The Locer Room Shower

The Locker Room Shower

I first met Sean on the driving range of my club. He was playing in our group that day as my guest, arranged through a friend and former member, Fred. Sean lived about two hours away, and he was in town for a principal's conference. Only 32, he was already the principal of a middle school.

Like me, Sean was a an avid -- and scratch -- golfer.

Also like me, Sean was coupled. To my great surprise, his boyfriend was over twice his age, nine years older than my 56.

I knew what Sean looked like before I met him on the range. When Fred asked me to host him and Sean, I googled Sean and learned:

He was from a small, outstate town.

He was the son of a golf professional.

He was an accomplished high school athlete, mainly basketball and golf.

He taught sixth grade before becoming a liaison and then, at 30, a principal.

He was studying for his doctorate.

By clicking images, I learned:

When he graduated college, he was a bit of a chunk.

Since, he had transformed his body and was now lean and muscled, clean and cut.

After clicking the images, I texted Fred: "Sean's hot." Fred answered: "Wait until you meet him."

Fred was right. When I met Sean on the range, I immediately concluded even the updated google images did not do him justice.

About six feet tall, Sean had dark brown hair and eyes, a prominent nose, Russell Tovey ears, a thick goatee surrounding thick lips, sparkling white teeth, and a very cut jawline. All in all, his face was at least a nine.

His body was a ten. His skin was dark, almost swarthy. His arms were muscled and veiny. His chest was full, and the bubbles of his Travis Matthew shirt meant course chest hair. Like his arms, his legs were muscled and veiny, the thighs rippled and the calves ridged.

Nobody in the group played well, but we had a fun day. I'm snarky and snide, and I used both on Sean about his play and, once we were comfortable with each other, his butt, or lack thereof.

"Do you normally leave your butt behind when you travel?"

"What?"

"Your butt. It's missing. I assume you left it at home."

He smirked at me, his brown eyes twinkling.

Sean was obviously a helluva guy. I bet everyone who met him liked him.

When we were finished, he had to go. His boyfriend of 12 years was waiting for him at their hotel. Before leaving, he asked for my mobile, and he texted himself from it.

I lunched and went home to my husband and a nap.

When I awoke from my nap, I had a text from Sean that said only, "Hey handsome."

I don't think of myself as handsome. When I was Sean's age, I did. I had loose, dishwater blonde hair, intense green eyes, a Roman nose, full lips, and -- according to my husband -- a "severe" jawline (he meant "chiseled," but he used "severe"). Standing only 5'7", I had a tight, little body, like a gymnast, only I wasn't one. I was a shortstop and, then, a golfer.

But, I was no longer Sean's age, and the meantime had impacted me. My hair had greyed, my eyes were lined, my neck looked like a turkey's, and my body was much, much softer. I had vowed for ten years to "turn back time" and get back into shape, but it was a vow I repeatedly broke.

My wedding vows were not. When I met Sean, I had been married to Dale for ten years, and I had never strayed.

My husband and I had married after almost twenty years together, so we were in it for almost thirty together. We were best friends, but no longer lovers. We hadn't had sex in over a year.

I answered his text, "I think you have the wrong number."

He answered quickly, "I don't."

We spent the afternoon texting back and forth, him being flirtatious and me being snarky and snide.

Him: "Fred said you are the most observant person he's ever met. What did you observe about me?"

I decided to meet him head on: "You didn't have your teeth straightened. You bite your fingernails, but within reason (i.e., not to nubs). You hang to the right. You weren't wearing underwear."

Him: "Spot on. How did you know about the underwear?"

Me: "Your shorts were snug, and there were no lines. And, at times, the contours of your bulge."

I had started drinking on the golf course and had resumed after my nap, switching from G&T to red wine. By dinner, I was drunk.

Him: "Are you playing tomorrow? I can play, if you'll have me."

Even in my state, I thought his text had a double meaning. Still, I didn't otherwise have a game, as the following day was Mother's Day, and wives didn't generally tolerate golf on Mother's Day. I was also intrigued by the double meaning.

I checked the tee sheet. "We can go at 8:21, but it'll just be the two of us."

"Perfect."

I called it a day. According to my husband, I was "smashed."

I slept like shit. I always do when I'm smashed.

I awoke on my own at 5. I needed water. Red wine always airs me out.

I foundered downstairs, chugged about a half gallon of water, and checked my mobile. I had one text, from Sean. "Do you and your husband play?"

I didn't answer the text.

Sean was on the range when I arrived at 8. I concluded I was not hung over, but was instead still a little bit drunk.

"Can we ride?" Sean asked.

"Sure," I answered. I never rode. Ours was a walking club.

"My lazy assed guest wants to ride," I told the bag boy, handing him my clubs.

"I thought you said I didn't have an ass," Sean chided.

"You don't."

"What's the game?"

"Scratch," I answered, "twenty-twenty-twenty," meaning twenty for the front, twenty for the back, and twenty for the total.

"Sure, unless you want to play for a blow job. Sometimes, I play for blow jobs." I didn't answer, but I thought, "and we're off."

And we were. I doubled one, he parred it, and I was two down.

We were driving from the second tee when I said, "To answer your question, we don't play. And, I assume from your question that you do."

"We do," he said, pressing his right side to my left.

"Different strokes for different folks," I said, the heat of his body definitely affecting mine.

"So," he started, as we drove down the second fairway, "does that mean it's not okay for me to flirt with you today?"

I should have said yes, but I didn't. Instead, I said "flirting is fine." I was titillated by the possibility of it.

We played on. As we drove down the fourth fairway, Sean put his right hand on the inside of my left leg, asking "Is this okay?"

"Sure," I answered.

Distracted and feeling the effects of the prior night, I was playing poorly. I was six over through six. As we drove hole to hole, Sean's hand was routinely on the inside of my leg. On the sixth fairway, he asked me to remove my glove. When I did, he put his hand in mind, which I again okayed. I was keyed up.

"When can I kiss you?" he asked. "I really need to kiss your mouth."

"Not on the golf course," I said, suggesting that I was open to the idea of being kissed elsewhere. At the time, I wasn't sure that I was, but the possibility thrilled me.

Sean looked around. "There's literally no one out here."

"I'm a member, and everyone knows Dale. That's a non-starter."

I was starting to feel better. I tied his par on seven, eagled eight, and parred nine to pull within three shots of him. At the turn, I got a G&T (" a little hair of the dog"), and Sean got more White Claws out of his bag.

On the eighth tee, Sean had asked whether I was a top or a bottom. I responded that I was situational, but in truth I hadn't done either for years, as Dale had turned into a side.

He then told me he was 50-50. He also told me he didn't have a big dick. "It's about six and half smooth inches," he said. "I have a good boyfriend dick."

I told him about the African-American man I had slept with in law school. "It was nice to look at, but it wasn't functional. There was nowhere on my body that it would fit. I was like, 'what am I supposed to do with that, throw it over my shoulder and burp it'?"

On nine, I told him that I had played for a blow job before. I had a straight friend who I bet that I would shoot par at some point, with my reward for doing so being the chance to blow him. When I did, he upheld his end of the bargain. I blew him at a firm retreat.

"Did he come in your mouth?" Sean asked, as I prepared to putt.

"Of course," I said. I didn't think there was any reason to suck a dick if you were not going to claim your prize.

"Did you swallow?"

"Of course."

"That's so fucking hot."

In addition to the flirting and the sex talk, we also got to know each other. I told him about my childhood and he told me about his. Turns out, both of our mothers were alcoholics, mine now dead, his still alive and drinking.

The G&T at the turn helped steady me. I birdied 10 to pull even (he tripled), tied his par on 11, and then tied his birdie on 12.

On the 13th tee, I told him the plan I had been mulling over since he had asked "When can I kiss you?" on six.

"Okay, here's the plan. After this hole, there's a bar and bathroom. We're going to stop at the bathroom. If the coast is clear, we're going to go into the bathroom to kiss for like three minutes."

"You want to kiss me?"

"No, I want you to kiss me."

We both birdied 13. I was trembling as we approached the bathroom. As I knew it would be, the coast was clear.

The kiss was ravenous, almost as if we were attacking each other. Sean's lips were as thick as they appeared, and his tongue was active.

Mine answered his. I sucked his tongue, trying to pull it as deeply into my mouth as I could.

His goatee was extremely soft. I chewed on it.

He grabbed my globes and pulled me into him. We were both hard.

We kissed for more than three minutes. It wasn't a single kiss, but it felt like one.

I'd have stayed in that bathroom kissing him, but there was a bartender just outside the door, and he'd have known we were not voiding if we kept at it.

"Wow," he said, when I pulled away.

Wow was right. I felt like I was in "The Idea of You."

I reached for the door, but Sean stopped me and pulled me into another deep, ravenous kiss. It sounds trite, but I got lightheaded. He literally took my breath away.

"We have to go," I whispered, reaching behind him and pulling the door open.

I got another G&T. He got three High Noons.

I parred 14 to go one up, and then tied his par on 15.

"I'd love to fuck you," he said as we walked to the cart after 15, him trailing behind me. "You have a great ass."

"I have butt dimples," I answered.

We teed off on 16 and started down the cart path. As we entered the tree cover, I looked around, saw no one and felt both bold and protected.

"Sean, look at me," I said. When he did, I kissed him, briefly, but long enough for it to be meaningful and for our tongues to lash.

I did it again on the 17th fairway.

"Someone's getting brave," he said, when the kiss ended.

"It's the gin," I answered, my left hand finding the inside of his left leg. His skin was as soft as any I had ever touched. I slid my hand toward his crotch until it touched the fabric of his shorts.

I made a six footer on 18 to beat him by one. I asked if he had time for lunch, and he said no, but then suggested that we meet in the locker room after he put his clubs in his trunk.

We did. When he moved to kiss me, I hissed "not here" and "follow me." We went deep into the locker room to the showers, going into the last one and pulling the door -- which was really on a stall door -- shut. It was risky, especially since it was likely that a golfer would shower post-round before heading to the Mother's Day Brunch.

I thought only that we would kiss like we had at the bar and bathroom and then call it a day. I thought wrong.

As we kissed, I felt Sean unbutton his shorts.

"What are you doing?" I whispered into his mouth.

"Just in case," he whispered back.

As we continued to kiss, his hands found my belt. "What are you doing?" I whispered into his mouth again.

"I lost," he said. "I owe you a blow job."

"That wasn't the bet."

"I insist it was."

I should have stopped him. We were being as quiet as we could be, but we were not silent.

He opened my shorts before lowering himself to the small bench that was in the shower and taking me in his mouth. His mouth was silky. I wanted to moan, but I couldn't.

"You didn't tell me about this giant head," he whispered, standing, mashing his mouth back to mine, and keeping me in his hand, squeezing so hard it hurt.

"Shhh," I said. As we kissed, I felt him pulling his shorts down and stepping out of them and then pulling his shirt off between us.

"Sean," I whispered. "We can't do this, and we certainly can't do it here."

His eyes were intensely on mine, and I knew immediately that I didn't mean a word that I had just said. We were doing this, and we were doing it right there. If caught, I'd be shamed and then expelled.

His body was exactly as I expected, his torso lean and muscled, his chest darkened by brown hair. His dick was exactly as he had described, six and a half normal inches, slightly curved upward now that it was hard. To my dismay, it was also trimmed up. I preferred a bush.

"Raise your arms," I said. When he did, he revealed dark, hairy armpits. I almost blacked out. I have a total armpit fetish, the hairier the better, and I buried my face in his left one, licking and sucking as he squirmed and then took advantage of my diversion by pulling my shorts down until they dropped to my ankles. My belt clinked against the tile floor, and we both froze.

"Shhh," he whispered. As he did, we heard voices at the sinks, which luckily were not part of the shower room. They were of a man and his son. We froze until the they faded. It was all we could do not to laugh.

"How can you taste this good after a full round of golf?" I whispered as I dove into his right armpit, again licking and sucking as he squirmed.

I worked over his torso, sucking his tiny nipples, running my tongue though his chest hair, and licking down and into his navel. I pulled back to look at his dick, saw that it was leaking, swiped the precum with my thumb, and then put my thumb in my mouth. His eyes went wide, and I told him, "it's so sweet."

Then, I did it again, taking his re-leak on my thumb and into my mouth.

He took my sunglasses off my head and put them on. I took his dick into my mouth as I maintained eye contact, my sunglasses reflecting what I was doing to him. I was literally watching in reflection.

I generated as much saliva as I could as I slid up and down his dick, slurping too often for the situation we were in. He "shhhsh'd" me each time.

He stilled my head and fucked my mouth. I gagged on his dick. "I need to learn to deep throat again," I thought to myself.

I pulled off of him and stood, pulling him in for another kiss as we played with each other's dicks. My shirt was still on, so he bypassed my torso as he went back down on me, his mouth again silky. He knew what he was doing. My dick was in heaven.

I pulled him back up to kiss some more. As we kissed, I took both of our dicks in my right hand and jerked us together.

He kissed with his eyes open. Until then, I had not known that.

"Turn around," I demanded into his mouth. When he did, I pushed him into the wall and started eating his shoulders and back, my mouth intentionally rough. As I neared his ass, he bent over, picked up the little wooden bench, moved it the back wall of the shower, and then braced himself on it, his ass now exposed to me.

I squatted behind him and pulled him open. His hole was clean, but there was a circle of hair surrounding it.

I tore into him, licking, pressing my tongue into him, and then licking some more. Like his armpits, his asshole tasted fantastic, even though he had just played eighteen holes. "How is that possible?" I whispered.

"What?" he asked, breathily.

"You just sweated through 18 holes of golf and you taste fantastic."

"I'm glad," he said. "Now, get back in there."

I did. I loved eating ass, and I loved eating his more than I had loved eating any other. Likely, some of that was just how forbidden it was, eating a virtual stranger's ass in a country club locker room shower.

I stuck my finger in my mouth and then in his ass, fucking him with it. I replaced my finger with my thumb, standing up so that I could work it in and out and around and use the rest of my hand on his perineum. My dick was under him, on his perineum.

As I was standing there, Sean reached between his legs, took hold of my dick, and moved it to his asshole. He wanted me to fuck him.

"We can't do that," I whispered. "Not here, not like this."

Sean was undeterred, pushing back against my erection.

"Sean," I pleaded, my belt dragging the tile as I tried to back away. We both froze.

"Tom, please fuck me," he hissed, returning me to his asshole and pushing back into me until I slid past his ring and was fully in him.

I didn't want to fuck him. One, I didn't have a condom, and I had never gone bare. Two, it seemed sordid, fucking like that in a shower. Three, fucking is noisy, and we couldn't make any noise.

I fucked him anyway, holding his hips as I slid in and out of his rectum, which was almost as silky as his mouth. I felt like I was in a fevered dream, watching my dick slide in and out. It felt ethereal.

It's hard to fuck someone quietly, but that's exactly what I did. To do that, I had to go slowly. I had to avoid the telltale slapping of hips against ass.

I lasted longer than I expected, my orgasm drifting toward me, not rushing.

I wanted to cum inside of him, to feel his silkiness around me as I released.

I didn't. At literally the last second, I pulled out and came all over his lower back, shooting streak after streak along his spine. I was surprised by the distance (I don't normally squirt) and volume.

I could not believe what had just happened. I'm normally in control of everything, but in that shower, I was in control of nothing. I was doing things I never thought I'd do, with someone I barely knew.

"You came so much," Sean said, standing and smiling.

"So much," I answered.

Sean turned around and sat on the small wooden bench, his eyes wide and wild. He reached behind, ran his hand through my cum, and coated his dick with it.

As soon as he did, I was on my knees. My belt clambered, and we both winced. "Oh my God," he said, "you're going to eat your cum off my dick."

I am normally pretty hidebound, but that is exactly what I did. It was both nasty and transcendent.

I wanted Sean to cum in my mouth. I wanted him to put his load inside me, like I had wanted to put my load inside him.

Sean had other ideas. He pushed my head to his balls, coated his dick with shower gel, said "no more sucking," and started jerking off.

I wanted to watch, so I stood up. He still had my sunglasses on. He handed them back to me, and I put them on. He whispered that I should pull my underwear up, and I did.

"Play with yourself," he hissed.

I did, first through my underwear, then in my underwear. "That's so hot," he said, continuing to stroke himself.

I slid my free hand into my crack and started finger fucking myself. To my disbelief, I removed that finger and slowly sucked it in and out of my mouth. Sean stared at me wickedly as I did.

"Turn around," he said.

I did. He stood, pulled my underwear down in the back, soaped his finger, and slid it into me. His finger lit a fire inside me.

"So tight," he whispered in my ear. "I really want to fuck you."

I decided to let him try. I put my hands on the door and leaned forward, giving my ass to him. He pushed his bare dick in, and I started taking it.

I was again on fire, but this time it was from the shower gel that he was using as lube. It was burning me from the inside out.

I pulled off his dick. I turned around, kissed him, and explained that I really wanted him to fuck me, but that the soap was an issue.