I met Gwen at the restaurant, where I went for breakfast every morning, before work, after my wife, Linda, left me for a younger man. Just as I had no idea she had a lover, I didn’t know my wife was unhappy enough to leave me. I mean, now that I think about it, she was pretty miserable, but what wife isn’t? With everything, including sex so routine and predictable, the romance fizzles, after being married for a while. Still, totally clueless, I thought everything was the routine same, until it wasn’t and until she was no longer there to cook breakfast.
Now, I’m one of the regulars at Joe’s Bacon and Egg. Honestly, I just come here for the coffee, a side of toast, sometimes a donut, but mostly to see and to talk to Gwen.
“Gwen, Gwen, oh, my God, Gwen. I love Gwen. I dream of Gwen. I masturbate over Gwen, while fantasizing about her in bed with me naked.”
She reminds me of the daughter I never had. Now, I’m not one of those guys, who’d have sex with his daughter. I don’t even have a daughter. I can just see us doing things and going places together. Definitely, if I had a daughter, she’d be just like Gwen. Linda couldn’t have kids and that was okay in the beginning, but it became more of an issue with her, as she got older and after all of her friends and sisters had children.
We had the idea that we’d adopt, until it was painfully obvious that we couldn’t afford the adoption fees and all the other bullshit that they wanted to put us through with impromptu home visits and background checks just to love a baby that someone else didn’t want. They were talking two years of waiting with more meeting, when we just wanted a baby now. Now that I look back on the past, when our hope to adopt a baby ended was when Linda started drinking.
Sometimes, she wouldn’t be home, when I got home. Sometimes, I’d have to go looking for her. Always, I’d find her in a bar or on her knees in a back alley with some drunk hanging all over her and feeling her tits, ass, and pussy. With her short skirt up to here and her blouse unbuttoned down to there, God only knows what she did, before I arrived, for someone to buy her a drink. She didn’t have any money of her own.
At the very least, I know she had some guy touching her, where only I should touch my wife. Having caught her more than once, I knew she was giving strange men blowjobs for a double shot of gin. With some husbands wanting to witness their wives having sex with another man, I’m not one of those men. The vision of Linda on her knees with her tits out, while sucking someone’s cock in a dirty alley is something that I’ll never forget.
Her reason for drinking, so she said, was when she realized, she confessed to me one day, out of the blue, that she feared that I’d die before her. Then, after I was gone, she’d be alone, in the way she’s always been alone having grown up an orphan. What could I say to that? How could I not excuse her bad, drunken behavior, even if she did have sex with men for drinks? It’s not all her fault that she’s a lush and a slut. I felt bad and I consoled her, as best as I could, but she dumped that on me, just as I was going out the door to work.
“I don’t want to be alone, Bob. I hate being alone. I’m frightened to be alone. I can’t be alone. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. Take the day off from work and stay with me, Bob, please.”
Ten years older than Linda, when I met her, maybe her not wanting to be alone is why she left me for a younger man. I don’t know. Maybe because she didn’t want to be alone is why she got with me in the first place. I don’t know. She wasn’t there for me to ask her, when I came home from work that day. Maybe it was all preplanned and she was leaving me that day. Maybe she figured I’d die soon, but with plenty of life left to live, it’s apparent to me, especially with all the drinking and running around she did, that Linda had issues. Yet, just as she left me for a younger man, he’ll leave her too, no doubt, for a younger woman, one day, once she doesn’t look as good as she does now.
“…And so it goes, tweet, tweet,” said Kurt Vonnegut. “…and so it goes.”
“You’re not alone, Linda. I’m here with you. I gotta go,” I said looking at my watch. “I’m late for work. We’ll talk all about your feelings of aloneness, when I get home. Okay?”
I kissed her good-bye and that was the last time I saw her. A blessing in disguise, now that I met Gwen, she wasn’t there when I came home from work. She shocked the shit out of me, when I came home to a dark and empty house. She didn’t even lock the front door. Her keys to the house were on the kitchen table with a note.
Bye? After fifteen years of marriage, one word with one syllable and three letters is all that I get for supporting her. Bye? I say bye to my grocer, my barber, and my banker. I’d never think that my wife would just pack up, leave, and just write bye to me. Because of that note, never again will I say bye to anyone. Instead, perhaps, I’ll say, “I’ll see you later, or so long, or in Roy Rogers and Dale Evens old lingo, happy trails, until we meet again.”
As if she pulled a moving van up to the front door, all of her stuff was gone, clothes, furniture, and household items, anything that belong to her, except for my car, a ’69 Camaro, the car I had, when we first met. She took that with her. I couldn’t believe it. She always liked that car. I figured, if she took anything, she’d take the appliances, the ‘fridge, the stove, and the washer dryer, but she didn’t cook and wash clothes. I did all of that. Yet, fifteen years of marriage didn’t mean as much to her, as it did to me. Apparently, fifteen years of marriage didn’t mean as much to her, as did my car mean to her. Bye and good riddance to her, but I really miss my car.
Yet, in honestly, I loved her, I really did. Only, I’m not sure why I did. I miss her, I really do. Again, I’m not sure why I still miss her, but I do. She was a real knockout, when I met her, but was a real handful, when drinking. She’d tear off all her clothes and walk around the house and even outside in her bra and panty, topless, and naked even. She didn’t care who saw her without her clothes. She turned into a real slut, when she was drinking. No doubt, she’d do anything and anybody for a double shot of gin.
Nonetheless, having been with her for so long, she was the only woman that I really loved. She was the only woman that I thought I really knew and who I thought knew me. I miss her voice. I miss her laugh. I miss watching television with her and making fun of people, that is, when she wasn’t drinking. I miss sleeping in bed with her, even if we didn’t have sex. Just to have her there was comforting. I miss having coffee and breakfast with her every morning. I miss our Sunday morning routine reading the newspaper and having donuts and coffee. I miss having her there to complain to and to tease her with my bathroom humor.
Instantly, all of that changed, when she’s the one who left me alone. For someone who didn’t want to be alone, I don’t understand how she could have left me alone. With her never calling or writing, it’s as if she died. Only, always thinking she’d come home, I never mourned her loss and grieved her death in the way I would have had she died, instead of having just packed up and left me for her hairdresser. Apparently, not all male hairdressers are gay men. I don’t know, maybe she was just tired of paying to have her hair done.
Having always been attached at the hip to her for as long as I can remember, going steady, her thing, engaged, when I just wanted to get married in Vegas, and married in a big church wedding, instead, I’m a fish out of water trying to find love in the modern dating world. With my wife being the only woman I’ve known, since I was twenty-nine-years-old, with the Internet, texting, and Twitter, I have no idea where to begin to look for another woman to love. It isn’t as if I have a switch in my brain and can turn off the feelings that I still have for her, just because she shut me out of her life. I just can’t stop loving Linda, just because she left me, that is, until I met Gwen.
Now, with Gwen in the picture, I could fall in love with her, if given the chance. She’s such a sweet woman. I’d live a much happier life, if only Gwen took Linda’s place in my heart and in my bed. If only I was a bit younger and she was a bit older, I’d ask her out on a date. Only, feeling so lonely, I know that by having my feelings transferred to her that I’m just going through something, in the way of rebound love.
Then, when I see myself in all the other men, who go to Joe’s Bacon and Egg, just to see Gwen, I feel like such a fool. Feeling pathetic sitting at a restaurant counter with all the other drooling men like me hoping for Gwen to give them some attention, I’m a 40-something-year-old man lusting over a 20-something-year-old waitress. What’s wrong with me? Maybe I’m going through my mid-life crisis early. Next, I’ll be driving a classic Corvette convertible soon and mourning the loss of the past and the ‘good old days, instead of living my life now and in the present.
For sure, if Gwen was my daughter and I was her Daddy, I wouldn’t want some 40-something-year-old man leering at my baby girl. There’s just something wrong with that. Men should know better that, unless they are rich, a young woman doesn’t want them, would never want them, in the same way that, unless she was rich, a young man would never want an older woman.
To be honest, even I get the creeps, when I imagine how she must feel being a targeted star of so many older men’s sexual fantasy. If only she knew what I was thinking, she’d slap my face and call the police to have me arrested for the mere sexual content of my perverse thoughts. If only she was thinking what I was feeling, I’d be a happy man. Yet, just as I want her, I know she doesn’t want me. She’d never want someone like me. Too tired and too crotchety, I’m just too damn old to start over again with another woman, never mind a woman so much younger than me.
No matter. There’s just something about her that makes me stare at her. There’s just something about her that makes me want to talk to her all day, which most times is impossible. She always has other customers and seeing myself in other men, there are plenty of regulars, younger and older than me, who’d love to take Gwen home with them to their bed.
Then, looking deeper than her blonde hair and shapely figure, looking all around the place, instead of looking just at her, I wondered what’s a good looking woman doing in a dump like this? She’s so beautiful. Surely, she can find a better job than this. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with big tits and a shapely figure, she’s every man’s dream woman. I swear, if every woman looked like Gwen, there’s be no more extra marital affairs. Every man would finally have his dream woman.
There are blondes and there are blondes, but Gwen is a real blonde. I can always tell a natural blonde from dyed blonde by her eyebrows and complexion and Gwen is all natural. Always having the internal habit of comparing people in my life to celebrities, just as Linda was my Tiffani Thiessen, she looked just like her. If I was to compare Gwen to someone, she’d be a cross between a modern day version of Angie Dickerson and Tuesday Weld, two of my Dad’s all-time favorite women and, now that I see Gwen, I see why. If I told my Dad about Gwen and if he lived closer, he’d be a regular diner here, too. Doing my best to remove the physical attraction, already friends, despite our huge differences in age, I wondered what her story was. Then, one day, after the breakfast crowd left and before the lunch crowd took all the good seats, I asked her.
“What’s your story, Gwen?” As if I was a barfly in a bar sipping a beer, instead of a customer in a diner drinking coffee, I gazed up at her big, blue eyes from my regular stool at the end of the counter.
Accustomed to sitting at third base, when playing Blackjack, I purposely picked that stool because it gives me more elbow room. Now, instead of counting cards, I watch people and I see how the other men look at Gwen in the same way that I look at her. It’s funny how the small things in middle age life become so monumentally important. When I was younger, I’d pee out my beer in a trough at a Red Sox baseball game at Fenway Park, now I prefer the privacy of a closed door bathroom stall. Next, I’ll be soaking my teeth in a glassful of water, my feet in a basin of Epsom salts, wearing white socks, driving a Buick, and sitting on a park bench feeding the pigeons in Boston Common, while wondering what happened to the last twenty years of my life. How in the Hell did I get so old, when it seems that I just finished my stint in the Army?
Leaning down to melt my brown eyes and flutter butterflies in my stomach with her beautiful face, she rested her elbows on the counter. She was so close to me that I just wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real and to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming. I always loved when she did that, when she made the conversation more intimately personal and exclusively private, by leaning down to talk to me in that way. Only, whenever she did that, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be standing behind her, humping her from behind and fucking her, really fucking her, while feeling her big, hanging breasts and fingering her hard, erect nipples.
“Kiss me,” I imagined her saying. “Feel my tits. Make love to me.”
Unlike any other woman in my life, even Linda, maybe just for a bigger tip, Gwen made me feel so important, as if I was the only man in the restaurant and the only man in her life. Moreover, hoping she didn’t catch me looking, staring, gazing, and leering, actually, when she leaned down to me like that, her blouse always opened enough for me to see her long line of cleavage, the top of her white bra, and to see that she was naturally blessed with a set of C cup breasts. I like tits and Gwen had big ones. To me, a woman isn’t a woman, unless she has tits and I could tell from her side profile that she had a set of beautiful knockers on her.
With the counter stool being higher than she was lower, did she know that I could see down her blouse? Did she know that I could see her bra and cleavage? Did she care? Or was she purposely flashing me her tits. Was she teasing me? Did she want me to see all that I was seeing?
“Do you like what you see? Do you like my tits? Would you like to feel my tits and finger my nipples. I bet you’d love to suck my tits, fuck my tits, and cum all over my big tits.”
Whenever she flashed me her bra and cleavage, I always imagined her saying all of that, only she never said anything like that. She never talked to me in that way. It’s only in my dreams and sexual fantasies that I imagined Gwen saying and doing all that I wished she’d do.
“Yeah, Gwen, tell me your story. I’m interested to know.”
“Well, Robert,” she said giving me a smile.
Whenever she smiled at me like that, I knew something good was coming. She was the only person, except for my mother, who called me Robert. Everyone else, my friends, my co-workers, and Linda called me Bob. No one called me Rob or Bobby, but Gwen, my Gwen, always called me Robert. Coming from her, I liked hearing her call me that. She made me feel as if I was someone else, someone named Robert, and someone more distinguished.
“Go on, don’t be shy. Tell me your story. I’d really like to know more about you.”
“I can’t,” she said eying the customers just entering the restaurant, after looking around her to see who else was listening and, whenever Gwen talked, they were all listening. “Not here and not now. I have customers,” she said standing upright and slapping the counter with the palm of her hand, as if that was her signal to get to work or her signal to get up the courage to do something or say something. Then, when she reached in her apron pocket to pull out her book of receipts, she surprised me with what she said next. “But,” she said putting her pen to her lips and looking at me, as if having second thoughts. “If you pick me up at my house,” she said leaning down to whisper in my ear, “17 Glendale at 8 o’clock and take me out to buy me dinner, I’ll tell you my story.”
“Okay.” One word, one syllable with four letters was all that I could say. Shocked that she’d want to have dinner with me, I suddenly felt foolish and less of a man that I didn’t have the balls to ask her out first.
When she leaned down to whisper in my ear, so close that I could smell her body wash, imagining her leaning down to kiss me, I just wanted to turn my head and kiss her. I just wanted to stick my tongue in her mouth, while feeling her big tits and fingering her nipples through her white, starched blouse, and white satin bra. Then, she pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from her other pocket and wrote something. Imagining she was writing me a secret love note, imagining she was writing me a dirty note of all the sexual things she wanted to do to my middle aged body and all the things that she wanted me to do to her oh, so young and perfect body, she surprised me by what she wrote.
“Here’s my number. Call me, if you can’t make it. Otherwise, I’ll see you at eight,” she said giving me a big smile. I never thought Gwen could be any prettier than she was, but she was so much prettier, when she smiled. To be so rewarded with her smile, if I was her man, I’d shower her with gifts, just to see her smile.
Wait? Back up. Hello? What just happened here? Pick her up at her house? Did she just say that? Buy her dinner? Did I just dream that? Did Gwen, the woman of my sexual fantasies just give me her telephone number? Did Gwen just ask me out on a date? Oh, my God.
“Sure,” I said still stunned by all that transpired so quickly that all I could answer her with was a four letter, one syllable, word. Thus far, I could write my entire conversation with her on a postage stamp. “Only, I hope you don’t mind riding in an old pickup truck,” I said embarrassed suddenly and missing my classic ’69 Camaro even more, the only hot car I ever had. “Linda took my car.”
“You can leave your truck at my house, Robert. We’ll take my car. I love to drive.”
“Okay,” I said finishing my toast and coffee and leaving, when Gwen was busy with another customer.
I left her a five dollar tip, instead of my usual two dollars, but as soon as I did, I felt guilty. I felt as if I was leaving a hooker a tip on a nightstand, not that I’ve ever been with a hooker. I hoped that she didn’t get the wrong impression.
She turned and waved, as I was leaving. It was when she gave me a look that her eyes confessed that we’d be doing more than eating and talking, if you know what I mean. Yet, as soon as I thought that, I scolded myself for thinking that. There’s no way someone like her would be interested in someone like me. Things like that never happen. Yet, that’s how it all happened with Linda. She was beautiful and ten years younger than me, but fifteen years makes a whole lot of difference in the aging process and I was getting a little too ripe to be trying to harvest such a fine Georgia peach.
“Bye, Robert,” she said turning to warm my heart and harden my cock with her smile again. Different than when Linda wrote bye to me, even though Gwen said, ‘Bye’, just in the way she said it with her big smile and solid eye contact, her saying bye was as if she said hello.
“Bye, Gwen. I’ll see you tonight,” I said louder than necessary and sorry that I had said that, as soon as I said it.
Still, when I saw the looks of the other men, I was glad that I said that. As if their heads were attached to my words, half a dozen heads turned to look at me, before turning to look at Gwen. Yeah, that’s right suckers. I have a date with Gwen. How do you like them apples? She even gave me her telephone number, you losers.
I was half an hour early, when I arrived at Gwen’s house. Actually, having left work early because all I could think of was being alone with Gwen, I had been ready since six. I parked my truck by her car, a red Mustang GT convertible. The car looked fairly new, and I wondered, how a waitress working in a two-bit diner can afford a forty-five thousand dollar car, when it stretches my budget just to buy gas for my truck. I walked up her front steps and rang the bell.
“Come in, Robert,” she said from somewhere upstairs. “The door is unlocked.”
“Hi Gwen,” I said not knowing where she was and what else to say, when what I typically say to her every morning is, “Hi Gwen, I’ll have the usual.”
“Coffee and toast,” she mumbles back, while writing in her book.
“I’ll be down in a minute. There’s coffee on the counter and beer in the fridge. Help yourself, Robert,” she said. I loved how she said my name. Rolling off her tongue, as if my name was an endearment, she made me feel so special, whenever she called me by name.
Passing up a beer for a cup of coffee, having missed my afternoon coffee break to leave work early, definitely, I didn’t want to fall asleep halfway through this date, if that’s even what this was. With my luck, she asked me out to dinner to sell me some Tupperware or a yearly week at a timeshare. I poured myself a cup hot, black coffee and wandered around her living room. She had pictures everywhere, mostly of her growing up in this house. Always a pretty girl, she turned into a beautiful woman. Even though I was thrilled that I was standing here in her house, Gwen’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder why? I’m nothing special, just an average guy and Gwen is my real life movie star masquerading as a waitress in some hole-in-the wall, dump of a diner.
“God, she’s so pretty,” I said mumbling to myself. “She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Standing right behind me, while looking over my shoulder, I never heard her come down the stairs.
“Wow. You look so much better in person,” I said putting down her picture and laughing at myself.
As if I had chosen her outfit, she made the perfect fashion selection, a short shirt and a low cut button blouse. I figured that Gwen was 5’7″ tall, but with the 2″ heels she was wearing, she was almost my height. Honestly, funny how my mind works, when a beautiful woman is wearing such a short skirt, but I didn’t know how she was going to get in her Mustang without flashing me her panties. Honestly, I didn’t know if I should nod my head, shake her hand, or dare give her a hug. Instead, she took the lead, pressed her shapely body against mine, and gave me a peck on the lips, before hugging me, really hugging me, as if we were long lost cousins.
Oh, my God. Gwen kissed me. I mean, it wasn’t a real, tongue down my throat kiss, but it was a kiss and it was from Gwen. I’ll be thinking of this tonight later, when in bed with my bad self and my hand firmly around my cock and stroking myself, that’s for sure.
“Are you ready?”
“I am,” I said guzzling my coffee, as if I was drinking liquid Viagra.
Being the gentleman that I am, albeit the perverted gentleman that I’ll always be, I opened her car door, while hoping she’d flash me her panties. With her legs nearly spread wide open to get in her car and her short skirt nearly up to her crotch, she didn’t disappoint me. As if my eyes could move in two different directions at the same time, one eye looked down her low cut blouse at her exposed bra and cleavage, while my other eye was rewarded with a bright, white patch of her panty. Damn, she was so hot. She was so sexy. Thank you, Jesus for giving me sight!
“Well, what do you think, Robert? Are you ready for my life story?”
“I am,” I said.
“I’ll tell you all about me, once we get our food. I’m hungry, starving actually. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch and that was only a bowl of chicken soup and a couple of crackers. Sorry, but I can’t think on an empty stomach,” she said driving out of the city.
“Nice car,” I said giving her a look, as if asking her how she could afford it.
“It was a gift,” she said.
A gift? Who gives a beautiful woman a brand new Mustang GT convertible, as a gift, without expecting something sexual in return?
“Daddy bought it for me, when I graduated college with my master’s degree.”
Master’s degree? Daddy? I wondered if Daddy was her father or if Daddy was her sugar daddy, some 80-year-old man, who was drooling over her, in the way that I was drooling over her now.
“What’s your field of study?”
“Art history slash English literature, which is why I work as a waitress,” she said with a laugh. “I thought I wanted to teach, but I changed my mind. I really don’t like kids, especially someone else’s kids,” she said with a laugh.
It was then that I wondered if she prostituted herself on the side. Maybe she thinks I have money. Maybe she thinks that I’d buy her a gift, too. For sure, if she asked for a thousand dollars to have sex with her, I’d go to the nearest ATM. Only, I think my bank has a three hundred dollar limit. Matter of fact, I don’t think I even have three hundred dollars in my bank. Linda took whatever I had saved. I wondered if she’d take a check, debit card, or credit card. I’d sell my soul for a naked, sweaty night with Gwen. Then, I realized, way ahead of myself and no different from all those other men leering at her from across the restaurant counter, that we were just going out for dinner. This wasn’t a real date, was it?
“I know this place. It’s not much to look at, but they have the best fried clams. Do you like clams?”
“I love clams,” I said, suddenly thinking about sniffing, fingering, licking, and fucking her raw clam.
She headed in the direction of the ocean and it was about a twenty minute drive, but we made it there fifteen minutes before they closed. Hoping for an encore, I hustled around the car to help her with her door. Only, this time, she denied me the pleasure of a panty flash by getting out of her car herself, before I could clear her bumper.
Once we got our food, she parked in a more secluded spot, a spot that I would have chosen, if I was a horny teenager in a red, Mustang GT convertible with a beautiful woman. Only, within full view of the Atlantic Ocean, I wasn’t understanding why this gorgeous girl was parking her car in a spot that was just as desolate as it was romantic. I wasn’t some twenty-something-year-old stud. I was nearly old enough to be her father or wicked older brother, anyway.
It was then that I wondered how old she was. Bad enough that I was ten years older than Linda, not so much of a difference now, but it was a real issue to her parents and her friends back then, when she was barely twenty-years-old and I was nearly thirty-years-old. Maybe Gwen is older than I think she is. Maybe, if I can’t get with Gwen, she has an older sister. Looking as if she’s twenty-two, if she had six years of college, she’s at least twenty-four, maybe even twenty-five. Definitely, in the way she looks so young, she can’t be more than twenty-six.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Oh, oh. Here is comes. You want to know if I’m married and have kids or why aren’t I married and have kids?”
“Actually, in our talks at the diner you told me you’re not married or attached and don’t really like kids,” he said with a laugh. “I was just wondering how old, or in your case, how young you are.”
“How old do I look,” she said turning her head to me, while batting her long eyelashes.
“I’m afraid to know but if I was to hazard a guess, I’d say twenty-two?”
“Twenty-two? Thank you. You’re too kind.”
“Then, I figured, because you’ve had six years of college, twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six? Thank you again for your kindness,” she said with a melodious and endearing laugh that made me want to kiss her.
“I can’t imagine you being any older than that. You look so very young,” I said, “sinfully young.”
“I’ll be thirty-two in July, July 26th. I’m a Leo.”
“Thirty-two? Wow! I never would have guess you were thirty-two. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I’m shocked.”
“Because Linda was ten years younger than me and with you, I felt as if I was a dirty old man,” I said with a laugh. “That is, if this is a date.”
“A date? Did you really think this was a date?”
My heart sunk in my stomach, when she said that. Feeling so embarrassed that I’d dare even think that someone like her would be interested in me, I was devastated. If it wasn’t a date, then I didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was just as what it appeared to be, two friends having dinner. I was so disappointed. Here I was expecting a big evening and this isn’t even a date.
“It’s not a date? I’m so embarrassed. I just thought–”
“It is a date, you big dummy. If I waited for you to ask me out, I’d still be serving you breakfast,” she said with a laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t know what else to do to get your attention. I practically served up my big boobs to your face, when leaning over the counter to talk to you. I saw you looking down my blouse, you pervert,” she said with a laugh. “Still, even after flaunting my body before your eyes, you never asked me out. Why?”
“Why? Gees, Gwen. Look at you and look at me. You’re so beautiful and I’m so…old.”
“You’re not old, Robert. You’re wonderful.”
We spent the rest of the time together talking, while making eyes at one another. I so wanted to kiss her, but I didn’t have the nerve. Here I go again. Afraid to ask her out, now I’m afraid to kiss her.
As if the food was an aphrodisiac, the clams were unbelievable. Being with her in the car, my senses were heightened. Everything smelled, looked, and felt better, when sitting there with Gwen. The batter just melted in my mouth and, after being accustomed to the tough, dried out clams they gave a Friendly’s, these clams were succulently tender.
“You don’t mind if I put the top up, Robert, do you? It’s getting a little chilly.”
“No, not at all.” After she put up the top, she surprised me, when she opened her door. “Where are you going?” Had we already eaten our food, I would have figured that she wanted to walk along the beach and I’d be willing to do that, so long as I could hold her hand or put an arm around her shapely waist, while pretending that she was my woman.
“We’ll be more comfortable in back,” she said moving her seat all the way forward and flashing me her panties again, when climbing in back with her legs parted nearly as wide as they were, when she got in the car before.
Being that I’m six foot tall, I didn’t think that I could fit in the backseat of a Mustang, even with my seat all the way forward, but I did. Actually, if I had to cut my feet off to fit in the backseat with Gwen, I gladly would have.
“Well, this is cozy,” I said.
“You don’t mind,” she said reaching down to remove her shoes, “do you? I should have known better than to wear heels, after standing on my feet all day. My feet are so sore,” she said rubbing them.
“No not at all,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.” You don’t mind if I take off my pants, do you? I thought of saying but didn’t.
“Oh, that feels good,” she said stretching out her legs and depositing her heels in my lap. “My calves ache.”
Oh, my God. Does she know her heels are in contact with my bulging cock? If I didn’t have an erection from seeing her panties twice, I surely had one now that her panties were in continue view of my horny eyes, while her feet rested on my growing prick.
“Nice stems, Gwen,” I said looking down at her shapely legs and seeing that her panties were still exposed. I waited for her to pull her short skirt down, but she didn’t.
“Thank you,” she said looking down at her legs. “Maybe after eat, I can sweet talk you into giving me a foot massage.”
A foot massage? Forget about a foot massage, I’d love to give her a head to toe massage.
“Sure, I’m the master of foot massages,” I bragged, even though I’ve never given anyone a foot massage, while resting my hand on her foot, before reaching up to massage her shapely calf.
We ate and we talked, all while Gwen occasionally and unconsciously, no doubt, wiggled her heel over the head of my erect prick. Maybe this was the foot massage she was talking about.
“Be a dear, Robert and rub my poor feet,” she said opening her legs wide enough to give me more of a view of her panty clad pussy mound, but not wide enough for me to think bad of her.
Lifting up one leg to massage her foot, while exposing more of her panty, I rubbed one foot, before rubbing the other, she laughed with glee, when I did that. Each time I lifted her leg and massaged her foot, her legs opened wider and skirt climbed higher. Expecting her to notice her panties were so exposed, when she didn’t pull down her skirt, I continued giving her a foot massage, while gazing up at her panties and hoping she didn’t catch me looking. I couldn’t believe that I had a constant and continual view of Gwen’s panty clad pussy. If nothing else happened during this date, I’d go back to my lonely life a happy man.
Back and forth, I took her feet in my hand and massaged them. She closed her eyes and put her head back against the side of her car and, as soon as she closed her eyes, I reached up to massage her calves, while staring at her panties. My fingers were so close to her panty clad crotch that I wanted to reach out and cup her pussy, after tracing her pussy slit with my finger and rubbing her clit through her panty. Afraid to go any higher, I so wanted to massage her shapely thighs, before massaging her between her legs. Then, encouraged by the sight of her panties and the fact that her eyes were still closed, as if she was napping, I reached my hands higher and massaged her exposed shapely, firm thighs.
“Wonderful, That’s just wonderful, Robert. I swear, just by massaging my feet, my calves, and my thighs, you could ask me to do anything and I would,” she said opening her eyes to make eye contact with me, while giving me a sexy look.
Anything? She’ll do anything for a foot, calf, and thigh massage? While thinking of her sucking my cock, I massaged her feet and legs, as if I was massaging her breasts and ass. Maybe from watching Pulp Fiction one too many times, I made foot massaging moves that I didn’t even know I knew. Within just a few minutes, I had her moaning, as if she was having an orgasm.
“Are you okay, Gwen?”
“Okay? I’m better than okay,” she said removing her feet from my lap and sitting up, while giving me another flash of her panty, this time a bent, open legged flash. My feet feel wonderful and I feel so relaxed. She looked me square in the eye and as if she was Marilyn Monroe or Kim Basinger, before breathing out her lust for me, “Since you’ve given me so much pleasure, is there anything that I can do for you, Robert?”
Aside from the long laundry list of sexual things that I wanted to ask her to do, unzip my pants, pull out my cock, and stroke me, before sucking me, I was afraid to tell her what I really wanted was sex. Still, putting my fear aside, I took a deep breath and summoned my courage to take the my first baby step in bedding Gwen.
“Well, if you don’t think me too forward, I always wanted to kiss you.”
“You’ve always wanted to kiss me? Why didn’t you? With my face planted inches from your face, with my lips reaching for you across that dining counter, I’ve been waiting months for you to kiss me.”
“I’ve always wanted to kiss you, too, Robert. As long as I live, I’ll never understand men. Some men, need only a look for them to stalk you and others need a baseball bat to the back of the head for them to notice you. You fall in the latter category, instead of the former,” she said leaning into me and pressing her breasts into my chest, while attaching her red lips to my horny lips.
Without even having to sneak her my tongue, she wrapped her arms around my neck and filled my mouth with her tongue. As if her breasts were magnetic and my hands were made of metal, my sweaty palm felt her abundant breast, while she kissed and kissed me. I was kissing Gwen. I couldn’t believe that Gwen was kissing me, while I was feeling her tits through her blouse and bra. Immediately, her nipples pushed against my palm and I could feel that they were big ones. Between her flashing me her panties, the foot massage, and now the kissing and groping, I was in Heaven. If I died now, I’d die happy. By far, she was a much better kisser than Linda. By far, she had much bigger and firmer breasts, too.
Unable to wrap my brain around all that’s happened so fast, I couldn’t believe I was sitting in the backseat of a Mustang kissing and feeling up Gwen. Shades of what I did twenty years ago with my dates in my Camaro, before I married Linda, I was now doing with Gwen. I couldn’t believe Gwen was allowing me to feel her breasts, while French kissing her. Going for broke, I unbuttoned one button of her blouse and looked down to see what I could see, while waiting to see what she’d do, before unbuttoning another button. She gave me the green light, when she kissed me more passionately, while reaching down to feel the tent pole in my pants. Something I always fantasized her doing, while masturbating, Gwen was fondling my cock through my pants, as I was feeling her breasts and fingering her nipples through her bra. Taking her lead, I went up her short skirt and felt her pussy through her panty. Oh, my God. Was I going to get lucky tonight? If I was a betting man, I’d bet on me.
“If you lick my pussy,” she said breaking off her kiss to whisper in my ear. “I’ll suck your cock.”
This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming. I can’t believe Gwen just told me she’d suck my cock, if I licked her pussy. Having known her for months, always fantasizing her talking like that to me, I never heard her say an inappropriate word, until now. With no downside to that agreement, licking her pussy, before she sucked my cock, was a win/win for me.
“I’d like nothing more to eat you. I so want to lick you. I can’t wait to remove your panties to finger you, Gwen, but unless I stick my legs out the window–”
“We’ll go to my place, silly,” she said laughing and giving me a kiss before climbing in front.
The drive to her place was only twenty minutes, but it was the longest twenty minutes of my life. We talked but I don’t remember what she said or I said. All that I could think about was that I was going home with Gwen to have sex with her. My dream come true, I’ll never ask God for anything for the rest of my life.
As soon as we got in her house and closed the front door behind us, we were all over one another, as if we were horny teenagers. Kissing and kissing and kissing, I’ve never kissed any woman as much as I kissed Gwen that night. She was topless and she had my cock sticking straight out of my pants, by the time she took me by the hand to her bedroom upstairs. We were both naked, before we even hit the bed. Never have I been as excited and she was so wet.
Immediately, I fell between her legs and fingered her, while licking her. I’ve eaten a few pussies in my life, but Gwen’s pussy was the best pussy I ever had in my mouth. Forever ruining me for other women, if she let me, I could make a steady diet of her pussy. With my tongue and fingers buried in her cunt, I loved watching her squirm, while listening to all the wonderful sounds she was making. I was about to make Gwen cum with my mouth and fingers. Any second now, Gwen, the woman of my dreams was going to cum in my mouth and then she did.
“Oh, Robert! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Oh, yeah, right there. That’s it. Right there.”
As soon as she tensed her thighs and curled her toes, I knew she was done. Only, I continued licking her and ate her again and didn’t stop, until she had another orgasm. With Gwen all over my face, we kissed. Covered in her sweetness, she seemed to enjoy licking my face, as if she was a new puppy and I was her master.
“Kiss me, Gwen, so that I know I’m not dreaming.”
“Kiss me, Robert, as if you love me.”
She startled me by saying the ‘L’ word. Was that what she wanted to hear me say, that I love her? Does she love me? There was only one way to find out, if she loves me, as I love her. Since she’s already broached the subject by uttering the word love, in whatever context, and since I’ve been slow to ask her out and kiss her, I took the lead this time.
“I do love you,” I said shocking even myself from blurting that out. Never have I professed love so soon to anyone, but now that it was out there, I was glad that I did because, if I thought she was passionate before, she turned into a wild animal now.
“I love you, Robert. I love you. I do. Right from the first day I saw you, I feel in love with you. Fuck me, Robert. Fuck me. Drill me with that big, hard cock. Make me cum with your cock in the way you made me cum with your fingers and tongue.”
“Do I need protection?”
“I’m on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone else in three years, since grad school.”
“Well, Linda is the only woman I’ve been with for the past fifteen years, but we haven’t been intimate in more than two years.”
Kissing and kissing her, while feeling her everywhere, we made love, before we fucked. I haven’t fucked anyone like that, since the first time I got with Linda. I can’t remember the last time I had sweaty, needing a shower sex, but I had it that night with Gwen. I couldn’t wait to shower with her.
My perfect lover, true to her word, as soon as I licked her pussy and gave her two orgasms, immediately after I fucked her pussy and gave her a third orgasm, she latched onto my cock, as if I was the blue plate, hot dog special at the diner and she was a starving woman. For someone so smart, for someone with two college degrees, she had a Ph D. in cock sucking. Never has anyone sucked my cock in the way that Gwen sucked my cock. The kind of blowjobs that all men dream about, after going to see a stripper do her thing with a pole, Gwen had mad, bad skills. Working on my pole, as if she was greasing it with her lips and tongue, I watched her go up and down on me, as her tongue twirled around the circumference of it. With her hand pumping me faster, it didn’t take me long to shoot all that I had in her mouth.
In the same way that I kissed her with a face full of her pussy juices and with her licking herself from my face, as soon as I exploded my cum in her mouth, she kissed me. Only, she did something that no other woman has ever done to me before. As if I was her baby bird needing nourishment, she spit some of the cum, that I deposited in her mouth, in my mouth. The first time tasting my own cum, I thought I’d be disgusted. I thought I’d be sick and vomit. I thought I’d instantly develop a preference for fashion design, the color fuchsia, and turn gay, instead I was excited to taste myself on her.
“I like to share,” she said sticking her finger in her pussy and sucking off her juice. Then, she stuck her finger in her pussy again. Only, this time, she stuck her finger in my mouth and I licked her finger clean.
I no longer go to the diner because Gwen doesn’t work there anymore. Now, she exclusively cooks me breakfast, before we go to work. She teaches art history at the high school. Soon, we’ll have a student of our own, as she’s pregnant with our son.