This story is fantasy, not intended to offend at all, no hidden negative messages to any group of people: it's JUST a fetish. Saying that I'd greatly appreciate feedback, suggestions, comments, prefer private messages as I like to directly communicate with those that send messages. Everyone involved in anything sexual in this story is of the legal age limit (18 years or older).
Hey I'm George, British, white, 61 years old, around 5'8, 80 kilos (that's around 170 for you yanks), grey-haired buzzed cut, I don't hide it, I'm fucking old. I'm currently living in Florida, USA. I moved her twenty years ago and got me a find blend of women along the way. Didn't get married, didn't want to. At this point in the tale, I'd not had a proper fuck in at least four years.
The last relationship -- I had to that point -- was with a blond, kinda heavy woman who kept giving me step-by-step instructions in the fucking bedroom, like I was in Ikea or something. Bitch didn't understand I needed the fucking to unwind, I didn't want to be told what goes where and what does what. She was like most women I met as the years went on, all about them, demanding the man to get on his knees, licking fucking pussy, going slow -- I couldn't fucking stand it. I decided to bow out the whole fucking scene right then, it was not worth the hassle. Though I do wanna mention that I did get to cum on her face before letting her know it was over.
For me sex was always more than a casual thing given out as a treat, it was not fucking candy to me: it was esstinal. If a man and a woman are in a committed relationship, that to me means the sex should happen each night, not as a privilege but as a God damn human right! I hated it when women held out, wanting to get-to-know me first. Cumming all over them doesn't stop them from getting to know me now does it?
It may not be the most PC way to think of sex, but fuck it; it's how I do it. Now I ain't some fucking caveman that drags his woman into the bedroom, oh no, if the woman says she don't wanna do it, all she has to do is tell me why and that's the end of the matter. BUT if she goes into the bedroom with no warning and not expecting me to fulfil my manly duty, then fuck, that ain't right. I did finally figure out my problem with women: it was a culture thing; problem was I was looking at the wrong women to fill my needs, but more on that later.
The job I got is as a high school football coach (or soccer coach.) A funny job to have considering I hate kids. Loud, annoying, that describes most I'm around, the older I get the more I hate it.
Good lord so many times I have wanted to tell these mothers the proper way to raise their sons. They need a man around, a real man. What these mums needed was a man that fucked them each night, that taught their kids respect. Simple as. Shame I never volunteered my services, I'm sure it would've got me the sack, plus I'm sure those prissy U.S women would've made it all about themselves in the bedroom.
My definition of a good kid is not someone that shows promise or is "bright" or anything like that: it's someone that stays quiet and doesn't make a fuss. I only knew one kid like that, and that was an Indian kid called Deepak. And that's Indian as in the massive country, not Indian as in Native-American, like most yanks think.
One day after practice, I spotted him cleaning up the field. It gotten late, past eight.
"Hey lad, anyone picking you up?"
"No Sir."
"You taking the bus?"
"No Sir, I'll be walking home today."
"Oh no, forget that, come I'll drop you off."
"That's ok Sir."
"No excuses, come on let's get you home."
He dusted himself off and thanked me. See? Not a total git, am I? He got in the car and I drove him to his place. He opened his bag and took some papers out. I looked over at the work he was doing.
"Oh that's not so hard," I said.
"Yes, I just can't seem to get it right, I always miss it off the mark."
"Well when you get home I'll show you some quick pointers, get it done easy."
"Thank you Sir."
"Why your Dad not helping you out with this?"
"No, he not around, he left a while back."
"What? Even with a good kid and a wife?"
"Yeah," he shrugged. "Said he had enough of both."
"Well you ever see him again, I'll make sure I give him a good kicking," I grumbled. The one thing I hate more than brat kids is quitter prick dads. Good thing I never met that twat, he would've gotten his.
We got to the house; he opened the door and led me in.
"Thanks for this Sir."
"Ah no worries kid, so your mum in?"
Before he could answer I heard her footsteps from the distance. In walked his mum. My jaw hit the floor.
Gorgeous, curvy frame, the kind of body a real man can sink his teeth into. She had long dark hair, that dusky kinda brown skin, looked around late-30's, was wearing her traditional Indian dress, red dot and all, wrapped around like a present, just a sexy woman made for fucking. God! I just wanted to grab her by the hand and take her to the bedroom right there and then.
She stood there, pretty Indian face, her hands clasped together, wearing bangles, the perfect package. "Hello, thank you so much for dropping my son up." She spoke in a thick Indian accent which only got my hard-on even, umm, harder.
Before this, Indian women were not even an option for me; the ones I saw were married or overly shy. This one was beaming, proud to have me in her home. I could tell I had the power. Now I ain't a cocky fucker, but when I saw her, my first thought was "she's gonna be such a good fuck." no doubts, no second guesses, I knew I was fucking her. The question was when and how.
"Hello," I held her hand and gave her a cheeky kiss on the cheek. "I'm your son's footie coach, I'm helping the lad with his history homework."
She was blushing but smiling. I was close enough to size her up, she was just the right height for me, oh boy was I excited. I was maintaining eye contact, letting my intensions be known.
"Oh, thank you so much." She replied, "Please, go in the den and make yourself comfortable."
I walked in the room and taught the kid some tricks for his work. It was easy, he picked them up right after I told him. During the studying, his mum came in holding drinks for us, she bended over and got me blood boiling: God that woman has such cracking tits.
After an hour of teaching, I decided to go, not that I wanted to mind, getting that spicy Indian woman in the bedroom was a guarantee, but I wanted to play it slow, not rush it, let her son give the praise before I jump in and take the prize. I didn't leave before setting a return date, oh no, I made sure I was coming back.
"Oh thank you for teaching my son, Mr, umm --"
"Please, call me George. I'd like to come back some other time, teach him a few more things, say same time next week?"
"Oh, oh please do, that would be so helpful. Thank you."
"I'll show myself out, bye Miss Dhaliwal."
"Oh please call me Naina."
"Ok, Naina." I pronounced that all wrong and left. But no matter, cause I knew I was well in there! She was gagging for some hard, white, working-class cock, it was a dead-cert!
Driving home, I was well excited; I was so hard that I was driving hands free. I heard a couple things about Indian women, stuff that appealed to me, like the respect culture and that, knowing the respect she had for me would end up in the bedroom. I spent the night thinking of all the things I was going to do to that tasty brown woman.
*
Early next morning, that being a Saturday, I got a knock on my door. I got out of bed and opened it. Standing outside was a friend who lived a couple streets away.
