A Different Type of Worout

The following is true, details as close as I could remember.

*

I started jogging in the summer of '05. I had been laid-off from work a few months before and began noticing that I was gaining weight around my thighs and mid-section, and that would not do. I was a nurse. I had been a nurse for six years and knew how fast an unhealthy lifestyle can sneak up on people. I had always been in decent enough shape for my five foot-six frame, especially working as nurse. My body was clearly missing the leg work that nursing required. So I decided to do something about it. I decided that every morning before I sent off my daughter to school and my husband to work, I would wake-up a few hours early and take a few laps around the park. It wasn't a particularly big park, so I didn't think it would be that big a challenge.

The first week was terrible.

I remember oversleeping the first few dawns when I started, coming back from my jog dead tired with sores on my feet. The second week wasn't any better, but I had actually begun finishing my laps by then. As the weeks went by, the more I ran, the more I was getting into a groove of things. I started to get leaner and feeling better about myself again. And just as fall was around the corner, that is when I officially met Henry.

I had seen Henry around the neighborhood many times before, going years just passing by each other without saying a word. I didn't think much about him except that he was the single, older man living in the nice green house a few blocks away. He had been a tall, sleek man then, with thinning silver hair and a king-like face, rugged and a bit haggard.

"Morning," were his first words to me as we passed each other on the park one day. He had just been finishing up his run and I was beginning mine. The park stretches out into curves that sometimes are difficult to read, especially early in the mornings when fallen branches and tree saps wind up on the ground. I was passing by such a stretch of turns then, when I failed to notice a branch at my feet. I stepped on it and my ankle rolled. I tumbled right into the concrete.

It honestly didn't feel that bad at first, but I was bleeding from my elbows and I had dirt on my face. I just laid there for a minute or two, not wanting to move, as I heard a voice approaching me.

"Hun, you okay?" Henry kept saying as he knelt down to help me. Months later, he would admit that he had been staring at my ass as I ran past him, and that's how he happened to see that I needed help. If he hadn't been a dirty old man, we probably wouldn't have had our adventure together.

I told him that I was okay.

"No, you're not," he told me and he helped me up. He was right. I was hurting, mostly my ankle. I leaned on him getting up and noticed for the first time that he had these strong, broad shoulders on his body. I was impressed. He didn't come off like a well-built structure with his wiry frame, but apparently he was hiding a respectable physique under his clothes. He helped me home with me leaning against him the entire time.

I found him rude though. He talked about how people don't watch where they're going, like it was my fault I fell. I thought he sounded like a grumpy old man, but now I see he was probably just talking in generalities. I thought I was getting lectured. "Common sense for people to watch where they're going," he told me, "and clean up if they see something on the road."

When we reached my lawn, I thanked him and sent him on his way. I was put-off by his attitude, but thought of him differently after that day. He was no longer the single older man that lived a few blocks away. He turned into the well-built, single, old jerk who lived a few blocks away.

Four or five days later, I started running again and decided to wake-up earlier to make up for my missed time. I wanted to run five or six laps on my first day back. I felt good. I ran into Henry then in the middle of the park.

"Hello," He said waving at me and slowed down, "How are you feeling?"

I told him I was fine and thanked him again for helping me the other day.

"Oh, please," he said showing me his nice smile. "Do you want to run with me?" he asked.

I thought about saying no, but I didn't want to be rude after he helped me the other day, so I accepted.

We ran four laps together and I got to know him a bit better. Henry was fifty-seven years old and a retired actor. He never did anything that anybody would recognize him for, but he had a few minor television roles back in the seventies and did some work in the eighties as an extra. He said he retired early in the nineties and moved back home to work in his father's dealership. He was just okay at it, he said. He sold some cars, but was never the salesman of the month or anything of that nature.

"Just like the acting," he told me. "I never stood out."

I told him about my life. I was born in Queens to Puerto Rican parents, but raised by my grandmother. My father had left my mother and me when we I was five, and then a year after that, my mother followed him. My grandmother was all the family I had for a long time until I met my husband. My husband and I met in college. He wanted to be a musician then, the last great Guracha musician, but somewhere along the way he ended up as a CPA. A good one, but not what he wanted.

"It happens," Henry told me and made some points about how life never pans out. It didn't really make me feel better.

When we finished our run. I felt a great deal of respect for him and was surprised at myself for opening up so much to a stranger. He would have made a great therapist. When he had asked me questions about my life, questions that I should have given the standard -everything is fine - answer to, I instead told him the truth. Like when he asked me about my parents, he offered his sympathy and told me that my grandmother had done a good job with me. He had a soothing, courteous voice and a way of talking that put me at ease. Right away I found that I was very wrong about him.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked me as we finished our run and we were leaving the park.

I told him that I would love to, but I couldn't wake up that early every time, not while I was still looking for a job and had a household to keep up with.

"That's okay, hun" he said like a kind father. "I like having someone to talk to. Tell me what time and I'll meet you right here. I don't have to be in the dealership until ten anyway." We agreed to meet at six thirty-am the next day, but it didn't stop there. We jogged together for two months.

During that time, Henry and I talked about everything. He turned from the single, old, jerk who lived alone a few blocks away, into the single, gentleman I had gotten used to seeing in my life almost every day. He was my confidant. A friend. We met mornings around the same time, sometimes missing a day or so when one of us couldn't make it, or when our times didn't quite sync up. I told him about my nursing career and how I had been laid-off. He told me about his drug use, and one morning, he brought me his sobriety chip to look at. It was a ten year chip. He was proud of it and I was proud of him for having it. I learned a lot about Henry those months, and I thought I could love him.

But not romantic love, oh no, at least I didn't think so then. I never in my dreams imagined we would end up in bed together. I thought I could love him like a kindly friend. The father I never had. So It was a surprise to me what happened next.

The first time he kissed me, we were deep in the park and it was mid-October. The trees had turned mutant and the leaves were colored. There was a slope coming up in our run, a mini-hill, and we liked to pick up speed for it and ride up as fast as we could, but Henry stopped me that time. He grabbed me by the hand and said, "Slow down, stop."

I got worried and asked him if he was feeling okay.

He shook his head no and sat down on a stretch of grass on the curb. I thought he might pass out and got close to him in case he did. When he calmed down a bit, and we were both sitting down, I put my two fingers on his wrist to measure his pulse. I was busy trying to find it, when he leaned his face on my left and kissed me. He surprised me. His tongue exploded in my mouth and I felt his saliva wetting my own. His lips weren't soft or rough, but rather comfortable and warm. Inviting. It wasn't the best kiss I ever had, but still I found myself kissing him back, with my hand venturing on the crotch of his pants, reaching for his stiffness.

I grabbed it through his sweats and rubbed it a few times as we locked lips. Then we heard a car up ahead and quickly separated. He stayed sitting down, trying to cover his hard-on, while I had knifed on my feet and put some space between me and him by pretending to stretch near some bushes behind. A car drove by slowly with the headlights on and inside was an older couple, they seemed to know Henry and said hello to him.

Henry played with formalities for a bit, asking them how they were and talking about work. I stood frozen and was hoping Henry didn't try to introduce us. He didn't and we watched them drive away. We finished our run in silence after that. He tried to get me to talk, but I didn't have anything to say. I just left the park without saying a word and went home. I darted straight to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My family was still sleeping.

I never had an affair before. I had been married for eight years then. I had kissed another man once in that time, but like with Henry, I had stopped it before it went anywhere. I didn't regret stopping it with that other man, but standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, I regretted not doing more with Henry.

Henry's age bothered me and I tried to focus on that. I had been a few months away from thirty-three at the time and started doing the math.It didn't work. I found the difference of twenty-four years didn't bother me that much.

I went downstairs preoccupied. I made breakfast for my daughter and husband, kissed them goodbye and told myself to forget about what happened by looking for nursing jobs online. I truly tried to focus on my job search, and I don't quite remember what changed, maybe it was yet another polite rejection email for a job I had applied for, but I found myself leaving my desk, running out of my house and right to Henry's street.

I had never been inside Henry's home before then, but I knew where it was and hoped to catch him before he left for work. When I got to the front of his lawn, a feeling of anxiety came over me. I wondered if someone I knew had been watching me. What would they say? How would I explain it me being there? But I looked around the street and saw nobody in particular, just a few far-off people walking in the opposite direction. I calmed down and crossed Henry's lawn to ring the bell.

He answered after a few dings.

He smiled when he saw me. He took my hand, led me inside and closed the door behind me. We kissed again, I think I leaned in first. It was better this time because I frolicked my tongue along with his. We were playing, he was winning. Henry's firm hands were all over my chest and I could feel his hard-on near my legs. He was already so stiff again. We laughed as we kissed. He then led me by the hand to his bedroom on the second floor, looking back at me as we climbed the stairs. I remember telling him he had nice pictures on his walls for some reason, but all I remembered after I left was the bed.

Henry had showered and was wearing a clean shirt with slacks. He smelled fantastic. I was still sweating and wearing my jogging clothes. He didn't seem to mind. I wore black spandex sweats, a gray-sweater top and a pink sports-bra underneath. I kicked off my sneakers in the hallway. He led me inside his bedroom and pushed me back on his bed. He got on his knees at the foot of it and knelt on the floor, pulling my sweats off and then doing the same with my socks. I don't like wearing panties with my jogging clothes, so when he pulled my pants off, he saw my pussy hairy and wet.

I titled my head up then to spy at him, and saw his devilish-brown eyes as he approached my lower lips with his tongue out, like a shark approaching its prey.

He licked me all over my pink, his tongue was like a broom fighting through my bush. I felt every brush as if I had never been kissed there before. His slurps were slick and wet. I then felt him playing with my clit and sucking at it repeatedly. I moaned hard for the first time in years. I began trembling even though I was burning up. I heard a sound that sounded like a sponge being squeezed dry, and then realized it was my juices squirming out of me and spilling out on his sheets as he slithered some fingers in and out of me. His hooks ventured hard and fast like he was trying to hurt me. I grabbed at the sheets beneath me and moaned his name. Again and again and AGAIN!

I CAME.

He kept fondling my pussy with his mouth, savoring my taste. When he was satisfied, he started taking off his clothes.

"Lean up," he told me as he slid his pants down and took his shirt off. His shoulders were strong like I thought. But the rest of his body was weathered. Aged muscles. Belly that no matter how hard he worked at, it would never be flat again. His chest was gnarled. I'm not ashamed to say that I had second thoughts then, but I did as I was told and leaned up, sitting on the bed.

He climbed at my feet and grabbed the bottom of my sweater. He pulled it up and over me and then tossed it aside. He ran his fingers through my dark hair and kissed me. I was starting to take off my bra when he said, "No, let them out, but leave the bra on." I did as I was told again and spilled my 34C breasts over my bra. He pushed me back down on bed and mounted on top of me. He still had on his boxers. I hadn't seen his penis yet.

He leaned his face close to mine and kissed me. His lips were full with the taste of me. I loved it. He then traveled down and began kissing and sucking at my neck. I hated to tell him to stop, but I couldn't afford him leaving a mark for my husband to find. So I told him to quit it, he looked up at me disappointed and instead went further down and began suckling from my round, brown nipples like a baby. He was gentle with his mouth and frisky with his tongue. I didn't have milk, but the gulping and slurping sounds still made it feel like I had been nursing him. He camped there for a while. I arched my back and trembled as I felt his gentle sucking.

"Maria," he said as he stopped suddenly and looked at me. I settled down and paid attention, "Open your mouth," he said blankly.

I thought about it, smiled and opened my mouth like I was getting ready for a spoon of medicine. He brought down his boxers at last and his manhood propped out immediately like it coudln't wait to get out and play. It wasn't as large as I had though it was when I felt it at the park, but it was thick and hairy and pulsating.

It was a fine looking cock.

He stood up on the bed and looked down at me. Then he position himself over me and squatted down near my head. He grabbed his member with his hands so it could loom over me. Crouching, Henry brought it close to my face. Hungry, I leaned up on my elbows. He put his pole in my mouth as casually as if he had been doing it to me all his life.

It was delicious.

I had been sucking the same cock for over a decade, and all at once, this new salt exploded and opened my taste buds. I savored it with my tongue as it was trespassing my lips. I felt his balls at my teeth. He was trying to make me gag, but his cock wasn't quite that long. His eyes grew wide with excitement.

He then began fucking my mouth with no concern for my well being. Shoving it in and out as far and fast as our anatomies would allow, he pushed the limits, I started to choke. He had perched his two hands on the top of my head, using it to keep himself balanced and at the same time bobbing my face towards his muscle. I couldn't breath. And it was my elbows that lost balance and I fell back. He immediately sat on my chest and continued to smother my mouth with his cock.

I could only get breaths in spurts. I felt like crying. Images of my home life ran through my mind as my eyes watered. I thought about the last time I fucked my husband, but it was Henry's pubic hairs that were getting fastened on my tongue. I closed my eyes because they burned and pictured my husband's kisses.

Henry gently slapped my right cheek and told me to keep my eyes open and look at him. I saw a grin on Henry's face. I wanted to push him off me, but he was too heavy. Then he finally finished and came inside my mouth. He pulled his cock out. I was drooling and gasping for air. I rolled over face down on bed. His load was heavy and did not taste good. I felt like throwing it up, but I swallowed it anyway out of ecstasy, not that I had choice because it had shot all the way to the back of my mouth. My mouth felt like I had just been carrying weights inside.

I felt his body crash down next to me in his bed. He began tapping my back as I had buried my face in his sheet, "Are you okay?" I heard.

I came back with a smile on my face and told him I loved it. I did love it. It was so new to me. I told him all about how I felt when I had him in my mouth.

"Can you stay for the day?" he asked me, "I'll call-in sick if you don't go."

I smiled and told him I could stay until the afternoon. I forget what time it was then, but maybe two hours later, after we showered together, talked over breakfast and he showed me around his house. We were back in his bedroom and he was on top of me.

We were under the covers. He was grunting while burying his prick in my hole, trying hard to get me to cum again. It took a bit of time, but soon enough I started to feel his motions overwhelm me. He had so much energy. I started squirming as I felt him ramming. My legs were spread open beneath his. His arms were on both sides of my head, supporting himself on the bed. Mine were wild, all over the place. They were on his chest, at my sides, on my chest. I couldn't keep them still.

He put a bit of force into one of his thrusts, and as he drove it in, I saw a flash of anger come across his face. It made me yelp. I had never yelped before. His meat had gone deep inside me. I couldn't help but compare it to my husband;s and found no contest, Henry won. His bone made itself one with my body. It was my body. He smiled then, a smirk really, and started to pick up the pace, but only for a a little while and then he started getting tired.

I was really close. I felt his breath on my face, my breasts were bouncing under his body and I saw him staring at them as he fucked me.

"Ready?" he asked me, tiring, fading, slowing.

I told him I wasn't.

"I'm going to cum," he told me straining his face.

I begged him not to yet, told him that that I was almost there.

His crotch kept colliding with mine. I saw his arms starting to tremble by my head, but I didn't care. I was so close and I wanted this to last a little bit longer. I tried not to cum. He was grunting louder. I was screaming and yelling and telling him to go faster.

HE CAME. I let myself cum. It was good.

I'm not sure how hard I exploded, but I still remember my pubic hair being soaked white with cum as I showered later. He shook himself off me like a dog and took off his condom. He threw it somewhere in victory, laughing.

He fell back in bed. He was tired. He looked like he was about to die. I was tired, but I felt great. I was alive! we talked for a while after that and made plans for the next day, and the day after, and the day after.

I never jogged again that year. In the mornings, I met him at his house and we fucked until one of us had to go.