Good Or Lucky

My Friday started off great. My commute to work took 15 minutes less than normal, everyone on the subway was pleasant, the sun was shining, I got complimented about my work on several projects by two different bosses, and I had a great tasting lunch with good companionship.

I expected my day to get even better. That night I had two skybox seat tickets, that had been gifted to me, to a Washington Nationals game. I had a date for the game with a good-looking woman I had gone out with three times who really seemed to like me, and I was anticipating getting in her pants after the game.

Everything went smoothly until I was walking to the subway to go to the game, having replaced my dress shirt, tie and sport coat with my Nationals jersey. I had arranged to meet my date at the front gate since she worked near the stadium.

My cell phone rang. It was my date's secretary saying she had to work late and wouldn't be able to make it. She didn't have the decency to call herself? And how could she not realize that $300 seats were not something to blow off, especially since the game was against the defending World Series Champions and sold out? I was as bummed as I can ever remember being, but not enough to miss the game.

As I went down the subway escalator in a daze, wondering what I was going to do with the other ticket, I was taken aback by a babe riding in front of me. She had on a perfectly styled business suit with a tight skirt slit up the back, and four inch heels. I could see she had shapely hips, a bubble ass, and spectacular legs -- at least her calves, back of her knees, and what part of her thighs were visible through the slit. I followed her through the turnstile and onto the platform -- she was going the same direction I was.

I couldn't help but ogle her. As we waited for the train I inconspicuously walked around her trying to get a look from all directions. She appeared to be in her mid 40s, dyed short red hair, a pointed nose, perfect makeup, a ruffled blouse, extremely poised. I don't like red hair, dyed hair, short hair, makeup, or pointed noses -- but she made it work, especially with those quintessential hips, ass and legs. Then she caught me staring at her -- she had piercing big beautiful blue eyes. I turned away trying to act nonchalant, but was as embarrassed as hell. Just then the train pulled up -- saved by the bell.

The train was fairly crowded -- no seats. I moved to the middle of a car and grabbed a hand rail. I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings having refocused on what I was going to do with the other ticket, when I did notice someone else grabbed the same handrail. When I looked up it was her -- holding onto the hand rail with one hand and with the other holding a pocket-sized Nationals calendar she was looking at. No rings on her fingers. Without thinking I blurted out:

"Are you a Nationals fan?"

She looked up at me, smiled, and said "Yes. I'm trying to find a game that will fit my schedule. Are you going tonight?"

I told her I was, showed her the two sky box tickets, told her how excited I was; she replied that she was jealous. We engaged in some pleasant small talk. She exuded personality and was as effervescent as she was sexy. I'm in my early thirties, tall, in good physical condition, and not bad looking, but certainly no stud. This woman looked way out of my league; but I was in an optimistic mood and thought to myself "Hey, stranger things have happened."

Suddenly a lightning bolt hit me. Eureka! I pulled out my cell phone, telling her I had it on vibrate, and pretended to answer it and to have a conversation with my already cancelled date. I ended the phantom call with a forlorn look on my face.

"What's wrong?"

"My date just cancelled on me -- said she had to work late. I hate going to games by myself."

"Wow, that's too bad. She must have a horrible job, or really be stupid to give up skybox seats when the Nationals are playing the defending Champs."

"Say, I'm embarrassed to ask you, but do you have plans for tonight? The game starts at 7:05 and should be done before 10:00."

"Are you asking me to go with you?"

With a lump in my throat as big as a baseball I hoarsely said "Yeah, I know its...." Before I could finish "I would love to! By the way, I'm Cheryl," she said with a big smile on her face and holding out her hand. "I'm Chet" I replied, taking her hand. It was strong but soft at the same time, just like the rest of her appeared to be. I virtually floated off the subway to the ballpark, chatting her up as we went.

The skybox was full of high rollers in business suits, probably lobbyists and company executives, maybe a Congressman or two -- despite living in Washington I don't recognize any politicians. I was kind of surprised that at least five or six of the guys said hello to Cheryl, calling her by name, and she actually responded with the names of two or three of them. I didn't want to pry so I didn't ask how she knew them. Anyway, I was completely awed by how good the seats and the included beverage and food service were -- no standing in line for hotdogs or beer here; anything you wanted came to you.

Cheryl and I seemed to really click. She was as fun to joke and kibitz with as any woman I have ever talked to in my life. She knew surprising little about baseball considering she was a Nationals fan, but did know a lot about human nature. She was especially big on whether some player when making a play on the field, or fan during the numerous between inning promotions and attempts to catch foul balls, was good or lucky. With a twinkle in her eye each time she must have asked me whether it was better to be good or lucky on a dozen different occasions. I didn't mind -- shit, I looked forward to it -- because each time she asked she put her hand on my arm or leg and stared at me with those knockout eyes! I did notice some of the guys she said "Hi" to seemed to be staring at us, but she didn't pay any attention to them, so I didn't either.

The Nationals won in the bottom of the 9th inning on a walk off home run. The crowd was delirious, everybody high-fiving and hugging each other -- especially wonderful when Cheryl hugged me while jumping up and down, revealing that there was a lot of meat underneath that ruffled blouse. When our hug was over, I had to cover my hard on with my game program.

As we excitedly exited the ball park with the rest of the joyous throng Cheryl grabbed one of my biceps and said "There is no way I'm going to be able to get a cab, and I only live a mile from here. Do you mind walking me home?"

Does the Pope poop in the woods? Is a bear Catholic? It was all I could do to suppress my elation as I -- likely too eagerly -- said "No, not at all." I recovered my senses quickly and made as good of a play as any in the game when I saw a sidewalk vendor selling crocks with the Nationals logo on them.

"You've probably been in those heels all day -- really nice looking but I bet they're killing your feet. Let me get you a practical souvenir" I said as I led her over to the vendor and got her a pair of crocks. I insisted on paying for them saying "You made what could have been a bummer into a great time -- I insist you let me get them for you."

Cheryl lit up like a Christmas tree as she put a hand on my shoulder to remove her high heels and put on the crocks. I carried her shoes for her as we walked through the din of the crowd to her condo, with her hands on my left arm, occasionally squeezing my bicep and making me very happy I weight-lifted regularly.

As we turned into a luxury condo complex with a security gate and a doorman my heart leapt when she said "You've been so nice, the least I can do is offer you a drink. It's only 10:15."

Shit, I didn't care what time it was -- I hope I didn't blurt out "Sure, I'd like that," too quickly or enthusiastically.

When we got to Cheryl's digs, I was bowled over. Furniture and art work as nice as any I've ever seen. "Wow, I see your décor is as classy as you are" I gushed, chagrined that I was acting like I was star-struck, but pleased with the big toothy grin my comment brought to Cheryl's face.

Then, something that only happens in movies, or to rock stars -- certainly not in real life to ordinary guys like me:

"Actually Chet, I got you up her on false pretenses. I don't really want to give you a drink. I've had such a good time tonight, and I'm so horny. I'd really like to fuck."

I was so proud of myself for not passing out. I was speechless for a few seconds, and probably gasping for air like a bass in a boat. But I was more willing than at any other time in my life and in an instant we were licking each other's tonsils while groping each other like a couple of apes.

As I was removing her clothes I was astounded by how tight her body was for a 40-something, and how firm -- and monstrous, previously well hidden by that ruffled blouse -- her tits were. While I was trying to gently remove her clothes she was like an animal in heat removing mine. She didn't actually rip anything except my boxers, but that was due only to the strength of the material, not because she was being careful.

When we were naked she literally dragged me into her bedroom and we ended up in a 69 more quickly than the time it takes a fastball to hit the catcher's mitt. She was sucking like a Shop-Vac as I buried my tongue in her tight wet slit while simultaneously rubbing her very prominent clit. I was at my best ever and had her screaming in less than two minutes. Once I buried a finger in her honey pot, and found and abused her G-spot while synchronically sucking on her clitoris, she was so over the top she could no longer suck my cock but simply constantly writhed and wailed. Once I took her through two orgasms I spun around and kissed and massaged her lips and nipples as I let her recover.

Once she recovered she got a shit-eating grin on her face, pushed me on my back with surprisingly strong arms, and proceeded to mount me like a rodeo bull. My cock was the hardest and most engorged it ever was in my life, as she slowly lowered her wet cunt onto it. It seemed like her cunt was specifically molded in size and shape for my dick since she was energizing every nerve ending in my entire pelvic area as she started bouncing up and down like she was attached to a bungee cord.

Cheryl fucked with an almost otherworldly passion as she grabbed my chest hair with her hands, clamped her calves against my thighs, and put every ounce of energy she had into her movements, shrieking and cursing as she thumped. "Oh yeah, fuck yes...holy shit... give me everything you got bastard...I'll rip your fucking dick off...oh fuck yeah!" I grabbed her sculptured hips with my hands and lifted her up and pulled her down in sync with her bounces.

It didn't take long. I tried to hold back to make it last; but it was so far beyond my experience there was nothing I could do but blast her with a tsunami of cum. She kept jouncing through the first four ejaculations, but when the fifth stream hit her cervix she let out a banshee yell and collapsed on top of me whimpering, while still trying to grind her pelvis. It was clear that both of us had nothing left in the tank by the end of this fuck -- but we didn't give a shit.

She lay on top of me with my dick still penetrating her and me stroking the sides of her boobs with my fingers, and her gently moving a thigh into and out of contact with my testicles, as we both sighed and moaned. Finally -- I have no idea how long it was -- I rolled her over onto her side, kissed her lips and rubbed her nipples as we cooed to sleep.

I'm normally good for only one fuck a night -- one about half the volume I pumped into Cheryl. But this was a night like no other in my life. When I was awakened in the middle of the night with her sucking my dick I knew I was going to give it another try, and just hope I didn't shame myself too badly.

Once she had me hard and I was sitting up, fondling her luscious tits, she uttered, while she continued slurping, what I interpreted to be "Doggy fuck me. Bang me comatose." Those words had been registered in my brain for only a nanosecond when I grabbed her ass and thighs, got behind her, unceremoniously plunged my sword into her scabbard until my balls slapped her ass, and started pounding. She let out another of her characteristic shrieks, and then started banging back with powerful thigh and stomach muscles.

As we were pummeling each other I again noticed how perfectly dimensioned and shaped her pussy was for my cock. I didn't think things could get any better when suddenly she reached between her legs with one hand and started massaging my balls as they were swinging to and fro. At the same time she started to exhibit pussy muscle control, seemingly contracting then relaxing her pussy muscles every other stroke.

As I pumped away I still didn't know if I had another climax in me, until I heard those spectacular phenomena on her chest slapping each other so loudly it was like I was getting a standing ovation by the crowd at the game. This inspired me to squeeze her ass with one hand, stick the thumb of the other hand in her asshole, and increase my pace to sonic speed. To my surprise I soon rocketed a load into her almost as large as the first one as she literally collapsed and started whimpering, limp except for intermittent orgasmic twitches of her thighs and pelvis.

When we awoke the next morning we both looked liked the cat who ate the canary. I was more satisfied than I have ever been in my life, and when she told me I was a fantastic fuck I was more flattered than any other time in my existence! There were no words to describe what a phenomenal sex machine she was!

After we chatted a few minutes she looked at the clock at the beside and said "I'll make you breakfast but if you don't mind first I'd like to turn on the T. V. for a few minutes. Someone I know is having a press conference in two or three minutes."

"Fine with me. Who is it?"

"You'll see."

Cheryl turned on the T. V. in her bedroom, went to CNN, and sure enough within two minutes there was a press conference by a Senator in his home state talking about disaster relief for an area there hard hit by a tornado.

"That blowhard talking is my husband."

"What the hell? You're married? And to a Senator?"

"Yeah. And see that blond in the background. Just yesterday morning I found out he was fucking her."

A million different thoughts were racing through my head as I sat, stunned, on the edge of the bed. After another minute or so of T. V. jabber, Cheryl hit the remote, blanking the screen, and turned to me.

"Tell me Chet, were one or both of us good or lucky to get together? Cell phones don't work in the subway. I have never seen a Nationals game live or on T. V. in my life When I saw a guy with a Nationals shirt on ogling me I took my rings off and put them in my purse. I also just happened to have a schedule in my purse that was on the back of a pocket calendar I use. And those guys in the sky box are lobbyists who know my husband well, and some even play golf with him and I'm hoping will report to him."

As I sat there still in a mild stupor, not knowing what to say, Cheryl French kissed me and started stroking my cock again. To my shock it came instantly back to life.

"Maybe you can answer my 'lucky or good' question after you fuck me again, stud," she cooed as she continued to stroke me with one hand and massage my balls with the other, and as I started sucking her nipples.

I never did answer the question of whether I/we was/were good or lucky.