I'd like to be gay. I really would. Why? Because guys are hornier than gals. It's the way things are. A guy is ready to fuck at the mention of the word. A gal has to be sold on the idea. It isn't fair, of course, but that's the way things are. Unfortunately I like girls. We don't really have a choice.
Most guys think girls are just like them. Girls are not like guys! Think about it for a minute. We read about "sexual harassment" and think (that is, most of us think) it means a guy is trying to make some gal uncomfortable by talking to her about sex. It's not that at all! They're not trying to harass them. They're trying to seduce them for God's sake. The guy is dumb enough, stupid enough, to think that girls are like guys. He thinks that girls turn on when you talk dirty about sex. Girls don't! That is, most of them don't. There are exceptions, of course, so sometimes you get lucky.
This is a story about the one time I got lucky. Really lucky.
I was flying back to DC from San Diego after a research meeting. Checking in, I saw Dottie, a gal I work with. Her lab was just down the hall from mine. I had my seat changed to sit next to her. We're both upper-thirties, average people, doing research at an Institute in DC. I had never had any kind of relationship with Dottie. Not even a casual dinner date.
"Did you learn anything new," she asked, after we were off the ground and had our first drink in hand.
"Not really, except that thing about searching the net," I responded.
"Do you think it will work?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm going to try it." I said.
We continued to talk research and drink. Dottie was not a knock out sexy broad. She was average, but not someone whose shoes I would refuse to allow under my bed. Her tits were her best feature. Big and at her age I thought they might hang down and jiggle the way I liked in a mature woman. Both of us were single. I had never thought about making a move on her, but we were drinking a lot on that flight. You've seen the cartoon about the guy in the bar where the more he drinks the prettier the girl across the bar gets. That was happening to me.
So, we keep talking. We talked about some new research techniques presented at the meting and then about the parties that the sponsoring companies had thrown for the people who attended the meeting. The parties where the guys were hunting for gals.
"Those weren't parties," said Dot. "They were hunting grounds."
"Yeah," I responded. "The guys just walked into the room, got a drink, and started to shop the merchandise. There were twice as many gals as guys. The guys had the pick of the litter."
"Tell me about it! How would you like being forty years old and competing with some damn twenty-five year old whose ass is as thin as a rail and whose tits point up, not down?"
"You didn't have fun?" I asked. I was surprised because I thought Dot was a really sexy broad.
She turned and looked directly at me. "Fun? Shit! I didn't get laid! Three nights. Three parties. And I didn't get laid." Dottie was feeling her liquor.
"Well," I said, "sometimes shit happens. Cheer up! There'll be another time."
"When you're as horny as a bitch in heat sniffen' up the only hound dog in town, another time doesn't count."
"Well, Dot," I said with a smile, "If you have an itch that bad, I think I can scratch it. My car is at the airport and I can give you lift home."
I was joking, but then I got lucky.
She looked at me with a genuine smile and reached over and took my hand in hers. "Honey, you have no idea how much I would enjoy you taking me home and fucking my brains out."
That's how it started. Young guys think a slender body, young smooth skin, and a shaved pussy make for good sex. Bullshit! Give me a mature woman with handholds and a bushy, curly haired beaver every time. Besides, the mature babes have learned a thing or two about fucking. That was Dottie! Jesus that was good pussy! And she was grateful!
Shortly after that first fuck I learned something important about Dottie. She was turned on by porn. There was this magazine called Plaything and there was a question and answer column in it each month, which was pure porn. I think that the mag had professional writers writing most of the stuff because it was way past amateur. But that mag got us started. Each month when the new issue came out I would buy a copy and make a date with Dottie for the next Friday night.
Those Friday night dates became the highlight of our month. A couple of Glenlivets. Then, steaks on the grill and a good Bordeaux. Then we got naked on the living room floor on a very soft rug with some pillows and started to read the porn letters. We'd play with each other, read a letter, then play some more. When the letter was good enough we'd suck or fuck a little, then read some more. This went on for hours until we finished all the letters. Then we went to bed horny with the images we had stored up and we fucked the night away.
Saturday morning, we stayed in bed and fucked. Up by noon, but still naked, we fixed bacon and eggs. Then we fucked. Then we showered and dressed up for Georgetown. Saturday night in Georgetown is not like the regular weekdays when the office people turn out and crowd the bars. Saturday the business is light, but the people there mean business. Dottie never wore panties and I stayed back so guys could play with her ass. In the dark bars even her pussy got its share of attention. She loved it. I enjoyed watching and she enjoyed being watched when a strange guy was feeling her up.
Then we usually tried one of our favorite risky pastimes - fucking in the parking lot. The idea was to leave the bar and go to our car parked in the back of the lot. Bend her over the hood – watching to see people walking to their cars – pull up her dress, and fuck her. If people did not walk all the way back to where we were we kept on fucking. If they did, we quit at the last minute. The thrill was to come close to getting caught. Sometimes we got caught.
Sunday we slept late and fucked in bed, sometimes with a re-read of the best porn letters from the mag. We stayed naked all day long. All in all it was a really great weekend. One we both looked forward to each month.
Well, one Friday as usual, I dropped by Dottie's office with the latest copy of the mag. "Are we on for the weekend?" I asked.
"No way, baby. I've got a presentation Monday and I have to look up some stuff to get ready for it. Lots of stuff. Can we make it next weekend?"
"Sure," I said. "Next weekend is fine. Here, take the mag home with you." I handed her the latest edition that I had bought that afternoon.
I went home with a hard on and poured a glass of Glenlivet neat. I could wait. It would not be long. Sometimes I used a snifter to enjoy the smell as well as the taste. When I smoked a cigar, I would dip the end in the scotch to get the flavor, just like some people do with brandy.
I was half way through my drink when the phone rang. I picked it up and before I could even say "Hello", I heard her voice.
"You're a bastard - you know that!"
"Well, yes," I said, "We agreed on that some time ago, but is there something special that brings up the subject right now?"
"You're a bastard. You left that damn magazine."
