I'm pretty sure my medication needs to be adjusted. Clearly, I have lost my ever loving mind.
I tug at my clothes again, not that they've become disheveled in the five minutes since the last time I did it. I just want to be sure. He said not to wear lingerie. Just everyday clothes. No panties. No bra. I know I may be naked soon, so I'm not sure what difference it makes. I want this to go well. I want this to be good. I want this to be the sex I fantasize about. I want dick.
A recent spell of protracted alone-ness, coupled with the unexpected passing of a close friend, one only slightly older than me, made a rather pronounced indentation on my self-inflicted virtue. Of course I'm not a virgin, but years of a less than fiery hot sex life with a husband who seemed to feel I should be grateful he deigned to marry me, took a toll. He's gone now, along with a number of my dreams, but I still have my libido. It is my intent to slake that thirst.
The way this is supposed to play out, I won't be able to see his face. Well, not until later, when I look at the video anyway. Information has been exchanged, faceless pictures swapped, hotel arrangements made. Tonight, all that's left is for me to get fucked. I want to have anonymous, no strings attached, sex. With a stranger. I know, I know. I watch too much porn, but just this once, I want to have sex like a man.
I'm supposed to be bent over the side of the bed. I figure I have a minute when I hear the door, anyway. I'm thinking how pretty the white on white sheets are when I hear him. I get into position.
Soft footfalls move toward me. A light, clean, soapy scent, and then hands. Down my back, over my upturned ass, then exploring my thighs. The scent of us begins to combine, warm and urgent.
I hear clothes falling, shoes thumping, and then something that sounds like hands rubbing together. Sweet almond oil, I think. The hands are warm, almost hot. They find my back, my waist. My ass. Gentle massage, more oil. I'm becoming so relaxed I almost can't keep myself up. It could also have something to do with that touch of bursitis in my shoulder. A healthy smack on my behind, followed by gentle kneading, comforts that delicious tingle. I know for sure now whoever this is, he has large, strong hands. My imagination and remembrance of old wives' tales is beginning to take off.
Another sound smack stings me. This one, followed by several others, is on my thighs. I shudder, both from the stinging and the thought of my quivering flesh. There is more massage, this time nearer the crest of my legs. Gently, he moves my thighs apart. His hand goes between my legs, my sex held like a delicate objet d'art. He blows a warm breath onto my slit. My clit responds, in a manner befitting such a male-like organ. He strokes, rubs, and otherwise encourages me to my own version of a throbbing erection. I want so badly to turn to see who this man tormenting me is. He must know it as well, because once again, a smack demands my attention.
Now his fingers part my folds, and explore how wet I am. I'm a little surprised. At my age being wet is luxury usually found with the assistance of some viscous substance in a prettily decorated bottle. Not today. I am drenched.
I hear foil ripping, which is a relief. Not that I'd do this without protection, but not having to argue is so much better. A quiet snap of latex, and what sounds like lube. I'm pretty sure I don't need it, but it is still very considerate. The thought excites me.
He moves near my face. For the first time, I'm face to face, as it were, with my decision. I still can't see the rest of him, I don't look really, but this particular view is nice. The condom looks intact. What the condom is covering looks well suited for what I have in mind. He is hard. Stiff. Unquestionably erect. I can tell he isn't that young, either. The slightly weathered skin on his legs gives him away, but what I can see looks fit for purpose.
