I don't know why it happened. Maybe it was because it was the Christmas holidays and they always make me a bit lonely. Or maybe because I've always had a taste for seducing older men. Or perhaps it was just that I found the man who lived on the sixth floor mysterious and attractive on a visceral level. Whatever the reason, it happened, and I'm glad it did.
I had moved from Paris to New York four years before, taking a job in Midtown and living in a highrise apartment building near Sutton Place. Shortly after I arrived, I fell into a romantic relationship with someone and it became quite intense. In retrospect, I think I fell trop vite et trop forte -- too fast and too hard. I was a stranger in a strange land. In any event, we embarked on a weekend love affair -- she lived in another city. It was my first serious relationship with another woman.
She was...is...very beautiful. I met her while on vacation in the Caribbean. She was walking on the beach. She was in a string bikini and I had never seen such a gorgeous creature before -- beautiful eyes, a lovely smile, a perfect body. We hit it off immediately. She pursued me and I felt so flattered that someone so beautiful would want me so much.
You see, I have always been sexually attracted to men but drawn to women in a more emotional way. Yet the way she affected me, the way she touched me...she took me to places I'd never been. She had a way of getting under my skin, of getting past my inhibitions, and making me feel things that I never felt before.
I remember the first time she kissed me, brushing her full lips softly over mine, her hand softly touching my face, the heat grew deep within my body. And when she first caressed my breasts, her fingers gently brushing my nipples like the softest feather, my heart pounded and my pussy became so very wet. And then, when she licked me, making love to me with her beautiful mouth and tongue ... oh mon Dieu ... I was so excited I couldn't stand it. La petite morte with her was as complete, as satisfying, as any I'd ever had. Right now, remembering that first time, lifting my pelvis to her mouth, feeling her tongue in my pussy ... I'm getting wet again just thinking of it.
As our relationship grew, I had a kind of sexual renaissance. All I could think about was sex. All the time. When would be the next time I would be with her? When would I feel her tongue between my legs again? When I was at work. In meetings. I couldn't concentrate. It got to the point that I snuck a vibrator into my office and would actually masturbate during the day. I would create a ruse that I had a project to finish and then I'd shut the door, draw the shades, and put my legs up on my desk and pleasure myself. I'd imagine my lover kneeling under my desk, making love to me with her tongue, licking and sucking me. I ran the vibrator over my clit until I came, playing music on my laptop to keep my moans from being heard outside. Incroyable!
Yet even with these daily dalliances, I couldn't seem to satisfy my urges. I found myself wanting more. Something was missing. It started to feel incomplete as if only a part of me was being pleasured. And then I realized what it was. I wanted -- needed, really -- a man's cock. I needed to take it in my hand. In my mouth. To feel it inside me. No matter how good her tongue was, or how stimulating a vibrator could be, it wasn't the same. I needed the hot, penetrating hardness of a velvety, throbbing penis. I longed for it. Day and night.
Finally, my lover and I decided to break up. It was hard because I still cared for her. But I was driven by a lust that was always lurking beneath the surface.
That's when it happened. Shortly before Christmas, I was returning home from work. Snow was on the ground and the store windows brimmed with decorations. Watching the couples bundled up in their overcoats and scarves, walking arm in arm down Fifth Avenue, created a yearning deep inside me.
I had just returned to my building, and was saying hello to the doorman, when I saw him by the mailboxes in the lobby. It was him. The man from the sixth floor.
I had known him casually for more than a year. We had a easy, friendly relationship, just saying hello in passing, but I sensed he was attracted to me. I could feel his eyes on me when we rode the elevator together. I would catch him looking at my body. He was older than me, a professor at the university here, with sensitive, intelligent eyes that seemed to really see me.
Anyway, I saw him by the mailboxes and we started chatting. Just small talk. We were talking about a TV show that we both liked on HBO. He said he had missed the latest episode and I said casually that I had too but had recorded it and that we should watch it together. He said that sounded delightful and we decided to do it that night. When I shut the door to my apartment, my heart was beating like a schoolgirl's.
I have always been attracted to men who were older than me, and he was just my type. Dark curly hair with dark brown eyes. The thought of seducing him, caressing him, taking him in my mouth, feeling him grow hard ...well, it made me dizzy just to think of it. I took a long bath just to calm myself. I tried to put such thoughts out of my mind. But after drying myself I found myself spraying eau de cologne on my breasts and on my pussy. I couldn't help myself.
When the knock on the door came, I was dressed in a clingy nightgown and heels. It wasn't a negligee exactly, but it was quite sheer and, yes, it showed off my figure. Oh, I was shameless but I didn't care. And because I was already excited, I'm mean in a sexual way, my nipples were hard and quite visibly pressing against the fabric.
When I opened the door, he paused and I could feel his eyes linger for a moment on my breasts. I took him by the arm and led him in, my breast pressed against him.
He sat on the couch and I stood before him and asked if he wanted something to drink. The light from the kitchen behind me shone through my nightgown. My legs were slightly apart and my hip was thrust to one side. I could see him studying the outline of my body, the contours of my thighs, beneath the sheer nightie. I let him. I wanted him to. It excited me. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, slowly moving my hips.
"I have beer, wine, sparkling water. What's your pleasure?"
He gave me a sly smile.
"That's a loaded question," he replied. "What are you having?"
"I planned on opening a Courbissac from Languedoc-Rousillon," I said with a gesture to the wine case against the wall. "Care to join me?"
"Sounds perfect," he answered with a smile.
I walked to the armoire on one wall and opened it, removing two crystal wine glasses, and placed them on the coffee table. I could feel his eyes on me. On my body.
"Do you know Languedoc?" I asked. "It's in the south. On the Mediterranean."
I then walked to the wine cabinet on the other wall. I knew he was watching my every move and I made every move count. I wondered to myself, is he an ass man, or a breast man?
"It's one of the major wine regions of France," I continued. "Very beautiful."
The cabinet was just a metre high and I bent over to find the wine I wanted. As I did so, I pressed my ass against the sheer fabric of my nightgown giving him a good view.
"Very beautiful," he echoed.
I turned to him with bottle in hand and caught him eyeing my derriere. Ah, an ass man, I thought to myself. I was enjoying this.
"Is that where you're from?" he asked with eyebrows raised.
"Non, non," I replied. "I'm from the north. From Bretagne. Although I lived most of my adult life in Paris."
I started to open the bottle of wine, twisting the corkscrew, knowing he was watching me like the proverbial hawk.
"This is how we open wine in Bretagne!" I said.
I put the base of the bottle between my legs and leaned towards him. My arms were pressing my breasts together, spilling over the top of my nightgown.
I made a show of wrestling with the cork, putting my whole body into it. I turned from side to side, letting him feast on my breasts. I grunted as I struggle with the cork, biting my bottom lip with my teeth, until it pulled out with a loud pop.
"Voila!" I exclaimed, brushing a shock of auburn hair from my my face. "The world's most beautiful sound!"
I bent at the waist in front of him to pour the wine. The front of my nightgown was scooped and as I bent forward I could feel it fall open. I pretended not to notice that the top of my breasts were visible to him. I just chatted on about Bretagne, how beautiful it was, and how different life was when I moved to Paris. I poured the wine slowly, carefully, giving him a good, long view.
I could see a bulge forming in his trousers.
