DD had just fucked me. As always it had been great, well at least for me. I think for him too, but I can never really tell with DD or, with most men come to that. Do they really enjoy me? Am I any good? Better than most, average, terrific or pretty poor? Do they confuse my looks, which I think are ok, with my sexual skills? Does my blonde hair, my trim figure, pert 34 b tit, ok legs, a bit chunky at the tops though, and tight bum make them think I am better at sex that I really am?
Who knows and, I suppose who cares? I had just been fucked by my longer term, four years now, older, forty three year old, married lover and I'd loved it.
DD is David Deekins. He was an English lecturer at Bristol Uni when I was there. I didn't have any lectures from him, so I guess it wasn't really breaking the college code for him to fuck me, well not the letter, but probably the law of university.
He oversaw the play that the students put on each year. I was one of the stars and assistant producer of our effort of What The Butler Saw and had to run things past him. That meant I had to visit his flat in town away from the campus to explain where we were taking the play. It also meant that I had to tell him that the delightful, large breasted, third year Economics, straight A student and my co star in the play, Stephanie and I would actually be naked in the bed scene. It also meant that I had to tell him that the bed clothes would come off and that the pair of us would bare all for the audience. It didn't, though, mean that I had to rehearse that scene, without Stephanie, in front of him, but I did. It also didn't mean that I had to be naked in his sitting room, but I was and it certainly didn't mean that he had to fuck me on his cold, but rather sticky, dark green leather Chesterfield, but he did.
It just went from there, as things do. We met and shagged probably twice a week for the months between then and when I left, prematurely. We met less frequently after that, but when he came to London we would meet and do what twenty one year old ex students and forty something lecturers tend to do in hotel bedrooms or the backs of cars: it's bloody hard I can tell you in the back of a MINI!
After I left Bristol, DD also left. I would love to think that he was chasing after me, but I know that isn't the case. He gained a bigger job and at London University, was the reason he moved, but hey, who cares he was nearer to me and that's all I was interested in.
The ageing, scrawny bitch, that's what we called his wife of twenty years, was away. She was away a lot being a civil servant; a senior one at that, involved with the EU, so she visited Brussels and Frankfurt frequently. That suited me perfectly, for not only did it mean I got to be fucked by her husband, but that he could fuck me in their bed; we both got a perverse pleasure from that.
DD and I loved each other, but we knew our affair would go nowhere, other than into beds as frequently as we could. He was over twenty years older than me, he had two children and she was a ruthless bitch who would clean him out if they divorced. To tell the truth that also suited me perfectly. I was not at all sure that I wanted more: being twenty three and having a forty something lover was fine, but the idea of a being forty three and having a sixty something husband was not a massive attraction.
"I have a confession to make," he said, as I lay in his arms in 'their' bed running my fingers through the hairs on his chest after our lovely lunchtime shag.
I felt awful, but managed a slightly strangled. "Go on then."
"It happened last week."
"Was she nice?" I asked assuming he was going to tell me he'd pulled a bird and had sex with her.
Laughing he said, "No it's not that."
"What is it then?"
He pulled me tighter against him squashing my left boob against his chest. My right hand was resting on his stomach; his right arm was round me, his fingertips just touching my right breast.
"I told you that I hurt my back and knee, didn't I?"
"Yes, you are far too old to be playing five a side football," I replied stroking his nicely flat and pleasingly hairy stomach.
"Mmmm, that's nice," he murmured, stroking the top of my tit. "But don't be cheeky about my age."
We both laughed.
"How is it now?"
"Much better, I had some treatment on it."
"What physio?"
"Yes."
"And it worked?" I asked wondering what this had to do with a confession.
"Yes it did, but more than that."
"Come on then, spill the beans," I said.
"Well I stripped down to my tee shirt and boxers and he fiddled around with my knee, bending and twisting my leg until he announced that it wasn't serious."
"Typical man," I said sliding my fingers into the heavier mass of dark, crinkly pubic hairs. "Making mountains out of molehills with illness and injuries.
"True," he smiled cupping my boob and trying, unsuccessfully, to reach my nipple. I wiggled a bit so he could. That felt nice.
"Just a strained ligament."
"So what did he do?"
"I had some electrical treatment, then some acupuncture"
"I didn't know physios used that sort of voodoo stuff."
"Oh yes a lot do, it's become quite well accepted."
"Did it hurt? The thought of having needles stuck in me is frightening."
"No not really, you just feel heat moving from one needle to another, it's amazing really and to think no one really knows what happens or how it works."
"So was that all?"
"No he put two electrodes on my leg which made me flex and then relax that big muscle."
"This one?" I asked reaching down and stroking his leg just above his knee, my face going very close to his flaccid cock.
"Yes that one."
"Then he massaged both legs. He did the acupuncture needles on my back and then gave that a thorough massage. You've just strained the muscles to the right of your spine he explained. That was it."
"And the confession?"
"Be patient, I'm coming to that?"
