At 11:00 I clocked out and waited at the car for her. She was a minute or so behind me. "No lunch today?" she asked, grinning as she walked to my car. I was sure I was more nervous than she was! My cock was already growing in my pants. It felt to me like one of my first dates long ago, when I didn't know for sure if I was going to 'get lucky' but I couldn't not think about it! Before I got in the car I pushed my cock over against my leg, so it would at least have a place to grow if she said anything very provocative on the way to her house. I prayed no one would be home, because this time I was willing to commit to this. I had fantasized about this mousy young thing for too long!
As she got in, I saw her checking me out. My cock was still growing, filling with blood. It was also, I noticed, very evident against my thigh, stretching the material of my work slacks. I regretted moving it, but to adjust it then would have made it even more evident, so I let it go and tried to focus on something to say to her as I drove.
She made the first comment. "Ah, god," she said, using both hands to brush her lap. "I've got salt and shit all over these pants!" I cut my eyes to her gorgeously tight pants and felt my cock throb in response. She was sporting an honest-to-God camel-toe! The word pussy kept reverberating through my head. Pussy, pussy! Her pussy is right there! I could almost imagine the feel of those pants, as the light material pressed against her mound, and the clit bump I could almost see. Naturally, my cock continued to harden. It was becoming uncomfortable.
"Part of the thrill of working fast food," I said, but my voice was tight. She laughed uproariously, though, agreeing that it was indeed a glamorous life! We chatted then, about work and people, both of us passing the time as innocuously as we could. I swear, you could cut the air inside that car with a knife! My cock only partially softened on the way there. The heat from my thigh felt like her hand on it.
At her house, I shut the engine off. My way of letting her know, if there was any chance, I was up for it. She hesitated before leaning over the console to kiss me again, and this time her kiss was as light as a butterfly's wings. As we broke, though, I leaned forward as she pulled back, maintaining contact with her lips, and she seemed to understand that this was the moment. Her lips mashed against mine and I could feel her teeth against my mouth. I waited for her to open her mouth. When she did, my tongue found the tip of hers and twisted round it, following it back into her mouth. The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of our panting into each other, as well as the rustle of her shirt as my hand closed around one tit.
I still don't know how it got there; I don't consciously remember moving it. But as my fingers closed around the soft crinkly material of her bra her hand went to the back of my head. She pulled me harder into her and gasped softly. Our kiss lingered, fueled by our tongues exploring each other, not wanting to stop.
Her breast was small. I could feel it inside the bra, barely a lump of flesh and tissue. Compared to my wife's massive breasts, it was barely there at all. But it was the sexiest thing in my world at that moment! She arched her back toward me, and I pawed her like a bear with a salmon. I wanted to rip that cotton work top off, right there, just to get at it!
Caution took hold of us, at last. We pulled away, both panting from the rush of sexual tension that seemed to crackle between us. Her eyes found mine, and we stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but was in reality seconds, and not many of them. I said "Kacey, I'm sorry. If you didn't..." Then her mouth was there again, and this kiss was more intense, but shorter. She had something to say.
"I've been thinking... dreaming actually, about this."
That was all. I waited. She stared at me. Finally I said, "Jeeze, Kacey! I'm so much older than you!"
She glanced away, then returned her gaze to mine. She grinned. "Only about 40 years," she said softly, and her grinned widened. "I can live with that."
In actuality, it was almost 50 years. She was 18 and I was 65, but there it was. The ball seemed to be in my court. My balls were certainly screaming for me to proceed, all out! But my mind was still trying, not very successfully, to remain rational. She's young enough to be your grand-daughter, but she's 18, it said. But you're married, and this could turn into a shit-show, it countered. My cock throbbed on the sidelines, casting the deciding vote without saying anything. There was only going to be one conclusion to this, after the last couple of minutes of tasting her mouth.
In unspoken agreement, we got out of the car and walked up the walkway to the house. I listened. It sounded uninhabited; I once again prayed that it was. Then her hand went around my waist and she handed me her house key with the other. I looked down at her. Another moment of decision, back in my court? Smiling at her, I put the key in the lock and turned it. She grinned and held her hand out for the key and in we went.