blowjobs that make him get very loud. He's a legs man who loves for me to wrap mine around him and run them up and down his back and the backs of his legs. I've taught him how to suck my nipples (hard) while cautioning him that not every woman likes that.

We can go five times in a night. He's very sweet and loving, so teaching him not to pull out immediately and to hold me is easy. And the come...OMG. He's got the strongest stream I've ever encountered and can deliver a big load down my throat even after he's come in my a couple of times. He likes women, a big asset. He's smart and funny.

We fucked most of last weekend. Then I had a Sunday date with another man in my life, who gave me yet more good sex. Monday morning, I was pooped and (nicely) sore.

The not-so-good: I've already had the "Don't fall in love with me talk" and he says he's ok with that. But I'm not sure his heart with hear his intellect. So this may come to tears. In the meantime, I am trying to up his social skills and (hidden) charm so he can leave the sex nest and find women his age. It will be tough. When I was that age, I probably wouldn't have been interested in him. But I was a stupid girl, as some are, taken in by shallow things. And plenty of young studs are lousy lovers. In the meantime, we'll keep going.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

With a cherry on top

Girl walks into a bar...

I was in one of my favorite watering holes not far from DuPont Circle, a muggy D.C. night, wearing shorts and a light top, no bra. After nursing a martini, I noticed a young man drinking a beer and reading a book. It was one of Arthur Link's books on Woodrow Wilson. That got my interest. A man who reads! And one of our finest historians! So I took the initiative and soon we were talking about the Progressive Era. He was smart and shy, tall with wavy dark hair.

Nothing happened.

Two weeks later, I happened by the same place. This time I was dressed for work. He was still reading Link. We swapped stories, mine sanitized for civilian consumption. He's in grad school, which brought back plenty of grad-school memories for me (and lots of grad-school fucking, which I didn't get into). Finally, I asked him if he wanted to go back to his place for another drink and we went. He was either one of the shyest men I had ever met or he was gay, but from the way he had been appreciatively noticing my body from the first, I took a chance on the former.

In his small apartment, modestly furnished but filled with good books, we sat on the sofa talking for a couple of hours before he took my hand and held it, just that. His hand was strong and warm. I was very wet. That "I'm going to get fucked" sense was apparent. So I took the initiative and kissed him. Pretty soon, we were making out. He liked kissing, which was a good sign. His cock was punching against the fabric of his slacks and I stroked it without pulling it out.

I led him back to his bedroom and we both fell into his small, unmade bed. Pretty soon, we were naked. He gave me an exquisite fingering while I fondled his penis: average size but with a thick shaft and a prominent, big head. I mounted him and guided his cock inside me, getting that nice, filled feeling. He put his warm hands on my hips and I started riding him.


Yes, I could feel him coming in me. It had taken all of thirty seconds.

So I just rocked on top and got a nice little orgasm, then lay in his arms. He was chagrined, apologizing. His poor penis was totally flaccid, covered with our mingled juices. He actually batted it back and forth, trying to make it erect again. "Don't hurt it," I said and just stroked his chest and enjoyed the closeness. Men have such a difficult time sometimes...

Of course I wasn't going to leave things at that. Pretty soon, I took him in my mouth and he was hard again. Then I put him inside me and we fucked for several minutes this time, and I had a big screamer that left me totally wrung out. All the time, he was so gentle and caring in his love-making, even if it wasn't an athletic hour-long fucking in every position. Later, he went down on me and it was quite fine. I ran my fingers through his wavy hair as he gave me another orgasm.

Later, when we were talking, I learned that he was a virgin. And nineteen. So, there you go, Linda Sue. This cougar thing has gone too far. He's young enough to be my son. And, sure, I'm a little smug having gotten his cherry. If we play so more I'll teach him moves that women later in his life will thank me for. The danger, of course, is that he'll fall in love with me.