This is only a test, if this was a real life you would have received further instructions on what to do and where to go, this is only a test.
At thirty-five I had managed to avoid adulthood for over a third of a century. Much to my father's dismay and usually the pleasure of my mom, I lived at home. Oh, I'd been to college and had accumulated some knowledge that let me earn my keep by way of a job but other than that I was avoiding the serious side of life at all costs.
I didn't feel like an adult. I mean I spent my days at work, usually plugged into a computer handling customer service gripes about my company's software and helping them get things running. The job was textbook; all I had to do was follow the prompts on the computer screens and not get into an argument with the customer. Easy to do and I'm not the argumentative kind.
Weekends, I kicked back with a movie or some hoops or went to the beach in my old jalopy. Bennett was my good friend; he was less of an adult than I was and we'd sometimes just hang out in my backyard or play computer games. At least I was old enough to drink, although I'd given up getting smashed -- it just didn't feel good the next day.
Define adulthood? It has something to do with making your own responsible decisions. What happens when you are making no decisions about your own life? By definition, you're not an adult. Ergo, I am not an adult. And, if I am not an adult, I must be an adolescent -- that wonderful precursor to adulthood that, certainly in my case, can be extended almost twenty years.
Then I met Margaret.
Margaret was an adult. She lived alone, cooked for herself, bought her own clothes, decided what she'd wear each day without outside intervention, decided who she'd socialize with, and worked in a responsible job as a financial analyst at the same company I worked for.
Margaret had what I started to call a "rack" in high school. She also had brunette hair and a nice ass, but I was a "rack" man. Margaret took a new office down the hall from my cubicle when the finance group reorganized. I saw her at least fifty times a day and each time I saw her made me want to see her another fifty times. I could have just stared at her all day long; she had that kind of beauty about her.
For some strange reason, Margaret decided that she liked me. One day I was looking at someone totally unattainable, and the next day Margaret suggested that we have lunch together -- a move that I took as tantamount to going steady. We progressed from that lunch to touching. At first, touching had a subtle quality about it; neither of us wanted to admit that we were touching the other so it had to be incidental to what we were doing. Fortunately, we both used computers and one or the other of us took to being in the other's work area leaning over them, touching their shoulder or arm, or wrapping ourselves around them to point at something on the computer screen. I had the added benefit that when I went in her office I could look down her blouse or top and try to see more of her magnificent globes. Sometimes I think she knew I was peeking.
After a month of this foolishness, Margaret escalated things slowly, which was fine with me; I was in no rush to get anywhere. One day when we walked downtown for lunch she held my hand and even put her arm around me. I reciprocated of course. We kept doing that for a while. Then one day she kissed me after lunch to say "thank you." It wasn't a peck on the cheek, and it wasn't a tonsil tickler -- just somewhere between. I knew she liked me. I liked her. We kept having lunch together, and we kept kissing each other more and more but in a sedate way. It was nice and perked me up for the afternoon.
We had our first date in April. Dave Matthews Band was playing up in Tampa, and I asked her to go. She jumped up and down in glee over the whole idea, and I read this as a good sign. We enjoyed the concert yet even more I enjoyed the physical contact we had with each other the whole night, including a lot of kissing and hugging while all this great music washed over us. When I took her back to her condo I wasn't at all presumptive that something would happen, after all, I'd had a healthy relationship with my right hand whenever I felt the need for release -- that was usually once a day.
Margaret invited me in for a "night cap." I think the last "night cap" I had was a year ago with Bennett when he found two warm cans of Bud in the trunk of his car. Anyhow and with low expectations, I accepted her offer and followed her upstairs to her condo. We were both nervous, and I tried to think of what would make her feel better. Finally, I suggested that we dance.
Margaret liked the idea of dancing together and after we started so did I. We held each other close and made out. Sometimes we just stopped dancing and just rubbed body parts together, and French kissed. Margaret ultimately decided that she was 'super horny' and wanted some loving.
I was up for the occasion and helped her remove her clothes. Again, I was worried that I'd overstep some hidden boundary that I didn't know about, so I went very slowly. I'd toy with a button on her blouse for a long time, enjoying having my hand between those gorgeous globes that I only dreamed of seeing and feeling. She'd accelerate things by undoing the button; I'd read that to mean that I could undo all the other buttons. Then there was removing the blouse and then we repeated the process with her bra after I'd run my fingers and tongue all around the skin at the edge of the material. I noticed that Margaret started to pant. I don't know how I noticed over the sound of my own gasps.
When the bra came off I was in some corner of heaven. There, in plain sight for the first time before me, were these magnificent breasts, all round and firm, with large areolas atop them and then Margaret's nipples -- slightly inflated at this stage of things. Gesturing towards her chest, I asked her, "Can I suck on them?"
"That would be perfect," she whispered as she started to un-do the buttons on my sport shirt. I lost the shirt quickly.
We stood in the middle of her living room, half-naked, as I ran my tongue down her neck to her right breast. I circled the whole hemisphere, amazed at the divine geography I could cover on this woman's lovely body. I spiraled up her breast to the areola and then gulped the entire nub and nipple into my mouth. Margaret groaned and held my head to her chest.
After I made her right nipple erect and hard I repeated the steps on her left breast, maintaining consistency by using my hands to help support and feel her. She seemed to love every second of what I was doing. I drew this conclusion based on her mewing and cooing as I licked, tongued, smoothed, and pulled at her glorious tits.
I figured this was as far as we were going this evening so I had to be content with just the top of her body. Thus, I spent an inordinate amount of time orally loving her breasts. Of course, I'd come up and love her neck and face and lips and eyes too. She was swaying; sometimes in tune to the mellow radio station she'd dialed in, but more often in tune to her own body's rhythms.
I think at one time I brought her to a small climax. I was sucking hard on her left tit and rubbing her right breast really hard, pinching on the nipple to add to eroticism of the night. She started panting and then yanked my whole body into hers and just held me in a frozen state for about twenty seconds. Afterwards, she started gasping for breath and whispered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
