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She looked at me from across the cafe. At first I didn’t think much of it. She was a cute, girl-next-door type who wore bookish horn-rimmed glasses and her brown hair in a braided ponytail. I guessed she was a few years younger than me.
I was there to work, having dropped my car off at the shop down the street for what was expected to be a couple hours worth of repair work.
Free WiFi. Check. Good coffee. Check.
Attention from any woman was flattering after 5 years on my own. I smiled and nodded back. She smiled at me, then turned her attention back to whatever it was she was doing on her laptop, taking a sip of her tea.
The cafe was small, but airy, with high white tin ceilings and light wood floors. A mix of quiet alternative rock played on the speakers with eclectic art on the walls.
She wore a mustard colored blouse that draped neatly over a slim frame, revealing little. Strapped sandals that gave her an extra inch of height when she stood up did show off her well manicured toes. Most strikingly: She wore a long denim skirt, unbuttoned enough so that when she crossed her legs, she revealed a single, fit thigh. Her leg, like the rest of her skin, was pink, as if she had spent a day in the sun without enough sunscreen.
As I started to hammer away at my work — tackling emails and writing a report, I found myself occasionally looking up, only to catch her glancing at me as well. We’d smile, then get back to work.
It was oddly satisfying — me a 40-something-year-old guy with graying temples, flirting with this cute, librarian-type like we were in high school.
Focus. Work, I thought to myself.
She got up and went to the restroom, eyeing me curiously as she did so. I nodded and mouthed “hello.” She sneezed and looked embarrassed, stumbling a bit as she continued to the restroom.
Work. Focus. And I did.
I am about six feet tall, 200 pounds. I’m self conscious about losing some hair on the top and certainly not someone who gets a ton of flirtatious attention from random women. My ego was boosted enough by this G-rated situation that I felt more productive and my report seemed to flow out of my fingers and into my laptop for a few minutes.
A small piece of paper was dropped on my table. I looked at it in puzzlement, then looked up to see her smiling, a dimple in her cheek. She quickly looked away and walked back to her seat across the room.
Were we teenagers? I unwrapped the folded note, which said “Amanda” followed by her phone number. I blushed, keeping my head down a bit. I also felt myself get half an erection.
I picked up my phone and texted her. “Thanks for your number. I feel like I’m in back in school.”
I was processing what to do next — go over and talk with her? Offer to buy her another drink?
She texted me back.
“Kinda mysterious communicating this way, right? Don’t let the teacher know.” A winking emoji ended the message before another quickly popped up.
“Tell me about yourself.”
OK, she wanted to get to know one another via text. She played it safe, I thought.
“I’m a writer and run my own communications firm,” I wrote back. “First time in this cafe. Car is in the shop down the street.”
“So you’re stranded here?” she wrote back, winking emoji at the end.
“Yes, for an hour or two, I’m afraid. What about you?”
“My mom is in dialysis down the road. I bring her once a week when my dad can’t and sometimes come here while she gets her treatment.”
How do you respond to that, I wondered. Uhhh… I’m sorry about your mom… you’re a good daughter…
Don’t say bahis firmaları something stupid, I thought.
Before I figured it out I saw another bubble on my screen and looked up to see her typing another message out. She looked at me, obviously hesitating before she worked up the courage to hit the “send” button.
“OK, weird question: Do you think I’m pretty?” She ended the message with an emoji that had no mouth.
Wow. This was forward. And the question was a little weird. But the answer was obvious. I looked at her, smiling. She was not playing it as safe as I had expected.
“Yes! Cool glasses,” I quickly tapped, finding an emoji with glasses. “Love your braid. I like your skirt (and your your leg). Cool earrings, too.”
I hit send, hoping the leg comment wasn’t going to sound like I was some kind of a weirdo. TMI?
Blushing face emoji came back my way. We both looked up and smiled.
“May I come over and sit with you?” I wrote back. Her answer was almost immediate.
Another text-in-progress bubble came up.
“I’ve got something I’ve always wanted to do.” Blushing face emoji, again. “Bear with me. I am nervous.”
I looked up and gave her a quizzical smirk before her next message came in.
“I’m going to go into the restroom. I’m going to leave the door unlocked.”
I was stunned and waited for the next text I could see she was typing. She did look nervous. She also looked determined.
“I’ll count to 30 before locking the door. If you’re feeling adventurous, come in. But… shhh! Don’t say a word when you come in!” Zipper-mouthed emoji.
I raised my eyebrows and looked at her. She shyly looked down at her laptop. Then typed another text.
“If this is too weird, plz let me know.”
I looked at her and smiled. Then, I typed back: “Lead the way.”
She collected her bag, straightened her glasses and got up from her table. Taking a deep breath, she began walking again toward the restroom in the back of the shop. She gave me a mischievously fast, slightly embarrassed smile as she walked by. She was blushing. She also seemed to have a slight bead of sweat on her forehead. She clutched her laptop bag over her chest, reminding me of someone walking down the hall at school, holding her folders as if to protect them.
Holy shit. This was really happening.
Was there a decision to be made? Maybe she was psycho. Maybe she was going to kill me. Maybe she was going to scream when I opened the door. More likely: This was some elaborate setup by a friend playing a practical joke.
Since my wife had passed away, friends had been telling me I needed to get out, go on a few dates. Tinder. Whatever. I was horny, but just couldn’t see myself going through the process of dating. I had kids to take care of, a job to do. I still loved and longed for my wife.
But here i was. I found myself packing up my things, my heart was starting to pound out of my chest. My half erection was now more like three quarters. Fear and doubt wouldn’t allow it to go any further at that point.
I got up and went to the door of the unisex restroom, looking around to see if anyone was looking. I half expected someone to jump out and say I was being punked. But the barista was messing with the music system. Other customers were lost in conversation or their own work.
I pushed down on the door handle and went inside.
She was leaning against the sink, one leg out of the slit in her skirt. Her finger was over her mouth as if to shush me. She looked awkward, in a way that I found cute and endearing. Playing slutty vixen kaçak iddaa clearly wasn’t something she had much experience with.
“Lock the door,” she whispered, trying to sound sexy, but looking girlishly clumsy in the moment. “Don’t say anything.”
I clicked the door lock. She removed her glasses and placed them on the sink. She approached me, pulling her blouse off over her head, in a surprisingly smooth motion. She unfastened her bra to reveal small, but very firm breasts. Her nipples were asymmetrical, one facing forward, the other slightly to the side.
It was an imperfection that was so beautiful it made me rock hard. She looked at my face, placing a hand on my bearded cheek.
“I read a story like this one time. I always wanted to try it, but never thought I would find the courage to do it. If you’re game, don’t speak, just nod.”
She kissed me softly, her hands rubbing my face and neck. I returned the kiss, affectionately caressing her cheeks, then wrapping my arms around her to feel goosebumps all over her bare back. I kissed her neck, shoulder and collar bone, one hand feeling the baby soft warmth of the side of her pale breast.
I hadn’t kissed someone this way in a long time, much less been alone with a topless woman.
She reached down and began to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my jeans, squatting as she pulled my pants and my boxer-briefs down simultaneously.
My fully erect dick was at her lips. Average sized, with a large head my wife and past girlfriends had always likened to a lollipop, she began to lick and suck up and down my shaft, massaging my balls at the same time.
I leaned against the door, petting her braid, looking down to watch this unreal situation unfold. She didn’t wear colored lipstick, but her soft lips glistened with lip balm. In fact, she didn’t appear to wear any makeup at all. Her pink skin was soft. Her light brown eyes were surrounded by naturally long eyelashes.
Her innocent look belied this bold sexuality.
“Mmm,” she laughed after a minute, pausing, to look at my penis. “It’s like a Blow-Pop.”
She grabbed my shaft tightly and sucked the head as if to illustrate the point. I closed my eyes to get back into the moment.
To be honest, I was also trying my best not to cum too quickly. A few more minutes of this, though, and I was going to explode.
She finally stood up, pressing her breasts against my button-down shirt. On her tiptoes, her open mouth met mine and our tongues intertwined. She was probably 5 feet, 6 inches tall, with her sandals still on, giving her that extra boost.
Her kiss tasted sweet, with a hint of what i guessed was jasmine tea and honey she had just been drinking. Her tongue was slender and soft.
I grabbed her petite butt, clutching her denim skirt, which was thinner than it looked. I was surprised to feel she didn’t have any panties on. I began pulling up the skirt to touch her bare rear end. She quickly unbuttoned the top buttons of the skirt instead and allowed it to drop to the floor.
I saw she had neatly trimmed, light brown pussy hair. I reached down to feel her wetness. She leaned into my hand, slightly lifting her leg, allowing me to insert a finger as we stood there. I felt her grip my finger and squeeze it inside her. She moaned. After a few moments probing, I pulled my finger out, grabbed her tensed butt cheeks, then lifted and spun her so her back was against the wall. I began rubbing her clitoris. In rhythmic, circular motions, my right hand felt her soft wetness, circling the pleasure spot, deliberately trying not to hit it directly. My kaçak bahis left hand gently caressed and alternately pinched her nipples, both now firm and even more beautifully lopsided. I watched her facial reactions, her eyes had closed, clenching at waves of pleasure. She was lost in this daring moment, softly humming, before she began to gasp, her muscles tightened.
She shuddered as she came, digging her fingernails into my sides in a way I knew would leave marks. She bit her lower lip in ecstasy.
She opened her eyes as my hands again reached for her ass, lifting her off the floor, her legs wrapping around me. I carried her to the sink counter, setting her down lightly, edging my cock toward her opening. As I pushed to enter her, I felt her tight vagina resist, then gently envelop me in a wet warmth.
Her head drooped to the side, eyelids fluttering.
“Oh. My. God…” she said, notably trying to keep her volume as low as she could manage while I moved in and out of her, working to establish a rhythm and avoid cumming too quickly.
A minute or so in, she froze. Looking straight at my face as if panicked and serious. I tensed up.
Oh, shit. She’s having a regret, I thought.
Seconds passed and all motion stopped. My penis was buried in her as I waited for her to say something. She put both hands on my cheeks.
“I just don’t want to get pregnant,” she said, dead serious, as if a spell had been broken.
The worry I felt at first subsided in me. This wasn’t regret, it was practicality. She was smart.
And it was So. Fucking. Sexy.
Besides, pregnancy was impossible in this situation..
“Not to worry,” I whispered back. “I had a vasectomy 10 years ago.”
I slowly pulled out and gently pushed all the way back in as she processed this. She smiled and kissed me deeply.
Oddly enough, that was the only thing I would say to her for the rest of the encounter.
“Then, please, cum inside me,” she said. “Fuck me!”
She had closed her eyes and found her way back to the moment, which, frankly, wouldn’t last much longer.
I felt every pore in my body let out a bit of sweat. I came hard hard, pushing as deeply into her as I could. I used her shoulder blade to muffle myself into a pleasure-filled hum.
She was bracing herself on the countertop, her legs locked around me, holding me inside for another minute as I breathed deeply and smelled the sweetness of her hair in the spot behind her ear.
When I finally pulled out, cum dripped from her onto the counter and floor. I also noticed some stuck to her pubic hair. She put her feet on the ground, a finger over my lips to preserve my silence.
We both looked at the sexy mess. Our heads were clearing.
“You clean up the floor, I’ll get the counter,” she smiled, her index finger tapping my nose. She replaced her glasses and began to pull her clothes together, clean up and get dressed.
I pulled my underwear and jeans back on, grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the floor. The cafe restroom room had the musky smell of sex and the chlorine smell of semen. We were silent, both relishing a scenario neither of us ever expected — or would possibly forget.
She flushed the toilet, kissed me on the lips, grabbed her bag and quickly walked out. I looked in the mirror, fixed what was left of my hair, washed my hands and, about 30 seconds later, emerged to find an empty shop, except for the barista at the counter who was obliviously staring at her phone.
My phone dinged with a new text.
“Thank you.” Heart emoji. “It was just like I hoped it would be. I’m off to pick up mom. Let’s get coffee again soon.”
I texted her back a coffee emoji. “Anytime. Maybe next time I can tell you my name.”
“Maybe,” she wrote back, followed by a smiling emoji with a halo above its head.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32