Summer Mood Southern Belle

Every so often, I find myself in this "gotta fuck something" mood. Honestly, it's even more specific than that: I find myself in a mood to go down on any moderately attractive woman in the area. And more honestly still, this mood doesn't come "every so often" but "every time my girlfriend leaves town."

It's a problem.

Every year she ventures off for about a month on a family vacation. I find myself as an attractive man living alone, but a far cry from single. It's tormenting, knowing that I was once many a woman's dream and now I can't help but dream of many a woman. I do my best to be faithful and won't go so far as to pick up just any girl off the street, but it is a very real, palpable struggle.

Last year, I just absorbed myself in my summer schoolwork and my new job. This worked for two weeks. Then the latest crop of freshman showed up on campus; the Greek Machine started spinning its gears and soon the freshman harvest was in full swing around me. I'm not a Greek subscriber and even find the institution repulsive. Hard to deny, however, that they know how to get the ladies up and moving.

The online classifieds are always miss-and-miss in the man-for-woman category. Even if real women were seeking men there, there are far too many brash, tactless, horny bastards looking for something quick and easy and more than willing to say so in as many words. I just want to give a woman thorough and attentive service. Reciprocation is welcome, but by no means required or requested. The issues with online classifieds, in reverse order of their importance, would be, one, the man-for-woman section is saturated with dicks (pardon the pun) and, two, only scammy personals websites send responses. I was fooled once by a site and even gave it a functioning email address; lesson learned.

This summer, the girlfriend left before I had anything into which I could lose myself. And, because of travel delays, she left well after I could have taken my own vacation before real life catches up again (college is endless for the dedicated). So I got anxious much sooner.

I haunted the one-for-one online classifieds again and was presented (surprise!) with the same old crap: too many men begging for favors, too few real women looking for service. Turns out that the young and hot don't need the internet to get guys. A single man wouldn't need the internet to get girls either, but something seems worse to me about appearing in a bar as an attached guy seeking four weeks of no-strings-attached fun. It's like a one-month stand.

I could be a hypocrite.

But if I am, I'm an attractive one. Don't think of me as arrogant; I know I look good and I do the work to keep it that way. I stand at six feet tall and have carved my body down to minimally functional body fat. A goal of mine is to always have superb muscle definition--I like my cuts to cast shadows. And more than one woman in my 21 years has told me I was a charmer. Life has been good to me, and to the ladies, I've been good right back. I haven't slept with many women--by choice--but I've served plenty and all have been grateful enough to spread the word. Hell, "the word" is what landed me with this girl and everything about her is fantastic. I do, truly, mean everything.

Except that she goes off for four or five weeks at a time and leaves me in this "gotta go down" mood.

Instead of skating down the same old path of wishing for a real chick to turn up on a site or plotting how to pick up a girl without actually picking her up, I decided to take a different approach. I told a lie once about having a threesome and the story stuck; I've yet to admit it to anyone. Perhaps I could make good on that story, even if the lied-about context would have to remain, in order to preserve my relationship.

Yeah, I could be a hypocrite.

But I cast a few lines in the man-woman-for-man pond, responding only to the choicest ads. This was after a night out with some of my boys and I figured nothing would come of it anyway. The ads were a few weeks old, after all. Surely hot couples don't have to wait long for quality responses. I called it a night, thinking the next day, a holiday, would be a good time to sleep in.

You could imagine my surprise when my phone shook me awake around 7 with a bite from one of those lines. Now take that surprise--already a blend of fascination, anticipation, and cool satisfaction with my smooth reply--and amplify it when you think of the jaw-dropping photos I got in response: I could just barely tell that this woman was a brunette and that her body was about as perfectly proportioned as a man could ever dream. The ad she and her husband had posted described her as an absolute bombshell at thirty-five years old, "99 out of 100 times the hottest person in a room", and I was thrilled to say no lie had been told. I couldn't even see her face.

The first photo was a level shot that she was leaned into. Her hair hung just into the top of the shot and I could see mischief in her smile. She was bent over at the waist, cupping firm, round tits with her short-nailed fingers teasing the nipples. I could see a mile of smooth, creamy legs falling away from beneath her bosom. My dick was swollen already.

The second picture was like an establishing frame in a tasteful porno: I had a wide view of a living room with a wooden coffee table in front of a leather couch on which was perched this cute long-legged minx, wrapped up in fishnet from her ankles to her navel. She wore red, three- or four-inch heels which were up on the edge of the table, her legs spread wide. I could scan right up those long legs, almost to her jewel, where the view was then interrupted by what looked like a very soft hand gently teasing at her pussy lips. Above the waist, she was completely naked and her other hand tugged at a taut nipple on those perfect breasts. Her eyes were slightly downcast in this picture and partially covered by the short cut of her brown curls. I could still see long dark lashes obscuring the coy look she wore. I could just see that she was nibbling her lower lip. There was an anxious stirring in my pants begging to be addressed.

But it got still better.

I had replied to this ad the night before the holiday, thinking these two working professionals (as the ad had claimed) might have the day off. Even if I had to cooperate with another guy, surely I would get to go down onto a beautiful woman and work somewhere warm, juicy, and welcoming. It turns out I was half right--she had the day off. Not her husband. And he was inviting me to have her...

"I have to work tomorrow but my wife likes what she saw. If you're up to it, come get her."

I almost came right then. He left a number and I was on the phone in a hurry. As though she had expected me, the cooing voice on the other end just started purring directions. I memorized every number and every inflection off her lips and was dressed and out the door as quickly as my legs would carry me.

.

I almost wish there had been some kind of awkward silence, nervousness, or hesitation between us when I arrived at this lady's doorstep. I would even like to throw in a comedic element and say I'd gotten lost or that she thought I was the postman. But after a rap on the door, there was only a moment's pause before a brown-haired goddess reached out a gentle hand to me through the door.

"You must be that gorgeous black stud that emailed. Please, come right in."

Who was I to do anything but obey? Don't be mistaken, I wasn't in the least intimidated by the situation. It would have been reasonable to be as this was possibly the most attractive woman I had seen in person since I worked as a bartender. But maybe that was just why things were so comfortable--this beautiful creature had *requested* me after all, so clearly I had the upper hand.

Regardless, the vision before me was draped in a deep red silk robe, bound lightly just below her full breasts, which served to highlight the thick, chocolate luster of her hair. Her skin was fair and her eyes gentle. She probably stood around five feet eight inches and I'd be damned if over half of it wasn't those sexy, smooth legs.

Like I said, I wasn't intimidated by the situation, but I was absolutely star-struck by the beauty in front of me. As she shut the door--it swung silently and settled with a click--she continued to hold my left hand and started purring to me again.

"Would you care for a drink, hon?"

It wasn't even 9am. But her southern lilt could talk me into most anything.

"I could be persuaded a little later. But perhaps some tea, it being morning?"

She seemed to even coo when she laughed, sort of a sultry lulling from the back of her throat that sent a shiver up my spine...and down into my pants.

"Of course, I can't imagine someone so athletic having a drink this early. Forgive me."

She then glided through the dining room adjacent to the foyer into the adjoining kitchen. And I mean glided. This woman moved like a goddess over that thick plush carpet and the bottom of her robe swirled behind her. I noticed the room was a little cool when she left; I had been distracted when she was right next to me. No less, there was a game to be played here.

"I could be persuaded to forgive you, too, a little later."

I followed her in, having kicked off my shoes.

"But only if you really deserve it."

She looked up at me, surprised by my cockiness. I couldn't tell whether she was going to play along or start barking about the kind of arrogant pricks that show up at a beautiful married woman's home, invited to have a day worth remembering, and open mouths full of that type of silly shit.

Then, I guess, she decided she liked it, or me, enough to keep with it. She responded, "Just as long as you don't make me beg on my knees for your forgiveness, honey."

Her eyes told me that she had other things in mind.

A few minutes later, two sips into my green tea and after drawing a few more of those cock-hardening laughs from my would-be one-time lover, I found myself very near my new company on the same leather couch from the photo. She was making a real show of the stitching on the apparently hand-upholstered furniture, dragging her short fingernails along the stitch nearest my shoulder. We were seated slightly facing one another, each with one leg drawn up on the seat and an arm across the back. I could just see along her leg to wear half her robe had been pulled wide; she wasn't wearing panties and there wasn't a speck of hair in sight. As the fingers of one hand crept back down the sofa, her hand across the back of the chair began to explore my forearm. Done with her facade of presenting the furniture to me, her other hand began at the second-lowest button on my shirt and rubbed its way gently up my abs and chest, just barely teasing the fabric against my skin.

I would love to say I knew what she was whispering at the time, but I made it a point to have my lips on hers very quickly. Yet again, I wonder if, for the sake of the story, I should say that our first kisses were hesitant and nervous, but I hate to lie to you. There was a restrained passion in those first electric contacts of our lips, like the stored energy of a rodeo bull in a pen. When I brought both hands to her sweet face, it was like the clowns were just beginning to draw the ropes on the pen to unleash that beast.

Our kisses were hungry, aggressive, anxious. She slid out her tongue first and it rubbed against my teeth before I opened up and let my own tongue dance with hers. I could feel her soft lips against mine and pulled back just slightly to nibble at them. She responded in kind with a tiny bite on my upper lip. The kisses ignited the kindling of our brief verbal flirting. I could feel my cock straining against my dark jeans and boxer briefs as I ran my hands down to her hips and pulled her atop me. Those long smooth legs straddled my hips on the coach and I let my hands roam up and down her obliques outside her robe. When my hands moved from upward to down, the fabric over her breasts tugged just slightly at her nipples; I could feel her shiver from the stimulation. That cool house was heating up quickly.

Her hands shifted frequently from cupping my face while we devoured each other to holding onto my shoulders for security. She leaned back with a pant and I slipped one large finger into the loose knot of her robe and pulled it apart aggressively. Her ripe, firm tits didn't so much as bound out at me as they stood at attention. Her nipples were slightly red and swollen; they begged for relief. I growled at her as I took the left one in my mouth, then the right, and she moaned her pleasure in response. The stirring at my crotch was not to be ignored.

While I feasted on those perfect tits, she began yanking at my shirt. Sensing that she couldn't access the buttons with my face buried in her chest, I sat back and ran my hands over her taut belly. Just as she figured out the buttons, I discovered she had the tiniest of piercings at her navel; my cock swelled at the little jewel which was the only indication of the true nature of this smooth, sexy beast sitting on my lap. When finally the buttons were undone, she admired my muscled torso. I was shaved smooth, as I always was since my sports of choice often involved being shirtless, and I think she appreciated that. She dragged her fingernails across my skin, just rippling the flesh, and she moaned her need out loud. I wanted more of those delicious breasts and went in for a second helping with my hands at her back. She wrapped her arms around my neck and crooned while I attacked her torso with my lips and tongue.

She continued to lean backward, shoving her sopping wet pussy onto my restrained hard-on and the visceral moan from my throat belied my need. But before I could address it, I had a desire to sate. I whirled her off my shivering dick and set her back on the couch, positioning myself on my knees between her legs. Her pussy lips shimmered with juice in the morning light that came through the windows. I licked my lips while glancing up at her and noticed that her eyes were glassy and her lips parted in a longing pant. While I planted kisses from her calves up to the middle of her thigh, she dug those short fingernails into my back and shuddered with anticipation. Slowly, teasingly, my lips made their way to her slit and I began to lap up her spilled juices. I could feel her fingers press into my back whenever my tongue passed over her swollen lips.

It was nice to see that I could still be very good at what I do with a new woman, even on the first round.

I continued to lap at her thighs and near her sopping pussy like she was an ice cream cone, melting away on a summer day. My desire to bury my face in her pussy was consuming, but I was determined to thoroughly enjoy this treat. Finally I dragged my tongue over and around her outer lips and she began to convulse in pleasure.

"Unnhh..." was all I heard before she began to shiver and twitch, squeezing her thighs into my shoulders and grasping my traps with her fingers. I licked slowly and gently around her pussy while she came down, occasionally pausing to breathe warm, moist air at her wetness then resuming reservedly.

She cooed her approval at me and I smirked up at her glimmering emerald eyes, "Surely that's not all your good for this morning, babe?"

She blinked twice before drawing a meager, satisfied smile, "Oh no. No, you're mine until lunch, sweetie."

Something about this older woman was driving me mad, and it wasn't just her drop dead legs. But there would be time for thinking later, because I hadn't quite satisfied my need.

"That's good, because I've barely had breakfast."

I resumed working between her legs, this time engrossing myself in the task at hand. My lips found her moist outer lips, my tongue probed up and down her wet slit, and I still made time to lick at her with gentle pressure like she were the sweetest of desserts. She moaned her pleasure into the air and her pussy seemed to grow more delicious and wet with every lap of my tongue.

I can proudly say that she came twice more before begging me to stop. With a sheen of sweat making her body glow, she brushed tight curls from her forehead and pulled me up from the floor. With the force of intention, she lay me back on the couch and shot me a look that told me to enjoy what was coming. Her hands worked dexterously at my jeans until she had them off with a flourished whip. I could feel her eyes scanning up and down my body, from the torso beneath my splayed shirt to my rippling quads, and, most frequently, to my quivering, swollen cock in between. I'm not huge by stereotyping standards, but I'm plenty big and thick as well. Her eyes drank all of me in for what seemed like minutes and her hands just rest at my hips, her fingertips digging into the skin. She breathed out long as slow, as though she were holding her breath, then proceeded to run the pointer finger of her left hand along the underside of my member.

Her touch was electrifying and my dick twitched in response. She took that as an invitation and drove her mouth onto me. I can barely describe what she was doing to my cock, but it was musical in its rhythm and poetic in its magnificence. She devoured me and licked, sucked, and stroked me. She worshipped my dick like a woman with real experience and I could feel it swelling up with impending orgasm in under five minutes. I hadn't masturbated in days and, obviously, hadn't had sex in days either, and anticipated a massive load in this first round. Perhaps she could sense what was coming, and began to slow her ministrations on my cock. She made long slow slurps, having taken all of me into her mouth, dragging her lips up along my shaft. I was wet with her saliva and my mind was reeling over what could come next. She finally released my dick from her mouth and ran her hands back up my chest.

When they reached my shoulders, she sat me back up facing forward and threw her legs over my lap again. Seeing that she craved a good ride, I cast a glance at my jeans, thrown across the arm of the couch.

"I have a condom. Over there."

"Oh, hon," she purred as straddled me on her knees and positioned her dripping sex over my cock, "I'm a big girl. It's all taken care of."

I would tell you that I thought to mouth a word of protest, but again, I hate to lie. Besides, when she started sliding her moist pussy lips around my cock, I was more preoccupied with how amazingly tight she was--to be happily married--than with the type of birth control she used. Besides, it would be her husband's mess if she turned out a black baby, right?

When she'd drawn about half my length into her warm body, she slowed and I saw that delightful nibble at her lip again. She was amazingly tight, as I said, and I think my thickness startled her. She pulled off me slightly, then slowly took me back in, this time going a half-inch deeper. I could feel her panting through her teeth against my neck as she sank onto my dick, straining against it stretching her walls. After several moments--and more than a few torturous, delicious, slow strokes--she finally settled all the way onto my engorged cock with a powerful sigh. For a while she just sat there, mounted on my pole, and I ran my hands up and down her back. Those delectable tits beckoned. While she adjusted to the swell of my dick inside her, I brought her incredible nipples back into my mouth, one at a time. She began to moan just above my ear yet again and her hips started to shift.

At first her movements were slight, tiny shifts fore and aft at our union. Every motion backward made my dick twitch inside her; it rubbed against the front of her pussy and she nearly squealed in delight.

"Oh, sweetie, you feel massive inside me. Will you, ah, fuck me nice and hard?"