I Think Im Ready

I told him "No, not any more." I said that I could not keep letting him in the house or accepting his letters. When he asked if he could call to find out if there had been any change, I had to say, I'm sorry, but I think everything has been said, it's over." It was terribly hard to treat him this way because I thought he was such a nice young man. And he was trying his best to hold-on. But there was not much more I could do. My daughter moved out of his house, filed for divorce and left no forwarding address.

It has been over a year since she split. I occasionally get a card with no return address. Sometimes a quick call. I guess she was making a clean break from everyone, including me.

His name was Michael, but everyone called him Mickey. To my eyes he was seriously handsome and well-built. At 22 years of age he was a few years younger than my daughter Joanie. I thought they always made a cute couple, he slaved over her and was more than generous with gifts and affection. She was a bit flirty, but would always hang on his arm, and seemed infatuated.

But in just the eighteen months that they were married, she seemed to take advantage of his good nature and tolerance. She's my daughter and I try to see things her way, but really, she turned into a true bitch. I hate to say it, but he deserved better. I figured that maybe it was because she saw the way my ex- had treated me, before he lit-out leaving us high and dry. The degrading words, forgetting important occasions, and in the end, the procession of whores. Still, I tried to remain cheerful, even when I caught him in bed with one of his bimbos. I think a lot of that treatment stuck with me, maybe Joanie feared something like that happening with them.

If my relation effected her, I didn't see it. Again, maybe that was my fault. I wanted her well away from him, and I warned her about trusting men. I may have been a bad influence because I was so often fooled. But I tend to romanticize things, where maybe she's a realist.

And Mickey tried to make it work for them. Once after she left, he told me that he put a few thousand dollars on her card, so that she wouldn't be forced into a bad decision. I told him that he was extremely generous, and I gave him some dinner leftovers, he gave me that sweet smile. Later, he told me that Joanie could keep the car she drove off in, that he would continue to make the necessary payments. That way she could afford an apartment or look for work, without being rushed. Then when things settle, maybe she'll come home. I said that I wish my husband had been half as nice. I explained to him how my husband had treated me, and that I didn't have "the balls" to do anything about it. I even mentioned that he demeaned me in and out of the bedroom. That was an embarrassing admission, but I felt that we had developed a rapport. In the meantime, just to keep his spirits up I told him I would phone him if there was any news concerning her, and I made a point of treating him with more kindness. Plus, he was really cute.

He swore that his treatment of her would never be an issue, and that he was raised a gentleman. I could just feel that he was truly a good guy, and that he knew how to treat a woman. Back when Joanie still confided in me, she told me that she considered him to be too wimpy. She said that she liked men who were a little more aggressive, a bit more adventuresome. She said that she did not find him "exciting" in bed. I wasn't exactly sure what she meant. She said to encourage him, that she bought some "dirty" movies about S/M. and bondage. She also wore exotic lingerie and told him fantasy stories. But she said he was too shy or reluctant to "even try things with the damn lights on." I wasn't completely certain about everything she hinted at, I was pretty straight-laced, but I could see she wasn't "satisfied." And she said that it was a shame, since "he is hung like a bull" and "when we did go at it, he was delicious." We both giggled at that, only I blushed. Later on, she mentioned that she found fulfilment in other ways, I didn't even ask.

After the break-up, Mickey and I would often have heart to heart talks, since he showed-up on my doorstep once a week. He was so kind and easy to open-up with. It got to be where I was happy to see him, and I grew to think about him and wonder what he was really like. Awhile back, Mickey had roses sent to my door. I thought they were intended for Joanie, but the note read, "for always being so nice to me." He told me that he could not have had a nicer mother-in-law, and he added, "a very sexy one, too." The note said that he would enjoy taking me to lunch or dinner, anytime. I must admit that if I were a few years younger, or thought that he could have any interest in an older woman, I could easily swoon. I saw traits in him that my daughter must have missed. It would be nice to have such a handsome, considerate man paying attention to you.

If Joanie had only been away for a week, or if she had explicitly told me not to, I would have kept my distance. But now, it has been months and I guess we have both been feeling lonely and abandoned. I decided to call him one day and invite him over for a nice home-cooked meal. It's been so long since I entertained or had dinner with a man, that I was a bit nervous. But he said Friday is good, "how 'bout seven, and I'll bring wine." I was instantly conflicted and confused, but I was looking forward to it.

All week my heart was in my throat. Joanie was sexy and a bit of "a bad girl." She got her figure and dark hair and eyes from me, but of course she was in her mid-twenties and I was in my mid-forties. I still have long dark hair, though the color is not all mine. I have brown eyes with long lashes that Mickey says he always found so beautiful on my daughter. My face is round and full with plump lips and big cheeks. (My mom used to say chipmunk cheeks.) In an unguarded moment he once said that Joanie's cheeks were designed for oral sex. And my chest is a natural 36DD. They sag a little, but they still bounce nicely when I walk, especially in heels and I always wear heels. And I've noticed Mickey sneaking peaks at my cleavage when he thinks I'm not looking. I have always been somewhat naïve, but lately my hormones have been stirring. It makes me wonder.

For the two days leading up to our "date" I examined every outfit in my closet. I had my hair and nails done and for some reason, I even bought new frilly underwear. Then I decided that I need a new low-cut, dark blue, blouse, to further emphasize my better points. I did not want to embarrass myself or appear desperate, so I planned a plain meal of meatloaf and mashed, with apple pie for desert. We had coffee infront of the television. That afternoon, I was in such a tizzy that I nearly called things off. I had to take two showers. At six-thirty, I started watching out the window and listening for his foot-falls on the walk.

It's funny that Joanie described him as wimpy, or soft. When he came through the door I was instantly impressed with his demeanor, and marveled at his thick arms and chest in tight clothing. I couldn't help but imagine the size of his "package." He was over six feet tall, with wavy brown hair and cool blue eyes. And he had a devilish smile that would make even "a good girl" melt. We had a very pleasant evening and I was already anticipating more.

The more time we spent and the more he spoke, his language and tone became more comfortable and jokingly coarse. He said that he enjoyed making me laugh and he found that the "dirtier" the joke, the more broadly I smiled. He mentioned that he had "learned" things that Joanie would like now, and his stories were peppered with sexual innuendos. He would sometimes say that, "I see now where Joanie got her sexy looks and that awesome figure. I only wish she had inherited more of your disposition." I thought at first it was just idle flattery, but sometimes the sweet words were accompanied by a gentle pat on the thigh or a lingering hug. He even asked a few not-quite-innocent questions about my sexual situation and interests. I attempted to hide my stunned looked but I'm certain he noticed my arousal. My blush started at my cleavage and rose to redden my cheeks and nose. Was he simply engaging me in adult conversation, intimating that older gentlemen might still find me attractive if I got back in the game? Or was he dropping hints that he wanted to have sex with me, my wine-addled brain instantly drew a lewd picture of "doing the mother, too." The rest of the night was nice but uneventful, when he left I felt horribly confused.

My empty nights in the big, cold bed caused me to rethink and replay every sentence. I examined my answers and tried to come-up with edgier replies that would have made me seem sultry and alluring. And my fingers began to tease my lonely vagina more than they ever have before. My most recent shopping spree had also included a mail-order vibrator with a giant rotating head. It was instantly plugged-in and stationed at my bedside, and now it was put to good use. I'm glad it was electric because I would have gone through a pack of batteries per day. I started to picture myself with a younger man, and as the spinning head whirred, the image sharpened into Mickey.

I remember one time that he came to the house to return some plastic containers. It was just a quick visit we were standing in the doorway, idly talking. When he handed me the few items, he also left a manila envelope with them saying, "this is one of the movies that Joanie wanted me to watch. Have a look at it and tell me what you think." All the while he was speaking, his hand was playfully winding a strand of my dark hair around his fingers. I didn't think much of it, he always mentioned how much he liked (pulling-on) Joanie's long hair. But he let his warm, calloused palm linger across my cheek as he turned for the door. Then he spun back and kissed me right on the lips. A warm, soft, slow kiss. A kiss that set my heart aflutter and sparked a little heat between my legs. Or was I just imagining things and my lonely body over reacted to a friendly smooch.

For a brief second I felt myself taken in his strong arms and cradled in a lasting caress. His steamy kisses started at my hungry lips then traveled down my neck, his warm breath on the hollow notch at my throat. Then slowly and smoothly his tongue floats into my cleavage and he begins to plant wet, warm pecks on the rounded sides and fleshy globes of my supple breasts. I am jarred back to reality as I hear him repeat his "goodbyes." He must have seen my eyes flare and then cloud over, and then the surprised gasp escape my lungs, as he shuffled down the walk. I would swear I saw his hand in his pocket, straitening the bulge in his pants. Maybe he was hoping that I would invite him in for a drink and a slow grope, (maybe I should have.) Or I can shock him by dropping to my knees and sucking him off. (What made me think of that, I have never in my life thought of having a man's penis in my mouth. But hey...)

I nearly fainted from the intensity of emotions as I closed the door. My knees

almost buckled and my body literally shook as I tried to make sense of what just happened. My forehead, chest and underarms broke-out in a warm glow and a tell-tale tingle began to vibrate in my vagina. I sunk heavily into the couch, fingering the package. Without even opening it, I knew what was inside. As my breathing returned to normal and my body temperature lowered, I poured a glass of wine from the liquor cabinet. All the while I cut a wide circle around the mysterious movie sitting in the unmarked envelope on the coffee table. I tried to avert my eyes and divert my attention to other matters-to anything at all.

The sweating started again, and my fingers trembled as if a serpent was hissing inside, when I haltingly tore at the seal. THE MASTER'S PASSION was the title of it, and the picture on the box was of an older woman in a black leather bustier, hand-cuffed to a wooden bench, orange ball-gag in her mouth, and the silhouette of a man's hand holding a whip. I wanted to place it in a drawer and tip-toe out of the room. Instead I noticed that my wine glass was already empty and my clingy blouse was nearly soaked through with flop-sweat.

I pulled the bottle from the shelf and embarrassingly tossed my damp shirt on the floor. Then I fed the movie into the machine. Before the college-aged boarder had ripped the flowery dress from his curvy landlady, my jittery hand was under my thin bra, tentatively squeezing my firm breast. I twirled the hard nipple between my fingers with one hand while I unclasped and discarded the soggy, useless garment. When the young man attached a dog collar and leash, and forced her to follow him on her knees, to her own bedroom, I kicked my heels to the floor and slowly unbuttoned my jeans and eased them down my legs. I kept my silky panties on, because that's what good girls do. But a wet spot was spreading rapidly at the crotch. And I could feel the moist heat rising. I told myself that I was only removing sticky, sweaty clothing. And that it had nothing to do with sex. My hand was merely sweeping over the dewy spots of my wriggling body because I was too lazy to grab a towel and mop-up. But the orgasmic undulating action of my hips and the impassioned moans escaping my lips belied the illusion.

With one hand tugging at my erect brown nib, my right hand snaked it's path inside my dank undies. The wiry dark hair was matted with sweat, my fingers worked to fluff it and to caress my clitoris. I had not been this hot since high school. My inexperienced fingers began to manipulate the soft folds of my vagina, and a warm wave settled in my lower belly. The movie progressed to another scenario and I watched in awe, as the determined young man in the film slipped into the woman's darkened bedroom, and slid her negligee from her sleeping torso, I shed my sodden panties and with the tip of my toe, flung them across the room. I'll be a good girl again, tomorrow.

His large cock started to slowly disappear inside her willing vagina, as she woke from her contented slumber. She leered through heavy-lidded eyes then cooed and moaned as his tool settled balls deep in her trimmed snatch, and he began his rhythmic assault. She squirmed with ecstasy on her bed, just as I writhed with an unquenched desire on my sofa. My own hand was roughly abrading my straining clit as I reached two fingers into the cavern of my well-lubed snatch. I closed my eyes and listened to the sex-scene on tape-her desperately pleading for satisfaction and him grunting his passions. I pictured my own strong young stud working his magic on my horny twat. Ten minutes, maybe five...

I felt the pressure rising in my belly and the warmth in my vagina. My fingers plunged furiously in and out of my steamy snatch. My legs unconsciously spread wide and my toes curled, the muscles of my abdomen tightened, and my back arched. I took a quick peek at the video screen and saw the mature heroine of the film was now on her knees. Her mouth was now stuffed with the stud's amazing cock. I believed at that moment I could feel Mickey's cock deep inside me, then my pussy exploded with a feeling and an emotion I have not experienced in ages. I shuddered and tensed in delirium. My pussy gushed like a volcano. I mumbled filthy phrases under my breath and felt the sensation of warm, slick fluid flow between my inexperienced fingers.

The frantic motion of my digits subsided but my torso and legs convulsed for five more minutes. My mind was at a fevered pitch. I was shivering and sweating, and thinking that I really wanted Mickey to fuck my brains out. What was happening?

I recovered my senses just as the woman on screen was joined on the bed by her sister. One of them was positioning herself between the inviting legs of the other one, tonguing her moist snatch, and the young master was lubing his mammoth cock for a rear entry of the woman on her knees. I didn't need to watch much more, I realized the upcoming scenario. And something sinfully delightful struck a tuning fork in my loins, I found the image of a woman licking another woman's pussy, to be sensuous and thought-provoking. I could easily have watched more, it was amazing to see and there was a sudden spark between my legs, but my poor pussy was sore and not used to such intense activity. Besides, I may want to have a little more energy for when I view this act to it's completion. I have a "feeling" that I'm going to like it. After my breathing steadied, I dragged myself off of the damp couch, and trudged wearily to a hot shower. As the satiny liquid-soap caressed my tired body, I wondered if I could ever engage in a threesome. I guess if Mickey wanted me to. I have very recently now begun fantasizing about licking pussy, and offering my fuzzy cunt to another female.

The shower took a little effort until I found the stamina to stand under the warm flow. My jittery legs finally stopped shaking. I still couldn't get the erotic image out of my head. Not the sex on video, but the vision of Mickey's lovely cock entering my gaping pussy. I was shaken from my reverie when I noticed how heavily my snatch was lathered in soap suds and my pointy nipples were achingly hard again. I sank to my knees on the porcelain, envisioning his erect, meaty cock bumping the back of my throat, and for the second time in an hour, which I formerly thought impossible, I brought myself to a seismic orgasm. I found it difficult to believe that I was getting-off by dreaming of sucking cock and having sex with a woman.

Later that evening I crawled into my lonely bed. It had only been a couple of hours, but now my hands were lurking precariously close to my hungry pussy again. When the light was off, and the room silent, I began to feel that urge and the forbidden images once more danced in my head. I concentrated on anything else. I prepared a grocery list for tomorrow. I planned a trip to the laundromat and the library, but still my hand travelled south, and burrowed inside my hot cavern. My nightgown was unceremoniously tossed to the floor. I thrashed under the sheets, mouth drooling and hips humping an invisible man. As the tension mounted, I even turned away from my nightstand so that I couldn't see the vibrator already plugged-in and silently calling my name. Cock and cunt filled my mind.

In tossing my gown, my raven mane was tussled and laying like an ebon halo on the pillow. My large breasts heaved on my chest, their ponderous weight taking them to either side of my torso. I reached for my left boob and cupped it gently. Like the woman in the movie, I fondled the firm pink nub and pretended to offer it obligingly to my master. Then I gripped it tight and with my neck straining, I brought it to my eager lips. I had never before thought of suckling on my own breast, but having seen both of the porn girls licking and kissing each other's boobies, I was enthralled. Now I consider sucking on a strange woman's tits, and asking her to please me in the same way. My tongue darted out to taste my small pink nipple and it made me feel both "dirty" and sensuous. The flat top of my tongue flicked at the rubbery tip, and then the pointy end jabbed at it.

I felt the rush in my loins and the sudden, sharp contractions of my stomach muscles. My hand reached for my new toy, with the "comfort setting" at maximum vibration. In an instant my entire body began to convulse. My moans filled the room with an eerie chant that I had never made before, and at the ultimate moment of pleasure I screamed, "Ohh, fuck me Mickey. I want your big cock." All of the new experiences and taboo thoughts were foreign to my naïve upbringing. But I soon discovered that each one drove me to an ever stronger orgasm. And I was learning that this is what I truly needed.