Her name is Donna, and she’s a co-worker of mine who I got to know very well over the course of about a year. While I admit that the initial attraction was physical, when you get to be middle aged, there has to be more than that in order to keep your interest.
Fortunately for me, Ross Browning, there was more.
Her name is Donna, and we work in the same state agency. Her desk is only about fifteen feet away from mine, which gives me plenty of opportunities to sneak peeks at her during the course of the workday, and I take full advantage of that.
This might put a bit of a damper on my productivity, but it has done wonders for my morale, not to mention the marked increase of the blood flow in a certain part of my anatomy.
I’m on the far side of 50, but since they transferred Donna into this office I’ve had more erections than I can count. Certainly more than I’ve had since my wife passed away, and it’s gotten so bad that I’ve had to peel my underwear off of my cock when I go to the bathroom because my dick has been drooling so much.
I know this reads like the ravings of a teenage boy in love, but there’s nothing innocent and charming about the way I feel about Donna. I don’t want to wine and dine her, or woo her with flowers and candy, although I wouldn’t be adverse to doing so.
What I want to do to Donna is make love to her. I want to strip her naked and pound her into the mattress. I want to feel her fingernails tear into my back and want to hear her scream into my ear when she cums over and over again.
I suspect that she’s a real wildcat when she gets going, although in the office she’s as meek and mild as can be. There’s something about the way she looks that makes me think that this is one book that can’t be judged by the cover.
During one of our many conversations Donna had told me that she’s Italian, or at least one of her parents were, and I suspected that because she has the characteristics I usually associate with women of that background; Donna has smoky eyes and smooth olive toned skin that bring to mind Sophia Loren, not that there is any resemblance whatsoever below the neck.
The body is more Audrey Hepburn than Sophia Loren. Donna is petite – tiny and slender but not anorexic-thin and bony. Her body is almost child-like from what I’ve been able to see, even though she’s about my age.
Her breasts seem small, but she keeps them so well hidden I haven’t gotten any peeks yet. She’s got nice legs, shapely and slender and I’ve seen a lot of them, because she wears a lot of skirts and dresses. She also wears a lot of sleeveless clothing, even when the weather isn’t that warm, and that’s what really got my attention from the start.
Donna has beautiful arms. I say that with a lifetime of careful observation, since I have what you might call a fetish in that regard, although I prefer to call it an enthusiastic appreciation, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Donna’s arms are in the top ten for sure.
Donna’s arms are as smooth as could be – so smooth that I suspect that she might shave her forearms, or even have them waxed. That’s a shame, because as a child of the 70’s I have always had an affection for hair on a woman’s body, but this isn’t the 70’s anymore.
Those smooth and slender arms are incredibly well toned for a woman her age, and there’s a hint of muscularity in her biceps that gives them a shapely curve there. I suspect Donna gets that naturally, because I don’t think she lifts anything more than a pencil or spatula.
Donna’s upper arms have a faint down on the outsides, and in the sunlight it sparkles a little bit, contrasting so nicely with the cinnamon-tone of her skin. Her shoulders are smooth and rounded nicely as well, which is probably why she likes to show off her arms. Why wouldn’t she? Donna is a paler and more petite version of the First Lady.
Donna has this habit of running her hand through her hair. She might not even know she does it. It’s probably just one of those quirks that we all have, but when I glance over and see Donna’s hand go up, and I see her sliding her fingers through her short black hair, I come to attention.
It’s then that I get a exquisite view of her armpit; the left one usually because of the way our desks are situated, but they are both stunning. They used to say that Cher has the most beautiful underarms in the world; so beautiful that her designer Bob Mackie specifically designed clothes to showcase her armpits, but she had nothing on Donna.
Donna must shave her armpits every morning, because her underarms are as smooth as butter when she gets to work and does her initial running of her hand through her hair. By lunchtime, they’ve changed a little.
I noticed that change one day when we took out lunches outside. Sitting across from each other at the picnic table, I felt my heart skip a beat when Donna did her hand through the hair thing and I got an intimate view of her underarm.
The deep hollow, slightly paler in color than the outside of her arm, was completely coated in what you would have to call a faint five o’clock shadow. In fact, that was what I did call it when I felt compelled to speak.
“You have the most beautiful armpits I’ve ever seen,” I said, although I don’t remember if I said underarms instead of armpits. “I just had to tell you that.”
Donna was flustered, probably because she wasn’t used to hearing that, especially during lunch, but as she blushed she glanced over and made a face.
“Sorry. I did shave this morning,” Donna said as she looked at her underarms quickly before lowering her arm.
“Too bad,” I said, trying to imagine what those tiny but deep pockets would look like if they hadn’t been touched for a while. “You would look amazing natural.”
“That’s too scary to think about, Ross,” Donna said, pawing at her yogurt with her spoon, and although she was embarrassed, that wasn’t my intent, and in fact I think she liked the attention.
“Not that your five o’clock shadow doesn’t look enticing,” I added.
“Yeah, but it’s only a little past noon,” Donna said, scrunching up her face comically.
“Well, I’ll bet that by five o’clock your underarms would be magically delicious,” I quipped, putting a leprechaun lilt to my voice in honor of the recent holiday and the commercial.
“Delicious?” Donna said with a giggle.
“Absolutely,” I said, figuring that if I was going to make a fool of myself, I might as well go all the way and go crash and burn. “Don’t tell me you’ve never experienced having your underarms kissed and licked by your lover, or a seasoned professional mastered in the art.”
Donna’s body shuddered when I spoke, an almost imperceptible quiver that I could have taken either as revulsion or her becoming inflamed by imagining my tongue sliding through that moist hollow. I chose the latter.
“Can’t say he’s ever done that,” Donna said, and I watched as her thumb toyed with the wedding band that loomed so large on her tiny ring finger.
“Just say the word and I’ll be happy to give you a sample of what you’ve been missing,” I said, laughing in hopes that Donna would realize that I was only kidding.
The problems were twofold, I realized as we headed back into the office for the afternoon. The first was that I wasn’t kidding. I wanted to do just what I had said, and more. I wanted to lick her anywhere and everywhere, and do things to her that had never been done before.
The second problem was that Donna was married, and not to me.
“You going to the big dance?” Donna asked me as were preparing to call it a day.
“What big dance?” I said, confused for a second.
“I don’t know,” Donna said, grabbing her pocketbook and slipping the strap over that gorgeous shoulder. “It’s something to do with basketball, and that’s all I ever hear about at home these days.”
“Oh, the NCAA basketball tournament!” I said, not expecting to hear that terminology coming from Donna because she didn’t seem to be much of a sports fan. “Is that something you’re into?”
“No,” Donna said curtly, but with a hint of a smirk letting me know that she wasn’t mad, at least at me. “Do you watch it?”
“I take a peek from time to time, but I can’t say that I watch it religiously,” I told Donna.
“It’s March Madness at my house,” Donna said.
“Cheer up,” I told her. “It only lasts a few weeks.”
“Yeah, and then it’s the Masters and NBA and the NHL playoffs, and then it’s baseball season and horse racing and NASCAR,” Donna lamented. “And now poker too.”
“You seem to know the schedules pretty well,” I suggested.
“Osmosis,” Donna explained.
“Well, feel free to stop at my house if you feel like getting bored in a different way,” I offered. “I just got the new Mystery Science Theater DVD box set.”
“Oh, the robot puppets?” Donna said with a grin.
“My idea of high brow entertainment,” I confessed.
“I’d rather listen to Tom the Robot than that bald guy screaming at the top of his lungs all night about a bunch of tattooed future ex-cons.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Tom Servo, not Tom the Robot, but I knew she was only kidding anyway. Besides, at least she had an inkling of what I was talking about.
Of course, Donna wasn’t coming over. She didn’t even know where I lived.
I suppose that I could have been more shocked later that night, when I answered the doorbell, but I don’t know how. The sight of Donna standing outside my door, looking nervously down the hall of the apartment building as if she was afraid to been seen, was not what I was expecting.
A girl scout selling cookies maybe, or those dudes who keep trying to get me to go to their new church, but not Donna. Maybe that was why I stood there and gawked at her.
“How…” I said, trying to figure out how she had figured out where I lived instead of pulling her inside my apartment before she had a chance to change her mind.
“I shouldn’t have,” Donna said nervously. “I should have called or something. Do you have company? You did say…”
“Come in,” I said, finally coming to my senses and ushering her inside, closing and locking the door behind her. “No, I’m glad you came. I didn’t know you knew where I live.”
“Our addresses are on the outside envelope the paychecks come in,” Donna explained. “I happened to remember your address, but I did get a little lost trying to find your building.”
“They all do look the same, but I’m glad you did find me,” I said.
“I brought this,” Donna said, shrugging as she held up a brown paper bag.
“A brown paper bag!” I said with a grin. “I love them.”
Donna shook her head at my lame attempt at humor before lifting the bottle of wine out of the bag, and asked me if I minded some company.
I was glad that I kept a pretty neat place, so I wasn’t embarrassed when we walked through the living room to the kitchen. Donna was wearing a pink sleeveless top and matching shorts, looking smart and casual compared to my lounging wear.
We sat at the kitchen table, and that was my idea. I wasn’t dressed for company and apologized for my attire, but Donna didn’t care about that. I did see her take a look at the crotch of the lightweight sweat pants I was wearing.
I was sure that the outline of everything was visible, and because I was sure that after being around Donna for a while things would become even more visible, I opted to let the kitchen table hide what became a throbbing bulge in a matter of seconds.
I uncorked the wine and poured us a couple of glasses before sitting across the table from Donna. She looked even more petite than usual, and the redness of her eyes have me a hint as to what she had been doing before she arrived at my doorstep.
WE engaged in some idle chit-chat for a while, but I knew that something was really troubling my co-worker. All of a sudden, the floodgates opened and she had a meltdown, while I sat there helpless until she managed to get herself together somewhat.
For the next hour I mostly listened to Donna as she poured out her heart to me. She was hurting and needed somebody to bare her soul to. Donna explained that she didn’t have anybody she could talk to anymore, and that I was about the only person she thought she could trust. She used to have a special best friend, her next door neighbor Alison, but she couldn’t talk to her anymore, for a good reason.
It seems that one night last fall Donna had woken up around midnight. She noticed that her husband wasn’t in bed, but assumed that he was probably down in the den watching some sporting event. After she got a drink of water Donna happened to look out the window in the back of the house and saw her husband in the moonlight.
“He had his pajamas down around his ankles and was…” Donna explained in between sobs.
What she saw was her husband screwing her best friend, with her neighbor and confidant bent over a lawn chair and him mounting Alison like a dog.
“I didn’t say anything that night and pretended I was asleep when he crawled back into bed, but started to pay attention to what was going on,” Donna explained.
She finally confronted him and he not only didn’t deny it, but didn’t indicate his was going to stop. Instead, he chose to take the opportunity to cut her to shreds, ridiculing everything about her that he could think of.
“My breasts,” Donna said. “He said that he couldn’t look at me anymore. Couldn’t get aroused.”
That was why he hadn’t touched Donna in almost three years, according to her, and was now attracted to her ex-friend Alison, who was apparently built more to his liking. Alison’s overflowing D-cups had been purchased by her husband, but the result had been that she wasn’t letting him play with the sacks of saline but was offering them to her friend’s husband, who willingly accepted the offer.
Donna’s husband had apparently come on to Alison one night a couple of years ago after she had given him a peek at her new found assets, and the two of them had been going at it ever since, under both of their spouses’ noses whenever they could.
“I had never turned him down,” Donna said. “Not once in my life, no matter how I felt or whether or not I was in the mood. I even tried to make the first advances after a while, but he was always too tired or something. Not too tired for Monday Night Football though, or backyard rendezvous.”
“He had wanted me to get implants a few years ago,” Donna explained, indicating that the combination of having two children, now grown and on their own, and her age had taken their toll.
“I refused to do it back then,” Donna said, not wanting to undergo invasive surgery for something as trivial like that. “I guess looking back I probably should have.”
“Don’t be silly,” I told her.
“It’s too late now,” Donna explained. “Because when I offered to get them last month if he broke it off with Alison, he just shook his head and told me not to bother.”
After about an hour of baring her soul, I had managed to slide my chair over next to Donna, so close that I could smell the wine on her breath, even though she had only taken one sip a long time ago. I had pretty much polished off the bottle by myself.
“Pretty pathetic, aren’t I?” Donna asked me, grimacing a little as she looked over at me.
“No, just pretty,” I said, putting my hand on her arm – the magnificently sculptured limb that was so tiny that I thought I could put my thumb and index finger completely around her bicep and have my digits touch – and felt the little goose bumps that arose from my touch.
“I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have you to talk to tonight,” Donna admitted as she looked up at the clock. “I’ve kept you up long enough, Guess that basketball game is almost over by now.”
“There’s another bunch of games that start in about a half hour,” I said as I walked Donna to the door. “West coast games.”
“There always is,” Donna said. “Always another game of some kind.”
Donna bit her lip as a tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and I let my arm bring her close to me, giving her a hug that was kind of a sideways embrace, because otherwise she would have found out something else.
Donna would have learned that despite my listening to her tell her story of what had become her miserable life, and with all the stories of mental, emotional and even at times physical abuse, and the tears that accompanied her telling, I was hard.
I had been hard the entire time, with my throbbing erection pinned to the inside leg of my sweats as I had looked at her tear stained face across the kitchen table, hard gazing at the swells of the breasts her worthless husband ridiculed, and hard while stealing glimpses of the now-ten o’clock shadow under her arms.
As I held the tiny woman as best I could without revealing how aroused I was, I felt like King Kong next to this tiny waif, towering over her by about a foot and probably over double her weight. What would it be like to actually make love to such a delicate creature?
“Guess I better go,” Donna sniffed as my arm released her, yet despite her being only a couple of feet from the door she made no move toward it.
“You don’t have to,” I said, my voice cracking a bit because I had said so little recently. “Go, I mean.”
You better go, I thought. If you know what’s good for you, you better go, and go now.
Wrestling. That was the one sport Donna hadn’t mentioned, yet that was the one that we were participating in. I could almost see the battle that was going on inside of Donna, as she tore herself up inside.
She wanted me. That much I knew. She hadn’t come over here to talk, at least that wasn’t the real reason. She wanted me to take from her what she was unwilling to simply offer up freely.
She was no slut of wife, trying to sneak around behind her husband’s back. She wanted to be home with her husband, and wanted to love and be loved, just like she had vowed those many years ago. Instead, Donna lived just as alone as I did, and it seemed like her loneliness was even worse than my own.
As for me, I was no home-wrecker. I had never cheated on my wife during the wonderful two decades we had together, even though there were times when it would not only have been possible, but had nearly been forced upon me once, and I had looked down on the friends I knew that did not turn their backs on their chances to be unfaithful.
Problem was, there was no home here to wreck. Donna was merely a roommate and housekeeper who contributed a paycheck to a man who only had eyes for a television and the silicone enhanced assets of the neighbor next door. She deserved better.
The hair was standing up on the back of my neck as we looked at each other. I needed her to make the first move – as badly as she needed me to do that very thing – and I swear that you could feel the air around us crackle with electricity as we stood there.
I finally broke, trying to tell her how much I wanted her with my voice before my body made the point clearly. Donna seemed to resist, but only for a second, before she jumped into my arms and returned my kisses with equal passion.
Donna could now tell how excited I was, and as my hands slid all over her body I began moving her into the bedroom while we kissed passionately. I took Donna’s wrist in my hand and moved my sweats out of the way while putting her hand on my cock.
Donna’s eyes opened wide when I put my hand on my pulsating member, and judging by her reaction when her fingers gripped it, my cock wasn’t like anything she was getting, or not getting at home.
There’s nothing all that unusual about the length of my cock, but it is extraordinarily thick, so much so that Donna’s hand probably only got half the way around the girth of it, but her shock didn’t make her stop our movement toward the bed.
I remember every detail of the second time we made love. Each word and each touch, and every nuance is forever etched in my mind. As for the first time, I confess that it was all a blur. What I do remember was that it lasted about five minutes, and I can’t believe I lasted that long because I felt like cumming the instant I entered her.
It was more like two wild animals mating in the jungle, with none of the tenderness that accompanied the lovemaking that would follow. Our clothes weren’t taken off so much as they were torn off, with my t-shirt never actually coming off as it hung on one arm after we tumbled onto the floor.
When we slid off the bed, I managed to have Donna on top of me as we went to the carpet along with much of the bedding. It bordered on being a savage ritual, with Donna giving as much or more than she got.
Donna was dripping wet when she pulled my cock towards her, not willing to wait for anything resembling foreplay, and although I could tell it hurt her as we forced my cock into her tight pussy, she didn’t cry out for me to stop.
I know she came at least once while we performed this mating ritual, and Donna was biting my collarbone when I finally could hold back no longer and erupted inside of her, filling her womb with what felt like a ocean of my seed.
Donna cried after I came, but I was doing a little of that myself as we held each other as tight as we could, our hands finally showing the tenderness that our emotions had not allowed before this. We only took our hands off of each other long enough to get the bedding back on top of the mattress before we went back to our physical exploration and discovery.
Now my hands were gentle and moved softly over the flesh that I had uncovered so roughly before. Donna’s breasts had been a bit of a shock when I had yanked her bra away from them, and I had to admit to being a bit surprised at how small they actually were after the padded bra came off.
They were about the size of lemons, and there wasn’t much more to them than the puffy aureolas and plump nipples, which seemed to make the actual breasts appear even smaller. They weren’t very firm either, but the more I kneaded the doughy little orbs, the more they excited me.
More like a mouthful than a handful, they were perfect for suckling on, and when Donna’s initial embarassment about their size went away when she saw how delighted I was with them, she relaxed and enjoyed my affections.
“They’re beautiful,” I said after I managed to pull my mouth off of the tiny boobies for a second, and I concluded that Donna didn’t need implants, but instead needed somebody to love her as she was, a magnificent work of art.
Donna rolled her eyes at that but was enjoying me worshipping her body like I was. I eased her onto her back and took her bicep in my hand, lifting it and pinning it down on the bedding above her head.
Donna giggled at first when I kissed her underarm, telling me that she thought I had been kidding at lunch, but I proved that I certainly wasn’t.
The gentle hollow of Donna’s armpit was fully exposed, and my eyes took in what had now become midnight shadow as I let my tongue slide as sensuously as I could along the scented sandpaper-like surface of her underarm.
“I’m sweaty,” Donna giggled, but if she thought that the sweet moistness of her fresh perspiration did anything but excite me, she was mistaken.
Instead, I savored her raging pheromones that greeted my tongue as I licked, nibbled and chewed playfully under her arm, amazed at the dense growth of the minute seedlings that coated the pocket and even a bit further up the inside of her arm.
“I didn’t say stop,” Donna laughed when I finally came up for air, and I noticed that not only was she breathing more heavily, but those amazing puffy nipples now resembled stacks of dimes as they jutted up from the breasts, which were flattened with her on her back.
“Just moving over to the other side,” I explained as I climbed over Donna and went to work there.
From there I lathered affection all the way down her petite frame until I reached her delta. Donna was every bit as hairy down there as I had expected – hoped – she would be.
Donna’s bush was a rich, dense forest that formed a wide triangle which surrounded her sex. Her pubic hair was thick but incredibly soft on my cheeks as I let my tongue explore inside of her, licking at the tight opening that was a cauldron still brimming with our cum.
“I know I’m way too hairy,” Donna would tell me later, referring to one of her husband’s many critiques of her, but I assured her that that wasn’t possible in my eyes, and found her irresistible in every way.
Too hairy, too flat-chested and she made lousy meatloaf, according to this guy, who I had never met but already loathed. Why then did I find this exquisite example of womanhood so exciting?
I didn’t care what this clown thought, because I only knew what I loved, and I loved Donna. I mounted her again, only gently this time, because I could tell that she was sore from our initial coupling.
This time we moved as one, slowly undulating our bodies in a lazy rhythm that lasted long enough for Donna to cum twice more, her body arching and writhing as I savored watching the most wonderful sight a man can witness – a woman’s orgasm that he helps create.
Donna eased me out of her shortly after than, and had me roll onto my back to finish the act. Although she didn’t say it, I suspected that I was beginning to hurt her, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“I’ll get used to you eventually, big boy,” Donna chirped as she climbed between my legs and yanked my cock upright, getting me to laugh at her observation that, “I did have two kids, so I’m used to heads this big inside of me.”
Donna made a point of stretching her mouth before going down on me, and she did a wonderful job of keeping her teeth out of the way as her lips slid down the crown and a little ways down the shaft.
I didn’t last long, so enthralled was I by Donna’s energetic bobbing of her head on the top of my cock while her hand worked the rest. I moaned that I was about to cum, but Donna kept going up and down on me until I did.
My vision blurred with the force of my orgasm, but I could well enough to watch my semen oozing out of the corners of her mouth and back down the shaft to her hand, the milky lava coating the backs of her fingers as my orgasm finally ebbed.
Donna’s mouth didn’t slow down when I stopped cumming, as she continued to suck on my deflating manhood, finally able to take it all in her mouth as it went limp, and only then did she raise that pretty head up triumphantly.
Donna said nothing, and merely looked up at me from between my legs while a trickle of my cum snuck out from the corner of her mouth. Her tongue darted over, much like a frog, and captured the escaping seed before breaking into a big grin.
“Get on up here,” I snapped, reaching down and taking Donna into my arms and hugging her like I loved her, which was an easy thing to do.
“I really do have to go,” Donna said eventually. “There is another game tomorrow night, isn’t there?”
“There’s a game every night,” I told Donna.
Donna wasn’t the type to sneak around behind her husband’s back for long, I learned. As a matter of fact, she was late for work the next morning. I was nervous when I saw her, because she looked worn out and tired, but she was as happy as a clam, or so she said.
“I told him that I wanted a divorce,” Donna explained at break time. “I told him that he was welcome to have Alison move in because I’m moving out. I’m looking for an apartment after work.”
“You have an apartment,” I told her. “At least until we have a place of our own.”
To my delight, Donna was delighted with the invitation, but managed to restrain her reaction until we were alone later.
We found a bigger apartment in my building, and that’s where we plan to stay until we find a house we can call our own.
Donna’s former house? It’s available, because Donna’s former best friend rebuffed her now ex-husband when he suggested she move in with him. Alison had apparently confessed her indiscretions and patched things up with her own husband, and now needless to say Donna’s ex feels a bit uncomfortable living there.
He suggested Donna buy out his share of their house but she declined that offer without thanking him for his generosity, so it’s up for sale. Too many memories connected with that, Donna says, not to mention her pal Alison next door as a constant reminder of her nightmare.
“Besides, you might get tempted by those boobs of hers,” Donna quipped. “They’re really something.”
“I don’t think so,” I assured Donna. “I like my women natural, and besides, I’m a one woman man.”
Donna even skipped the razor for a while, after I wondered what her armpits would look like unshorn, and while they looked incredible to me, the abundant hair took some of the fun out of it for Donna. It wasn’t only because she was too embarrassed to wear sleeveless tops at work either.
“I can’t feel your tongue any more,” Donna complained one night, and blushed while confessing that ever since that first night when I ran my tongue under her arms, she was hooked on the feeling she got from my oral affections which were a regular part of our extended foreplay.
“I can feel you tongue when you do it to me,” I protested, having enjoyed Donna occassionally nuzzling under my arms, but then again, my armpits weren’t nearly as furry as hers had become, as Donna herself noted.
It was fine with me either way, so Donna resumed shaving every morning, but she often lets me do the job on the weekends when we have more time. It’s no job for me, it’s an event that’s a labor of love, with scented candles, shaving gel and background music accompanying my deft use of the razor as I make those sculptured hollows as soft and smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“Only you could make shaving my underarms a sensuous affair,” Donna quipped once, but she admits that I do a better job than she does, and if we had time in the mornings she would let me do it every day.
The problem is that it takes a while – not because she’s so hairy, but I tend to get a bit aroused while I shave her and we get sidetracked along the way. I know it isn’t just me that gets horny during this either, because I think she gets off watching how passionate and caring I am about her spectacular underarms.
I feel blessed in not only having a great marriage early in life, but after becoming resigned to living out the rest of my years alone, somehow found another woman who loves me and takes me as I am, idiosyncrasies and all.
And that woman, for today and hopefully the rest of my life, is Donna, who now has a man who never stops reminding her that her meatloaf is great, her breasts are perfect and that he adores every furry bit of her.