She was 5'3", 125 pounds and 48 years old. Sandy blonde with blue eyes that didn't miss much. She had a librarian look when she wore her wire rimmed glasses. Her hips looked seductively wide because her waist was very small, not bad after two kids. Her breasts were still perky, looked like they belonged on a teen-ager, mainly because they were not overly large. I can be very detailed with the description because she and I had been seeing each other for several months.
She was very professional at work as an office manager. Hidden underneath that professional veneer was a hungry vixen. We met online and as we saw each other my fear was that I would scare her. I am 48, 6'3", and have a few extra pounds but still muscular. Having been out of the Marine Corps for 18 years, I still have managed to hang on to that physique, as far as 48 year-olds go.
It was our fourth date, watching football on a Monday night at a sports bar. To this point we had kissed a few times, the last kiss we shared involved a little tongue, during which I heard and felt some distinct moans as I gently bit her lower lip. Perhaps tonight would be the night we connected.
Midway through the second quarter of the game after we shared a dozen wings and a few drinks she said "Let's play a game!"
"Okay, what's the game?"
As we spoke, sitting at the bar together with my stool facing hers, the bar was darkened, lit mainly by the 15 or so giant TV screens and the typical neon beer and spirits signs. As she looked at me I could see the game's reflection in the lenses of her glasses. I was taken off guard as her hands slid from my thighs to my crotch, gently rubbing.
"Marry, fuck, kill." She said with a glint in her eyes I hadn't seen before.
From a distance anyone at the bar would think we were just talking, my oversize shirt and the darkness of the bar concealed her hands as they gently massaged my package through my jeans.
Looking at her, a sly grin on her face, here was, what I thought, a proper woman, showing me a naughty side I didnt expect. Her hands were working me lightly, not enough to get me off, just enough to know that she was claiming me, and we were having the conversation with both of us pretending she wasn't doing what her hands were distinctly doing.
"Okay, you go first." I said, looking around the bar.
"Table to our left, the guy in the jeans and glasses, I'd marry him, girl he is with, wearing the black heels and tight jeans, I'd fuck her, the guy with the sweats on behind them, I'd kill him, who the hell wears sweats to a bar?"
As she spoke, looking right at me I had to nonchalantly view the bar to determine who she was referring to. When she mentioned fucking the girl, that made my cock jump and she felt it happen.
"Ohhhhh, you like that thought huh?".
"Well the thought does kind of make me tingle." I responded.
"Okay, your turn, but I get to pick."
"Go for it.". I said, wondering if this was a control thing or just part of her game.
"The bartender." She said referring to our thirty-something, well stacked dark haired bartender, wearing a black and white striped referee outfit, tied at the waist to reveal a gorgeous and ripped set of abs.
"The blonde waitress over there.". She said, nodding her head behind me. This one was a typical bubble head. Big boobs, loud smile, kind of a blank empty stare typical of the type.
"Or the classy business type behind you."
