There's an awkward, sexual tension in me as I wait for you to open the door. It seems surreal to share my fantasy with a horny old man. Every time I visit for "Coffee time", I tell myself it can't continue. I won't come back, but I want this. I want you. I've stopped questioning why. We all have our fantasies, you told me. Mine is a dirty old man, a grandpa type that touches you when no one is looking and is a secret for just the two of you. I read scenarios on literotica about it. Spending the summer with grandpa, after grandma died, and "helping" him in whatever way he needs it. Growing up and becoming grandpa's little slut. I get horny just at the thought.
When I met you, I felt instantly the connection between us. I wish I had been brave and acted on it before you moved away. How many times had I been in your apartment, hoping you'd do something? Make a move. I became obsessed at the thought of you fucking me the day you told me you were watching lesbian porn. As the girls were climaxing, your two religious neighbors were banging on your door, wondering if everything was okay! I thought about you watching porn all the time, after that. I wanted to watch with you. Become your little secret play toy.
It took two years to get back in touch with you, after you moved. I fantasied about you all the time. When I came to see you the first time, I was so nervous. The minute I was inside your apartment I could feel your eyes on me. I knew you wanted to touch me. I could see you staring at my chest. I wanted you to look. I wore those outfits so you had nowhere else to look. Nothing happened. I went home disappointed in my cowardly shyness.
The day I came with my drink in hand, I had a plan. I wanted you to touch me. I knew you wanted it too. Suggesting a cocktail over coffee, I knew what I needed to make it happen. For a half hour we talked about meaningless day to day topics, then switched to porn and you loving to eat pussy and the taste of your own cum; me revealing that I love to suck dick and finally, watch porn of "grandpas'" with younger girls.
We leaped at each other. Kissing in a frenzy and before I knew it my top was off and you were sucking on my tits and asking if we could fuck. It was everything I had wanted. It was more than I could handle. Was I actually living out my most secret of fantasies with a man 30 years my senior? I was so conflicted and foggy from the alcohol. I went home and could think of nothing else for weeks. I've been back once a month, since.
You put your hands on my face and kiss me. Just like that, I'm hooked and forcing my tongue in your mouth, ready to play out my fantasy, again.
"Let's take our shirts off and have a drink", you say, removing yours. You help me remove my top and make my favorite cocktail, Kinky and orange juice.
In the living room, we're sipping drinks and talking casually. Our shirts lying on the floor nearby. I can see the look of hunger and need as you talk, your eyes grazing over my breasts. I'd been horny for days, waiting for this day. Thinking about and anxiously anticipating the feel of you. The tension between us is palpable. I can hear the rush of blood in my ears and my stomach is all butterflies. Touch me, I think. Attack me with the urgency I feel as I watch your mouth. Kiss me, again! I want your tongue parting my lips, forcing me to respond. Telling me that this is what you want. What you need.
Before another thought can distract me, you're on me. Your mouth is on mine with fiery, reckless abandonment. You're hands are grasping my tits and you're moaning into my mouth. I'm so horny. I put everything into the kiss. I run my tongue along your lips and then take your tongue between my lips. I suck like I'm giving you head. I speed the pace and thrust harder, pulling you closer as you rub my tits and start dripping pre-cum.
I kiss like I want to be fucked. I kiss the way I want to be able to fuck. There are so many images playing in my mind, each one more erotic to me than the last. The way I want to move with you, move over you. Touch you, feel you. To touch myself as you watch me, but all I have is this kiss.
You pull away and start tugging down the cups and straps of my bra, too focused on getting my nipples into your mouth. "I love your tits", you murmur, "You have beautiful tits". You rub your hand over the areola, making the nipple pop into a taunt candy kiss shape. As you begin to suck, I think about our conversation the last time I visited for coffee.
You told me two years ago, when we'd sit outside in the sun on hot summer days, you'd be staring at my cleavage. I never told you, but I wanted you to look, I dreamed about the dirty thoughts those well thought out bras and shirts would invoke your head. I've taken pictures of my tits, after having been with you, my nipples posing at the thought of your mouth.
