I had enjoyed taking the lead the night of the party. I knew that this might not be how things would turn out going forward, if there was a forward, but it had been fun. I had to. These days, men were terrified of what might fail and, because he worked nearby and I was likely to see him again whatever happened, I knew I had to pretend to be in control.
I found him attractive. I knew I did. I had the very first time I saw him in the cafe. It was a great spot, always lively, always with a good vibe, fun colleagues, enjoyable customers. Not a job for life, but pretty good whilst I was trying to get my side hustle into my main hustle.
He was tall, he was healthy, he was clearly fit and he dressed well. Not a suit guy, but crisp in his casual work gear. He could make me laugh when we chatted, seemingly without trying and the alcohol and Christmas cheer had helped me take a chance. I wanted him but I didn't want to be seduced the old fashioned way. I fancied some good, rough sex and since his office was nearby, it added to the frisson.
I don't have a 'daddy' thing for older guys. Truth is, I'd never been with someone this old. Oddly enough, it didn't bother me, the salt and pepper beard, the greying hair on top, the crinkles around his eyes which showed how much he smiled. I'd also seen far worse bodies on younger men. The hipsters of my age were lovely and kind, tolerant and understanding, but generally weak as anything and utterly compliant. They rarely, if ever, went to the gym and although we could chat for hours with me never thinking them creepy or crude, well, they weren't the most alluring. I'd dated a couple and enjoyed the companionship. The sex had been fun but nothing to write home about. I'd also felt like I needed to find out more.
This one was a bit different. It was interesting to watch him as he moved across the streets near our cafe. He didn't seem to worry too much about other people's feelings becauseas he always seemed to have a direction to follow. When he chatted, there was little 'small' in the talk and much more clear structure. For some reason, I liked it. I also felt he would cut me off without even blinking and I would be none the wiser as to why.
He fucked well, that was for sure. Again, there was a directness, no chat about how much he fancied my body, no dirty talk, he just got on with tasting me (oh, he was good at that) and then putting me where he wanted me to fuck me. My spine has raw bits on it the next day from the table but I didn't care. It was what I found I wanted.
That's why I said I wanted to see him again.
I had found out at uni that I liked to fuck. Not complicated, not overly spicy or even desperately imaginative, just good, old fashioned fucking. Whether I was seeing them as a regular thing, a proper relationship or the occasional one-off, I found a good fuck an essential part of life.
I wanted to fuck him again. I wanted to find out if he could fuck me more than once, make it good and make me want to come back for more fucking. That was what tonight was about.
Meeting in a bar, I dressed to impress. Getting ready, I had taken time to wash, made sure there were no excess hairs, everything smooth that should be, all neat that shouldn't.
I don't have a lot of clothes but a few work well together. I like the feel of a short skirt on my thighs but also the sheer sensation of hold ups to complement it. I like simple underwear with a modicum of lace and I have a great, satin shirt which plunges and I have caught many a man staring at my cleavage.
High heels are a pain for distance but great for impressions. The choice was simple.
He was there before me and I saw him through the crowd. Still tall, still attractive, something relaxed and magnetic as well.
We had a drink, I can't remember what, something with alcohol and ice but as the bar filled up around us, it gave us a chance to move closer to each other to talk. Pretty soon I was pressing against him with every sentence I was talking into his ear and feeling the start of his erection grazing me.
Did I mention that he smelled nice? I don't like strong aftershave too much and the 'natural', read unwashed, smell of my hipster buddies could get eye watering for the wrong reasons. No, this one smelled clean and healthy, with a hint of that smell all man have when clothes come off.
He lived near the bar which wasno coincidence and I wanted to see how he lived. I wasn't looking for a long term thing, I just hadn't seen a man in his bracket - in his forties, clearly successful, no nonsense or fripperies. I was curious.
We were in a part of town that had been industrial and then the factories had either been knocked down or converted, both for flats. He told me on the way there that he'd bought a shell some twenty years ago with an inheritance and managed to develop it into flats, keeping one for himself. Red brick, industrial, steel fittings left to accentuate its history, this was a beautiful building from the outside, clearly having been given a new lease of life.
He waved a key fob against a sensor and pushed the top button . The stainless steel doors opened straight into his apartment. He had called it an apartment, I would call it the whole floor. He laughed when he saw my reaction and explained it had taken many years to finish, he just knew he wanted the space.
The lift was in a centre shaft and there was an iron grill facing it, coats hanging and the odd scarf for colder days. I shucked my jacket off and mindlessly threw it on a hook as I walked past. We were in a living area that took up pretty much the whole side of that apartment. It was staggering. Part sofa and television area, part boy's toys. There was a snooker table and an old pinball machine, even a gorgeous, classic motorbike, propped up on a stand near the lift. He assured me it worked but needed some love at the moment so he used his other one, a more modern and reliable model.
There was glass all the way along one wall, looking out over the roofs in the neighbourhood, with the office buildings if the city glinting in the distance. At one end there were large, wooden, sliding doors, clearly left over from the factory days. These had been partially glazed and I could see an outside space of some sorts through them.
