I Don't Remember
Faces or Names
I'm forgetful. Not everything, just names and faces. I've always been this way.
My wife, Marge, swears I'd forget her if I didn't see her several times a day.
She might be right - even though we've been married 21 years.
~~~
One day I was at the mall looking at Henley shirts (I particularly liked the Forest Green) when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and this beautiful brunette with hazel eyes said; "Jon? I thought that was you. God, I haven't seen you in forever. How are you doing? You look fit, have you been working out again? Marge says you go on cycles with that. I couldn't, I'd balloon out in no time."
She finally took a breath, so I held her at arms length, and did a quick up-down scan.
"I don't know what you're doing, but what I can see looks pretty good."
She slapped me on the chest and gave me one of those 'don't stop now' smiles.
She slipped an arm through mine and we wandered around - with her chattering the whole time - until we came upon a bar and grill.
"Oh, let's get a drink, shopping makes me thirsty."
I started to beg off, but she insisted, sure that Marge wouldn't mind.
Well, one drink led to two more, and the next thing I know she's insisting I come up to her hotel room for another drink.
I started ... but she cut me off; "It's okay, Marge won't mind."
~~~
Her hotel was in the same complex as the mall, so it was just a short walk and a quick elevator to the sixth floor and down a hall.
Inside she offered me another drink and then said she was going to 'get comfortable'.
I sat and sipped my drink and looked around. It was really a suite, with a separate bedroom and bath. I waited for about fifteen minutes when I heard the bedroom door click open, and turned. "Jesus!"
She was in the thinnest piece of material I had ever seen (and Marge has worn some pretty sheer things). It threw just the pinkest cast to her almost flawless skin - she had a small mole just below her left breast.
Her breasts were perfect cones culminating in pink nipples that were poking the material as hard as my cock was suddenly poking my pants.
Her waist tapered in and then flared to her hips in an hour glass shape that I've only seen once before.
I had to force my eyes up to her face, I wasn't sure what was going on, but pretty sure I wasn't going to complain.
She had touched up her makeup, applied some kind of wonderful scent, and fluffed her hair.
Believe me, she was beautiful.
"Do you like what you see now?"
My eyes scanned her again. This time she stood with parted legs, and I could see her vagina, a small trip of hair pointing the way.
I looked farther, her legs were the things a man's dreams are made of. "Jesus."
She laughed; "What's the matter, pussy got your tongue?"
She slipped onto my lap, tilted my head up and laid a gentle, exploratory kiss on my lips.
My hands quickly found those cones of desire, even as our kisses got hotter and more frantic. Soon she'd shed the cover and had me sucking on first one tit then the other. Meanwhile she was bucking and grinding on my trapped cock. It was truly getting painful.
Suddenly she jumped up, pulled my shirt off, then my shoes, socks, pants and underwear, almost in one move.
She gave my cock a quick lick and kiss, and then she pulled me up into another long hug and then led me to the bedroom.
She sprawled out on the bed; "Show me how much you like what you see."