Disclaimer: While I do not promote the practice of unprotected sex, sometimes I write about it – strictly for the purpose of scientific observation (t-i-c).
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Ahh! New Year’s Eve - “amateur night”, I know. My husband, Donny, got an unexpected job as a substitute bartender at a crusty tavern in a city about an hour’s drive from where we live. We hadn’t brought in the New Year together in years, so I thought it might be a hoot to come along.
“Sure, you can come too, but the bar is kind of a kids’ hangout, just so you know,” Donny said.
“Oh goodie! Maybe I’ll pick me up some strapping young stud,” I joked.
“I’m sure you could Babe,” he replied, as we jumped in our old pickup.
“I was just joking Honey,” I said, snuggling closer to him to keep warm.
“Well, you know what the song says about how all the women look at closin’ time?” He laughed.
“Why you asshole! I still got what it takes to get a hold of one of these anytime I want,” I teased and rubbed his crotch.
“Boy I know that. I just love to watch you in action!” He smirked proudly, as I kept rubbing him.
“So you still like watching guys hit on me - aren’t you the least bit jealous?”
“Hell no! It’s such a turn on to see just how far you can lead them,” he said, as I felt his dick getting hard.
“Hmm, well you’re probably out of luck. I’m not prowling for boys tonight; I’m after men,” I whispered in his ear and unzipped his fly. Tonguing his ear, I pulled out his sturdy hardon. “One man, in particular,” I purred and lowered my head to take his cock in my mouth.
After 31 years, I know he likes it hard and fast. Gripping the base of his thick eight-inch pole, I took in more and more of him, until my throat tightened around his circumcised head. His butt cheeks tightened, as his pelvis slowly rose off the seat.
“OH GOD BABY! Jesus Christ Barb, we’re in the middle of the interstate; you want me to have an accident?” He yelled.
“Yeah, an accident in my mouth,” I said, coming up for air.
Pumping his rock-hard cock, I gazed at the on-coming lights. “Uh oh, that might be an accident - better clean it up,” I said, feeling a coat of precum on my hand.
I bent over once again to lick the sweet juice from his throbbing meat, when I felt the pickup slowing down. Clamping my lips around the head, I jacked his rod. As the warmth of his ejaculate filled my mouth, I let out a deep moan and swallowed it entirely.
“OH GAWDDD! Baby, that was incredible!” He exclaimed, smoothing my hair. “But we’ll never make it to the bar at this rate,” he smiled and brought the pickup back up to speed.
All that activity got my juices flowing too, but there was little I could do about it. I shelved my emotions and promised myself to surprise him with something suitable on the return trip. My mind was conjuring up all kinds of nasty scenarios when we pulled into the tavern’s parking lot.
Donny wasn’t joking about the clientele. Their average ages were less than half our ages. Lots of good-looking guys and gals in their early twenties. I felt a bit overdressed in my black skirt that came right above my knees and a dark red satin blouse. Not that I didn’t get my share of complimentary looks, I just felt somewhat awkward, being in the company of people my own son’s age.
My husband was expectedly busy slinging drinks. I sipped away at my drink and was comfortable just observing “Youthful Hormones on Parade.” The rap crap, playing too loud from the DJ, never appealed to my aged ears. However, after several drinks, it did seem to offer a primal, all be it, redundant background for those dancing.
“Missus ‘B’ is that you?” Yelled a tall, well-built young man in my face.
Sitting back on my barstool, I gazed up at the tall handsome young man and recognized a few facial features. I smiled at him and desperately tried to put his face and name together.
“It’s JEFF –Jeff Martin!” He said at ear level.
“Oh WOW! Is that really you, ‘little Jeff’?” I instantly recalled. “God, I haven’t seen you since you were this high!” I remarked, marking a much shorter level of height. “You look terrific!”
“Thanks Missus ‘B’; you still look incredible,” he said, as I blushed. “This is Amy - Amy Trumble,” he introduced the cute little blonde next to him.
I smiled cordially and shook her hand, as we tried to exchange pleasantries over the blasting monotony of thundering woofers. Jeff and my son, Josh had been best pals growing up, so we knew him and his family quite well. Due to the loudness of the bar, I spent most of the three-way conversation trying to get info from Jeff - how his family was doing, what kind of job he had, etc. We both concluded the “music” was too loud, but we really should celebrate the occasion with bar shots.
Donny poured us each several stiff shooters of the latest, greatest, trendy liquor. Before long I was feeling rather tipsy and in no pain whatsoever. As the night lingered on and the tavern filled to capacity, I lost track of Jeff and his girl.
Watching my husband charming many of the young bar sluts, I became enamored with the idea of jumping his bones again. As special parties go, this one was heating up to a nice pitch. By the time midnight came I was more than ready to let him take me right there on top of the bar. What little reality lingered in my brain kept me from acting too obnoxious, but a bad case of the hornies took hold of my senses. I promptly popped into the ladies room and discarded my bra, after my token New Year’s kiss.
“I’ll be done here in about fifteen, if you wanna wait in the pickup Baby,” Donny suggested and smiled, noticing my hard nipples.
I was sufficiently liquored to hardly notice the twelve-degree temperature, making my way across the lot to our pickup. It wasn’t until I sat down on the long upholstered bench seat for a few minutes that it dawned on me just how damn cold it was. Revving up the engine, I flicked the heater fan on high. One thing I CAN say about that old beater of a truck is that it sure has a kick-ass heater! After about ten minutes, it was comfortably warm inside.
Keeping to my plan of seduction, I quickly pulled off my pantyhose and satin panties. Rolling my skirt up at the waist, it was now short enough to show off most of my white thighs (and hopefully compete with many of those young bar honeys). I undid two extra pearl blouse buttons and reached for my purse to reapply lipstick and sprits my cleavage with perfume. Slipping my feet back into my 3-inch black pumps, I sat with eager anticipation. I was ripe for the taking.
Fifteen minutes turned into twenty - then thirty, as I focused on the party revelers stumbling across the dimly lit lot. I was close to checking up on my husband, when I finally caught sight of him heading toward me. As he jumped into the driver’s side, I got to my knees on the seat, threw my arms around his neck and started attacking his ear with my tongue.
“Well, aren’t you hot-to-trot,” he smiled and glanced at my opened blouse.
I expected him to throw the old beater into gear and get the hell out of there, but he just sat there. Figuring that he wanted to make out there in the parking lot, I started unbuttoning his shirt.
“I’m afraid we have a little change in plans, Baby,” he said, running his hand down my back.
