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From: nitetimeguy74@yahoo.com
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Subject: {ASSM} My Date with Barb (MF, busty-mature, oral)
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Date: Fri, 21 Oct 2005 16:10:01 -0400
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This story is dedicated to the sexiest writer I know, Barb36D.

If you read this prior to 10/31/2005, please visit literotica and vote
for her entry in the Halloween Contest:

http://english.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=221924

Dear Barb,

My fascination with you and your writing finally became too much. I
sent feedback to your Literotica profile - I wanted to meet you, but
somewhere neutral where either of us could walk away if it wasn't
working out. We agreed on The Italian Village restaurant on Monroe,
downtown.

When I arrive, you are at the bar ordering drinks. I recognize you from
the only angle I've ever seen of you, the photo from your profile. I
walk up to you - you still haven't seen me - and I stand right behind
you.

"Don't turn around." I whisper into your ear. I run my hands down your
arms and hold your hands. I stand right against the light fabric of
your skirt. I'm certain you can feel my excitement already.

"Eddie?" You say.

"Good guess," I reply.

"Mmm... that feels incredible," you say.

We just stand there for a few minutes pressing into each other, holding
hands, not talking.
Finally the Maitre 'd calls us to our table. They seat us in the
village on the third floor, under the starry ceiling in our own little
room. We drink Chianti and get to know each other.

You are surprised that I'm exactly as I described myself - just
turned 30, six foot one, athletic, handsome, confident. Myself, I'm
not surprised that you're as you describe yourself online. Your
honesty comes through in your writing.

"I have to ask," you say, "why did you want to meet with me?
I'm old enough to be your mother."

"That," I say, "was the coup de grace. Younger women do not know
what they want. Between appearances, reputations, and the right pair of
shoes, they're too uptight and too boring. You, on the other hand,
know what you want. You're uninhibited. Add in the erotic workings of
your mind and the cleavage that I'm forcing myself not to openly
stare upon, and you're just about the most sexy thing I could ever
imagine."

We continue to chat, mostly about our writings and what is based in
truth and what isn't. If I read the situation correctly, you are
enjoying my company as much as yours captivates me. When our food
comes, I propose a toast. We drink, and as we lower our glasses, we
share a kiss.

It is sensual - full and sincere, closed-mouthed yet insinuating. Our
flirtations become more overt as the evening progresses. The table wine
has an insolent effect on me, such that I "accidentally" brush
against your breast each time I reach for wine, fetch a napkin, etc.
You continue to banter about yourself being too old or "run-down"
as you do in your stories, but you are fishing for compliments in a
poetically stocked pond. I assure you that every aspect of your person
has met and exceeded my own demanding expectations.

Emboldened by the conversation, I begin to gently rub your thigh.
Initially you jump and place your hand upon mine, but my caresses are
soothing and you allow yourself to trust me. But you assumed correctly
- my intentions were not so innocent. I trace every aspect of your
legs, memorizing your smoothness, teasing with my fingertips, all the
way to your panties. Our eyes are locked on each other. Your gaze
becomes more serious, but you have no intention of stopping me.

I slide my fingers underneath, parting you gently, mindful of my
manners. The look in your eyes suggests I have made a big mistake. I am
about to pull away when you say, "here, let me help with that."
Reaching down, you slide your panties off and place them in a ball
right on our table.

"Continue," you say.

Sexually, I know I have reached my perfect age. I'm on the tail end
of youthful energy and exuberance, yet old enough to exhibit patience;
to read body language, and play a woman masterfully like the delicately
complicated instrument she is. My hand works slowly but purposefully. I
watch the changes in your posture and breathing. Your facial
expressions change from concentration to ecstasy to surprise and back,
as my fingers alternate stroking, tweaking and filling you.

You surprise me by leaning in and kissing me, this time quite
forcefully, with no concern over the fact that anyone looking in our
direction would see a middle-aged woman French-kissing a man young
enough to be her son - and just where are his hands?

The kiss ends, but you have not climaxed. Now I am certain that you
deserve more. When I am sure no one is looking, I slide under the
tablecloth and kneel before you. You are reluctant at first to spread
your legs, but your need for release overrides common sense. Suddenly
you are mine for the tasting. I am not intimidated by the many lovers
who have no doubt preceded me in this endeavor - you and I are all
that matter now.

Slowly I dip my tongue in you, collecting your moisture, and trail it
up over your sensitive bud. I wash you in a combination of your wetness
and my saliva. Locking down my lips, I administer tongue ministrations
upon you that quickly bring about your shuddering surrender.

As we finish our meal, it is not clear how many people took notice,
although there are certainly plenty of quick glances in our direction.
Gradually the color in your face subsides and your breathing returns to
normal. I excuse myself to use the restroom.

I didn't see you following me. You upon me immediately as I enter,
and you throw the latch on the door to lock us in. You drape your arms
over my shoulders. In my ear, you whisper: "When heartless reality
takes its toll on your weary mind, know that I linger in the dark
shadows of what you need."

You kiss me again, then slowly kneel before me, undoing my belt.
Releasing the source of my agitations, you encircle the crown with your
tongue, saying, "I am here for you." You drop your top to your
waist, exposing your glorious front - you are perfect. You have me
engulfed. Your care and attention to detail is unsurpassed. My hand to
your breast only expedites the inevitable. My surge is violent,
lasting, and abundant.


Outside, I hail you a cab. Before getting in, we share another warm
embrace and deep playful kiss. What our tongues lack in age proximity,
they make up for in affection. I'm aroused again and notice the looks
we're getting - I have half a mind to say "thanks, mom!" as you
get in the cab.

I don't know where this new connection will lead, but for the time
being, I will be unable to chase the prospect of making long and
uninhibited love to you, my greatest adventure, from my mind.

Until then-

Eddie


You can find more of my stories at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Eddies_Life

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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