The Wash Basin

With each jet of cum filling her full, they shook and they rattled, rediscovering the life they had lost along their way. They wrestled, and laughed, in that heavenly place where two weary souls had miraculously reconnected unseen by the eyes of the all-seeing world.

Zeke's exasperation began growing as he prepared to meet Claire. He dreaded these first meetings, and looking back, he remembered those times when he actually enjoyed meeting new people. But these times, and these bat-shit crazy internet match-ups, had suddenly become just like job interviews. Here he was, 57 years-old, and he was still trying to find love.

Grinning inwardly, he wondered if the younger set had any clue about what mother nature had in store for them too. And then, as he picked up his keys, he wondered how many more times he'd find himself here. His life had changed; and he was now exhausted by change. Shaking his head, he walked out the front door and headed to the hotel where they would meet.

Things were still lazy as he entered the hotel's bar that Friday afternoon. Finding himself a secluded booth, he then proceeded to order a drink. Sipping at his scotch, his gaze then chanced upon a porcelain pitcher, and wash basin, ornately displayed on a cherry-wood pedestal.

Well now ... that vision immediately reminded him of a much younger, and livelier him. And while he was reliving that memory he was shook awake by his name and the smell of perfume. Turning towards that feminine voice, he was pleasantly surprised by this woman who he only knew as, "Claire".

Standing, and towering over her, he offered her a seat, and she nervously sat. The tension in her eased, when he smiled, and asked, "Was you sneaking up on me ... checking me out?"

"The truth?"

"Yeah ... the truth!"

"Well ... I'd already planned my escape if you were hideous. I've tried this before, and you know how people are on the inter-web! That is what you call it, isn't it?"

"Yep ... the good old inter-web!" Smiling ... he looks at her, and says, "Well ... I hope you'll be needing a drink and I could probably use another myself. At least I'm not too hideous ... yet! So ... what will you have Ms. Claire?"

"I don't know ... a glass of wine, I think."

And she drank three, or four more glasses, before their time began slipping away. They'd talked about everything, and nothing, all at the same time; dancing their first dance without leaving that booth. She seemed as if she was an actual flesh and blood human being; a throwback to a simpler time, and he had masterfully flirted with her in a tango of glances between her beautiful eyes and those well-defined breasts, which she'd teasingly been presenting to him. And as their spirits soared they knew there were reasons why they were both sitting there.

Claire had caught him glancing away more than a few times, and as she was finishing her last drink she curiously asked him what he was staring at across the room.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You see that old porcelain pitcher and wash basin ... over there?"

"I see it. I have a similar one too. A neighbor woman gave it to me a few years ago, and I don't know why, but she said it had somehow brought her good luck over the years. Do you like things like that?"

"Not really ... it's just reminded me of something; a time when

I was still quite young"

"What?"

"It's nothing. It's just a story. Maybe I'll tell you if you have dinner with me next Saturday night."

"Well now ... how could I turn down dinner, and a story, with an interesting soul," she smiles.

So ... as they begin departing he tells her he'll call her Thursday about their Saturday night plans.

Zeke was now blown away by this fortuitous meeting of chance, and as he drove home he wondered if the gods were finally smiling on him. He'd already figured out, he'd figured wrong, when just a few hours earlier he'd been dreading this meeting with Claire. Shaking his head, once again, he thought about how he'd almost talked himself out of their meeting. And as he drove on, he wondered why things never seemed to turn out how he expected they would.

They'd talked a few times on the phone and she seemed somewhat aloof, or guarded, but thinking about that now he also knew about that inter-web, and how he'd been duped by its lies. Damn, he thought ... she really was cute! He liked the package, and better yet, she was just as interested in him.

And then, before he knew it, Thursday rolled around and he was talking to her. And like the Friday before, time quickly passed. She'd also prodded him out of that story about that pitcher and wash basin, and he didn't know why he told her, but he did. The more he whispered his dirty little secrets to her, the more interested she became. He was very descriptive to her, and he didn't hold anything back. And either she was a good actress, or it had warmed her up too. He really didn't give a fuck, because he felt transformed into that younger version of himself, and all he wanted to do was bend her over and knock the bottom out of her cunt. He'd forgotten this passion he was now feeling. Fuck it ... just the way she listened, and breathed, was erotic to him!

Those next two days slowly passed, and as the hour approached he thought it would never get there. Walking up the steps to her porch, he pressed the doorbell, and anxiously awaited to see that vision of her. He heard steps, as another new door in life opened to him. A strange woman opened that door however, taking him by complete surprise. She introduced herself as Laura, welcomed him in, and assured him he was at the right address. She then informed him his date would be down soon, as she offered him a seat, and a drink. Then she excused herself, and said it was a pleasure meeting him.

So ... as he sat there thinking, he wondered why Claire hadn't mentioned a word about this Laura who'd answered the door. And as he continued to sit, he inwardly thought...what the fuck is going on. Putting the glass up to his mouth, the last of his bitterness slowly began fading away, as the ice helped cool off his tongue. He then heard steps, one by one, growing closer to him.

He turned and there she was. He looked at her, and as "Claire" began to pour out from him, she smiled in all of her glory, put her finger up to her mouth, and whispered, "I'm sorry sir, Claire isn't here. Tonight I'm Rebecca, and I'll be your date." Holy fuck ... he thought; she was roleplaying that story of the "wash basin" for him.

She then walked over to him, grabbed him by his hand, and led him right up the stairs. And with each step upwards he took, her fine ass knock three years of life from his now advanced age. By the time he'd made it to that second story, he was feeling eighteen again. Fuck ... who was this woman; she couldn't be real!

And then he followed her into that same bedroom he'd walked into such a longtime ago. Those soft candles lit up those dangerous curves and everything her; her soft red hair, those emerald-green eyes, and yes, those beautifully full, cock-sucking lips. He was remembering now, as she walked over and looked into him. Then with a very familiar wink, she told him to put the money on the dresser and get undressed, as she playfully shoved him away.

"How much? Is it still twenty?"

Smiling ... she never uttered a word, she just stuck out her tongue. And after stripping off, he turned, and there she was standing next to the bed with that old wash basin of hers; that piece of his past, from another time, and another place.

She motioned him over and he knew what to do. He grabbed to those smooth porcelain handles, and watched her take that thick bar of soap in one hand, and his cock with the other. She then watched him, watch her, slowly jack off his now throbbing meat. His blood was flooding through him, giving him an erection he hadn't felt since back in those days.

Claire was everything he'd ever needed, and he was going to make damn sure she knew how she was making him feel. She then helped him lay down, and took his hard member deep in her mouth. He grunted from some primal place, and quickly began fucking her throat. Pulling her ass up to his face, he buried his mouth into her wet cunt, and lustily inhaled her womanly scent. Her neatly trimmed mound began tickling his nose, and with that one free hand, he guided her head down deep on his dick. It didn't take long and he was shooting his life force into her greedy mouth, as she bucked her cunt all over his face. She tightened and shook, and they never let loose. They both needed more.

Splitting her fuck-hole, he zeroed in on her hard button, and he began sucking it off. He nibbled and bit; all while listening to her as she rubbed his wet cock all over her face. And then, one by one, her orgasms began to flow. The more she tightened, and shook, the more steel she put back in his cock.

They were young again, and as he flipped her over, she spread herself wide open for him. He grabbed his lusty meat, and rubbed it all over her swollen cunt. There was a fire in his cock, and in his eyes, as he sank his needful tip down deeper in her. And their eyes locked as he began rocking. She then looked at him, and begged him to fuck his "new" whore.

He planted his feet and began to dig in. He didn't give a fuck for anything, but busting his nuts inside of her. It was just him, and her, in this new world they'd found. He screamed when he came, she screamed when he came, and they growled, laughed, and hit at each other in some strange lover's delight. And then he looked in her eyes and kissed her for the first time.

She looked at him, and said, "Whores aren't supposed to kiss."

He looked deeper into her, and smartly replied, "Claire ... I'll never whore myself out, ever again, if it means I can't kiss you!"

She easily smiled, and gave him another well-earned wink. "Wow," she said, "I can never remember being kissed like this!"