Ten minutes after I lost my virginity I made a very important life-decision-I was going to devote my life to getting laid. I was going to take the steps needed to insure that when I wanted sex, I could get it. I wasn't going to end up like the losers I knew in high school who pined after girls and jerked off to Playboy. I was gonna be the guy who READS Playboy.
I'm not just bragging when I say that I'm a very attractive man. I've worked my ass off to get this way. I have some natural gifts-I'm six-three, blond, blue eyes, and I'm good-looking enough that I did some modeling in college. I'm not muscle-bound I'm quite fit. I work out and swim a lot and I have a black belt in tae kwon do, which comes in handy from time to time. I look good enough in a bathing suit that when I'm lying by the pool sunning myself just about every woman between the ages of 12 to 80 checks me out.
I busted my ass in school and made the grades and connections you need to move up in the world. I have a great job that pays enough to let me live in the kind of style that women expect from a stud. When a woman agrees to go out with me she always finds me in a custom-made suit, driving a late-model Mercedes, with reservations at the best restaurants in town.
It all comes with a price, of course, but women have the coin that spends with me.
You're thinking, "What an arrogant prick." And you're right. I am arrogant. Because women love it.
What really gets me hot, what really adds that extra little bit of spice to life, is when I take another man's women to my bed. Especially when the woman is married. I love that moment when I penetrate a woman who got up in front of her family and her God and swore she would be faithful. That's when I go into overdrive, giving her the fuck of a lifetime, a fuck she'll never forget. I make her fall in love with me, forget the jackass she promised to be true blue to, blah, blah, blah.
Thing is, the second a woman falls for me is the moment I lose interest. The phone calls, the whining, the demands...fuck that. I remember this one line Steve Martin said on Saturday Night Life, talking about the qualities he wants in a wife, "To be there when I need her...and to be out of town, when I don't." Amen to that.
I live in a chic townhouse complex, lots of upwardly mobile type like me pretending to be neighborly. I've made the rounds a bit, scoring here, scoring there. On one particular summer day, a real scorcher, I was lounging beside the pool, checking out the action. There were a group of women lounging in a loose circle, chatting away. The women were older than me, mostly in their late thirties and older forties, a group of bored housewives passing the time.
One woman in the group caught me eye, as she had from the moment I first saw her. Her name was Mrs. Clay, or, as she insisted the day I met her, Rita. Very, very attractive woman. She was around 40, 15 years my senior, about five-three, petite, very pretty. She had short black hair and striking pale blue eyes. Small breasts, but firm, and very nice legs. She and her husband lived a few units over from me, I saw them from time to time, getting the mail, coming home from work.
I knew she lusted for me, her body language screamed it during those brief encounters. Her husband was a total shit. I might be an arrogant prick, but he was mean, stupid, and nasty. I barely knew them and he talked to her like she was his dog. I was looking forward to hanging horns on him. The second I saw her I knew I had to have her. I took my time, there was no rush, I had plenty of action lined up and I could be patient and savor that moment when I would enjoy this sweet little treat.
That moment was now, I decided. She was wearing a white one-piece suit, much too conservative for her still-ripe body. I stared at her through my sunglasses, not caring if she noticed. She did, looking over at me from time to time, checking me out, and seeing that I was checking her out. Her neck flushed red. Yes, this wasn't going to be a problem at all.
I got up and jumped in the pool and swam some laps. I swam until I saw that the crowd around Rita had thinned out a bit. I got out of the pool, my body glistening in the sun, and walked past Rita and her friends. They looked at me, and I knew they liked what they saw, very much.
I lay down on a chaise lounge just a few spaces away from them. I pretended to nap, letting the sun warm my toned body. I was right in Rita's line of sight, I knew she wouldn't be able to help herself.
Two teenage girls walked by in bikinis, both of them on my list of future conquests. I ignored them, the best way to fan the flames in their young bodies. The older women watched them sashay past and I heard one of them say. "Wish I could still look like that in a bikini."
Rita said, "So do I."
I didn't look over, but I said. "You would look better than those two stringbeans in a bikini."
The women fell stone silent. I lay still, totally relaxed. Rita said, "Oh, I couldn't wear something that skimpy."
"Don't tell me you're shy."
"Maybe a bit," she giggled. "And I'm not 18, I can't wear a suit like that anymore."
I shrugged. "What a waste." I pretended to sleep.
Ten minutes later their little bull session broke up. I didn't move. Behind my dark shades I watched Rita pretend to drop her book, then her suntan lotion, looking for an excuse to linger behind.
This was going to be easy.
She said, "Thank you for pretending that I looked as good as those girls." Fishing for compliments.
I gave her a nibble. "You don't look as good as those girls. You look better." I pulled my sunglasses off. "Much better."
She blushed. "I have a few bikinis, I just thought I was too old to wear them."
"Your friends are too old, but you aren't. A beautiful woman is beautiful, her age doesn't matter."
She was really red now. "It's very nice of you to say that."
I put my shades back on and leaned back. "Just telling you the truth." I let her think the conversation was over, let her twist a little in the wind. Then I said, "What would be very nice would be seeing you here tomorrow wearing a bikini."
She smiled. "I didn't even unpack them this year. And, anyway, to wear a bikini you have to, you know, get waxed and all that, and I haven't done that for the last few years."
"You don't have to wax it, just shave it. You don't shave?"
She laughed. "I can't believe what we're talking about."
I waved a hand. "It's no big deal."
