It's easier than you might think to live your life just going through the motions. I don't know exactly when it happened to me, but I do know that one day about three months ago I woke up to that fact. Here I was, in my early 50's, divorced and bored to death with my job. Bored to death with life in general . . . especially my social life, which was virtually nonexistent.
I'd been divorced for over a decade and had had my share of dates, and even a couple of longer-term companions. God, I hate the word "companion," but "girlfriend" doesn't' seem quite appropriate for a woman over 40, which most of my "companions" had been. And it was actually fun to play the field again after having been married for 25 years. I enjoyed seeing what was "out there," so to speak.
It's not that I had any trouble getting dates, or even sex for that matter. There are plenty of single women around my age who are delighted to find a man who isn't either gay, married or toting enough baggage to fill a Greyhound bus. And I guess I wasn't all that bad to look at, either. Unlike so many of my contemporaries, I'd managed to keep my weight down—I still weighed about 175, to go along with my 6-0 height. I still had most of my hair, though there was a lot more grey in it. And people told me I gave the appearance of someone younger than my 53 years.
But at the same time, what I found "out there" left me pretty much wondering, in the words of the old song, "is that all there is?" I knew from reading erotica and hearing discussions of current sexual mores, that there were women out there somewhere who enjoy pushing the envelope sexually. And I was eager to see if I would enjoy pushing it with them.
I work from my home office and spend a lot of time on the computer, so on a whim, I decided one evening to see what I could find on one of those social networking sites. Since I already had an email account with Yahoo, I decided to try Yahoo 360. Over six months or so I managed to link up with a number of "friends," some of whom I began to chat and exchange emails with. I was surprised, not to mention pleased, that there seemed to be a significant number of younger women who apparently enjoy older men . . . at least in the virtual sense. One of these was Megan.
Megan was a pretty girl, 19 years old, and from the pictures she had shared with me I knew she had a full figure and long blonde hair. She was tall, at 5-9, and also quite smart, even though she often tried to play the classic "dumb blonde." It always irritated her when I called her on it and told her to act as smart as she really is.
After meeting online, we chatted some, then began texting back and forth, before finally talking regularly on the phone . . . almost every night. We had some very hot conversations, during which she described to me some of the things she had done with a fuck buddy that she goes to school with. The kid—Andrew-- is kind of a jerk who dates someone else and basically uses Megan only for sex. She usually gives him blow jobs, but they fuck occasionally, too. She told me she rarely cums when she is with him and usually feels used afterward. Despite that, Megan seemed almost addicted to the kid and had trouble keeping herself from giving in each time he made a booty call.
I had encouraged her to ditch the guy and quit letting him take advantage of her, but she kept going back. Finally, and I'm not sure exactly where this came from, I told her that she would have to be punished each time she got together for sex with this boy. A blow job would result in a hand spanking, and if she fucked him, she would suffer my paddle.
It was sort of strange that I even thought to bring up spanking because I rarely used corporal punishment with either of my two kids, who were both now well into their 20's. And I certainly didn't own a paddle. But I had been reading some erotica that combined spanking with sex, and I was fascinated by the dynamics of it . . . not to mention aroused by the idea.
It was clear that Megan liked the idea of being spanked because each time we talked, she confessed another liaison with the boy and she would tell me what they did in exquisite detail. It turned us both on for her to do that and also earned her more swats. Of course, to actually deliver those swats, I would have to meet Megan in person.
Finally, after talking for about a month, we decided to meet. We lived about an hour and a half apart and met at a hotel in between our two towns. I arrived first and felt the excitement building as I waited for her. Of course, I wondered if she would actually show up, as so many of these online liaisons never seem to materialize.
I went over in my mind the things I planned to do when she arrived. I checked once more in my suitcase to make sure the paddle, which I had secured just for this occasion, was there. It was. I ran my hand over the tapered wooden handle and admired how it flared out to make a broad flat surface where it would come into contact with Megan's tender bottom. The paddle was about a foot long from tip to tip, and probably a half inch thick. I knew it would make quite an impression on her . . . in more ways than one.
The hotel room was pretty seedy, actually, but it was conveniently located, and we weren't getting together to admire the quality of the room, anyway. A king size bed dominated the space, which also featured a small table and two chairs tucked into the corner, along with the usual nightstands and chest of drawers.
There WAS one nice thing about the room. As I opened the door to come inside, I noticed that the rooms on either side seemed to be unoccupied. And given that it was nearly 10 p.m., I figured they would remain empty all night. That was a good thing, given what Megan and I would be doing. I thought there probably would be some noise.
I heard her voice through the door first. I think she was asking someone which way it was to the room number I had given her. I recognized it immediately from all the time we had spent on the phone. At that point I knew this was actually going to happen. I felt this tingling sensation deep in my belly, and it continued to build. I hadn't felt this much excitement since I was a teenager.
I opened the door before she even had the chance to knock. And there she was, looking back at me with surprise in her big green eyes. There was apprehension there, too, I could tell. She could probably see the same in mine. I motioned for her to come inside, and she entered wordlessly. She was so nervous that her body was trembling a little.
"I'm glad you came," I told her in the gentlest, most reassuring voice I could muster. "You look nervous."
"I am," she responded, almost in a whisper. I loved the fact that she sounded just like in those many conversations we had had on the phone. "You're not a serial killer, are you?" I think it may have actually been a serious question. It made me wonder how strong her desire must be for her to take such a chance.
I put my hands on either shoulder and pulled her close to me. "There's nothing to be afraid of," I said, trying to calm her. "I'm not a serial killer. But don't go meeting anyone else like this because you never know who might be."
She was tall, as I expected her to be, and even prettier in person than her photos. Her lips were full and sensuous and, of course, there were those beautiful green eyes. She was wearing a short sleeved dress with a V-neck and full skirt that hit her just above the knee. It was made of a lightweight fabric with a print design on a light background.
I began to move my hands lightly up and down her bare arms, pulling her a little closer as I did. She leaned closer, but just stood there, still apprehensive. I motioned to the large bed, "Why don't we relax and get to know each other?" I led her over and we both kicked off our shoes, sat down on the bed and scooted up until our backs were resting against the headboard, our legs stretched out in front.
I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently to me, and she seemed to relax a bit and melt into my body. In a moment, I lifted her chin and kissed her for the first time, gently at first, nibbling lightly on her lips, moving from upper to lower, then back again. "I'm so glad you decided to come," I whispered between kisses.
"Me, too," she responded with a soft sigh.
I then pulled her harder to me, kissed her more deeply, then slowly down her neck as I traced one hand over her full breasts. I could feel her hard nipples even beneath the fabric of her dress and bra, and she gasped as I pinched one and rolled it between my finger and thumb. It would have been very easy to just go with that feeling and let things progress naturally. Undoubtedly, we would have been fucking in very short order.
Instead, I stopped abruptly and said in a stern voice, "All right, young lady. I think we have some business to take care of before anything else." She looked at me in surprise, at first, because she had been lost in the moment, as I had been. Then a gleam of recognition lit up her eyes.
"What do you mean?" she asked coyly.
"You know what I mean," I responded. "You've been a very naughty girl lately, and now you're going to have to suffer the consequences." I stood up and walked to the end of the bed and sat down. "Come here," I commanded.
"What?" she said, trying to act like she didn't know what was going to happen.
"You know what, Megan. Come here."
And with that, she slowly stood up and came over to where I was seated. "Lay across my lap," I told her, and she complied readily. I pulled her dress up to expose her wonderfully round bottom, which was almost totally bare already because she was wearing a tiny lacy thong. Her skin was milky white and very smooth to the touch.
"I warned you about what was going to happen if you kept misbehaving with Andrew," I told her. "But you just kept giving him blow jobs, and even fucking him." My voice got a little louder and sterner with each word. "And you knew it was wrong, but you did it anyway, even after I warned you to stop. You may have enjoyed it while you were doing it," I went on, "but there comes a time when you have to suffer the consequences for that enjoyment."
