Susans Saturday Night Sex Ch 11

There are no characters under the age of 18 in this story. All characters portrayed are over the age of 21.

*

Sex, Susan's Saturday night 4F ritual of finding, feeling, fucking, and forgetting about men turns sour when she meets Steven.

Having already scoped out the room and having spotted him from afar while sipping her drink without making eye contact with anyone yet, she had already chosen her next victim. Easy to spot, he was the one in the suit, the sport coat, the sweater, the sweatshirt, or the expensive cut, tailored shirt. Easy to identify, he was the handsome, good looking, and the magnificent specimen of a man with the hot, hard, muscular body. Impossible to miss him, he was the young man with brown, black, red, blonde, long, short, regular cut, or crew cut hair. The best looking and hottest man in the room, he was the young man with the brown, blue, or hazel eyes.

He was the one laughing. He was the one with the boyish grin, the serious look, or the sad face. He was the one who she was sexually interested in him enough to go home with him when he asked her and most definitely, he'd be asking her to accompany him home soon. With her being the wild cougar on the prowl that she was, a trained man eater when it came to sex, these poor men had no idea of her womanly wiles and had no defense against her wicked ways.

As if she was a man looking for a woman to fuck, sex, sex, sex, it was just sex with her and nothing more. Her perfect man would be a man who didn't speak and who just listened to her endlessly talk about herself and about her day. Preferring not even to have any conversation, wishing they were mute but still had their tongues necessary to lick her pussy to orgasmic pleasure, she wished that they wouldn't even tell her their name.

She'd rather they be anonymous. She'd rather they'd be men who disappeared in the blackness of night after pleasuring her. There was no need for names. Once she left them, she wouldn't remember their name anyway. It wasn't their name that was important to her. What was more important to her was how they looked and how they made her feel with their tongue and cock.

Truth be told, she really didn't want to know anything about them. Being that she's a psychiatrist, she already knows too much about too many people without needing to know anything at all about the man sexually pleasing her. All that was necessary was that she was sexually attracted to them. All that they needed for admission into her exclusive, sex club is that they have a ready tongue and a hard cock. If it was up to her, having sex in a pitch, black room, she'd rather have sex with a faceless, nameless cock than with the man behind the cock.

After unceasingly listening to the problems of others, her perfect man would be her sounding off board and her personal therapist for the night that she changed as often as she changed her shoes and panties. Her perfect man would be someone who wanted her as much as she wanted him for that one desperate night of groping licking, sucking, humping, and fucking. A one night stand of wild frantic, sweaty passion that would never be repeated and could never be topped, that is, until next Saturday night when she picked another man to lick her and fuck her, she only wanted him for sex.

It really didn't matter who they were and what they looked like so long as they were her type and agreeably amenable enough for her to mold and instruct while giving them the best sex they've ever had in their young lives. Short, tall, fat, thin, black, Asian, or Caucasian, she's done them all. There had been so many young men positioned between her legs fingering her, licking her, and fucking her that she's lost count. Obviously, she was desensitized from having one too many lovers. With her encounters were just about sex, the men were meaningless. The men were just a means to an end to receive the sexual gratification that she needed to focus enough to work another week analyzing people with emotional problems not as severe as hers. Where most men would consider her a slut and most women would consider her a whore, she was just as lonely as she was lost and as lost as she was crazy.

Steven, Steven, Steven, even after twenty years, there was a spot reserved for him. The memories of him took up so much of her conscious thought. She lost her mind when Steven dumped her. She lost whatever sense of reality when it came to men and sex when she realized that Steven was just using her for sex. With him knocking a screw loose, having a few cards missing, she was no longer playing with a full deck when it came to her personal life, especially when it came to her personal, sexual life. Unable to wrap her mind around the concept of having sex without love back then when she was so young and so naïve. Now with a lifetime of sexual experience of sucking and fucking a multitude of men behind her, having learned the fine idiosyncrasies of having sex without guilt or remorse, she knew how the game is played.

Once they're on her hook, she teases them while reeling them in to her man trap, her good looks and her sexy body. Her sexual interludes were all about catch and release. Find them, feel them, fuck them, and forget them. Take what you want and grab what you need, and then leave them feeling rejected and begging for more in the way that Steven left her. Then, next Saturday night, do it all over again.

* * * * *

Dr. Susan Jill Parker had sex in the same unemotionally detached way that Sara Gilbert had sex when playing Dr. Leslie Winkle in The Big Bang Theory and when agreeing to have sex with Leonard. Susan had sex to get her through another week of listening to the drama and to the personal, unrelenting problems of other people. Something that she looked forward to doing all week, sex was her Saturday night special. She looked forward to having sex as her release of tensions and frustrations that helped her to relax after having to listen to the sometimes inane conversations of those who are too problematic and too mentally disturbed to help themselves.

If only her patients could listen to themselves unendingly talking about themselves and their piddling little problems, they'd be as embarrassed as she is bored. In the way that sex has helped her and would no doubt help them, if only there was a way that she could prescribe her patients sex.

"Take this prescription and fill it by grabbing the first man or the first woman that you see and have sex with him or her," she imagined saying to her patients.

"Thank you Doctor. I'll let you know how I made out when I see you next week. By the way, just a thought, do you think that I could use this prescription to have sex with you?"

"No."

Only, other than having sex with themselves, no one would want to have sex with some of her patients. In a word, they were crazy. They were as crazy as she was and as crazy as she was horny. Filled with sexual activity with teasing and excitement, her horniness culminated to a crescendo of arousal on a Saturday night. Sex, sex, sex, and more sex, with sex sometimes the root of all evil, sex was sometimes just what the doctor ordered, especially when it came to living her personal, private life.

* * * * *

Looking forward to graduating and receiving her medical degree and license to help people by listening, talking, and analyzing them, after her failed marriage and subsequent divorce, she was too wrapped up in her own personal problems to be effective in helping anyone. Truth be told with her losing her mind and giving her body to nearly any young man who'd want it, she couldn't help herself. Rebounding from the lost love of Steven, she married Tony to ease her pain.

A disaster waiting to happen. A man that she didn't even know, what did she expect marrying a bad, boy Boston cop with too many transgressions and too many secrets. With him having secrets on the job, secrets off the job, keeping secrets at home, and having a secret life that she knew little about, he used her too. Being that she was on her way to being a psychiatrist, it should have been no secret to her that he'd turn out to be physically and emotionally abusive? Yet, being too close to the fire, she realized too late that another man burned her again.

With her trying to help him by analyzing him, rather than him talking to her about his issues, the last straw was when he pushed her down the stairs after telling him, in a nice way and in the way she talks to her patients, all that was wrong with him. When she persevered and tried helping him by giving him some, personal psychiatric advice, the last straw was when he used her as his personal punching bag. With him having a 5th degree black belt in Judo, he knew how to hit someone without showing marks, scars, or bruises. All of her injuries were hidden on the inside instead of showing on the outside. After spending tens of thousands of dollars on lawyers to put restraining orders in place after he threatened to kill her, she hasn't seen him since.

Now after her divorce, she was done with falling in love with men. Instead of giving up on men and turning to women for sexual intimacy, she concentrated on merely what men could give her physically instead of what she no longer needed emotionally. Having sex with young men was her way to jumpstart her depleted battery of being on the job analyzing crazy people for a dozen years. Now with her no longer dating men her own age, she was just a mature woman looking for some casual, sexual action.

With her divorced and with her without children, living alone in Boston's Back Bay, picking up a young men and going home with them to relax was what she did for fun on Saturday night. Always going to their place, never did she take them home to her place. Afraid if they saw her on the street, they'd recognize her but whenever she wasn't on the prowl for young men, she wore her professional disguise. With her hair pulled back and with her wearing big, black rimmed eyeglasses that made her appear more the scientist than the cougar, having such a physical transformation, no man could tell one woman from the other. Whenever she was in the hospital setting, she wore her white, oversized lab coat that gave no evidence to the hot body that she possessed beneath. Acting serious and professional, none of her colleagues would ever deem her a slut never mind the whore that she truly was.

In case she got lucky and she always did, she traveled with her small, inconspicuous overnight bag that looked more like an oversized pocketbook. Her way of keeping herself safe by observing, her way of screening men has proven itself thus far. She only frequented the most expensive bars and never went to the same bar twice. Being that she worked as a therapist and had advanced degrees in psychology and philosophy, she depended on her skills as a psychiatrist to read and weed out the whackos from her potential suitors.

Not looking for a commitment, she choose younger men who, like her, were just looking for sex. Not much of a challenge, many young men's fantasy was to be with an older woman while, no doubt, thinking that they were having sex with their mother and/or their aunt. With her being 41-years-old and her Saturday night boyfriend being twenty-something-years-old, she gave them what they wanted and they gave her was what she needed. A win/win situation for both, they wanted sex and she did too. Never did she have sex with any young man more than once. Never did she have sex without practicing safe sex. With the first time the last time and with once enough for her, never did she promise to see them again.

* * * * *

Only tonight was different. Tonight she was preoccupied with the young Steven that she met last Saturday night and who reminded her of the old Steven that she had a sexual relationship with twenty years ago. For some inexplicable reason, instead of thinking about taking home one of the young men who were there at the bar, her mind was consumed by young Steven. Unable to focus, as if hypnotized or drawn by a powerful magnet, she left the bar and wandered down the street to Steven's place.

Having never done anything like this before with any young man she had been with, she couldn't help herself from going to his apartment uninvited. As if she was stalking him, she stood outside his apartment building looking up at the windows while wondering if he was home. There was a strong smell of freshly baked bread that permeated the air and she couldn't help but think of the movie, Bright Lights, Big City, starring Michael J. Fox, Jay McInerney's novel. With her looking for young Steven she couldn't help herself from comparing her to Michael J. Fox as Jamie Conway looking for his model, wife, Amanda played by Phoebe Cates.

With Jamie always wondering where Amanda was and who she was with, she had those same unanswered questions when thinking about young Steven. While staring up at his apartment, she hoped he was home. She'd like to see him again for her to finally put her mind to rest why she's so attracted to him. More attracted to him than to any other young man she's ever been with, she didn't understand why she found him so fascinating.

As if she was a moth, there was a light on in his front room, the living room that told her that he was home. Yet, was he home alone? What if he's not alone? How would she explain herself? How embarrassing would that be?

Feeling guilty for her bad behavior, something she never felt before, she was rude last Saturday night. With him inviting her to supper, she should have stayed for something to eat. She should have had a cup of coffee with him at least. Only thinking of herself and her own sexual satisfaction, she should have stayed with him long enough to suck his cock and to make him cum in her mouth but she didn't. Making love with him again and again, she should have broken her personal rule and spent the night. Horny now, she was ready to rectify her selfish sexual transgression by giving him her sexual apology.

She opened his downstairs, front door and climbed the three flights of stairs to his apartment. A small place and with each floor housing four newly remodeled studio and one bedroom apartments, his studio apartment was big enough for one person. With the rents in Boston sky high, any place in the city was expensive, especially with his place being downtown just outside of the financial district. Poised between the Boston Common and the historic North End of Boston, the district that included the Old North Church, Paul Revere's house, and many prerevolutionary war cemeteries, Steven didn't need a car. From Faneuil Hall, Beacon Hill, the Back Bay, and to Fenway Park, he could walk anywhere from where he lived, even to Northeastern University where he attended school, if he felt like walking that far.

She took a breath before knocking on his door. Won't he be surprised? Then, she wondered, what if he's not alone? What if he's with a woman? What if he's with his adopted mother? What would she say then? Should she say that she's his therapist, albeit more the sexual therapist than the psychological one? What should she say is his psychological problem? None of his mother's business and bound by the doctor/patient secrecy pact, she doesn't have to tell his mother what's wrong with her son.

She was nervous about barging in on him yet, she needed to apologize. It wasn't right the way she treated him while rejecting him after he gave her so very much sexual pleasure. At the very least, she needed to make restitution and compensate him by sucking his cock. Certainly after what he did for her by giving her an orgasm, sucking his prick and allowing him to cum in her mouth is the least that she could do to make amends. She knocked on his door and immediately she heard his footsteps. He opened his door and as soon as he saw her, his face lit up as if it was Christmas and she was Santa's well-endowed daughter.

* * * * *

"Susan! What a surprise! I never expected to ever see you again. Come in," he said.

As soon as she entered his apartment, she knew he wasn't alone. There was the smell of a pipe. Steven didn't smoke and she wondered who did. Maybe he was there with his adopted father or maybe he was there with one of his college professors.

"Did I come at a bad time? I'm sorry that I barged in on you like this but I was at the bar and..."

"The bar? The same bar we were at last week?"

"No a different one," she said. "Boston has so many bars."

"Come, I'd like you to meet my father," he said ready to introduce her as if they were already in a committed relationship and he wanted his father's approval of her before asking her to marry him.

Being that she was more than twice his age, she felt awkward meeting his father. She tugged at his arm to whisper in his ear.

"How will you introduce me? That I'm your too old girlfriend and that we had sex last Saturday night? What should I say?"

"Just say hi," he said. "I already told my Dad all about you and surprising even me, he's eager to meet you. What are the odds that you'd appear at my doorstep?"

A refined and distinguish man, a man who could have been a model had he not become a scholar appeared from around the corner.

"Susan. This is my Dad Steven. Dad, this is Susan."

"I'm so very pleased to meet you," said Steven offering Susan his hand while giving her the hairy eyeball.

Shocked and stunned, she was unable to accept his hand nor give him her hand.

"Steven," she said as if she was dreaming. "Steven," she said again but softer this time as if calling him twenty years ago but in a dream.

As if she was having her worst nightmare, she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Steven can you give us a moment. I need to speak with Susan alone," he said.

"Sure. No problem. Actually, I'm late to meet someone. I have to go. Lock up when you're ready to leave Dad," he said turning to Susan. "It was nice see you again. Maybe you can call me and we can do what we did last Saturday night next Saturday night," he said slipping his phone number in her hand. "Bye," he said leaving and closing the door behind him.

"Well, well, well, we meet again," said Steven. "What's it been twenty years? Please sit," he said gesturing Susan a chair.

"I'm surprised you remembered me," she said sitting with stiffened posture. "With you so busy with all of those other women, young, college coeds taking my place, I didn't think you'd remember any woman older than 20-years-old."

"Forget you? How could I forget you? You've haunted me all of these years. I made a mistake. I should have married you," he said.

His confession that he made a mistake crushed her. His confession that he should have married her broke her hear all over again. Denied of having children, there was no one she wanted to marry other than Stephen. Maybe had she kept their baby and not put him up for adoption, she'd have a son now. Yet, unable to ruin her life with a constant reminded of her ex-lover, she couldn't love the son of the man who didn't love her.

"Would have, should have, could have means nothing to me now Steven," said Susan. "You haven't changed. With your compliments, good looks, and insincerity, you're still the player, the user, the abuser, and the manipulator of young women now that you were then.

"You've aged well," he said ignoring what she said about him personally and his bad sexual behavior. "Time has been kind to you. You're more beautiful now than you were as a 21-year-old college senior."

"Thank you," said Susan. "You look the same but for some grey hair, a few wrinkles, and a few pounds around the middle," she said staring at his stomach and stopping her eyes from going any lower.

"No matter how far I jog and watch what I eat and drink, I can't get rid of my paunch," he said.

They fell silent while starting at the floor.