Holiday Kink

Hello Readers! This story is roughly 10,000 words long, so if you're looking for a quick cum 'n go, this probably is not your cup of tea. If, however, you're looking for a story with kind of a slow buildup to it, this may be the story for you. I hope you guys like it, and thanks for reading!

Part One

The scenery in Colorado is breathtaking at any time of the year, but particularly in the wintertime. Snow sprinkles down till it is a heavy coat of cold. By Christmastime, the citizens are already sick of the weather -- and understandably so. Wintertime is so hard to bear, particularly if you are trudging through the snow, the slush, and the sleet by yourself. Who would've thought that the two main characters in this story would've crossed paths? With shared interests, maybe it was just destined to happened. Maybe the universe or the cosmos or the stars were aligned on the nights to be described here shortly. Or perhaps it was just luck.

Both were two lonely souls. One, an older gentleman, a widower, in fact. The other, a young college woman, barely into her twenties, on the verge of venturing into the world on her own in the coming years.

The older gentleman, Paul, had become a widower about six years prior. The married couple had been together since they were young kids, and he was the only lover he'd ever known. But, piece by piece, he'd begun to put his life together again. He only recently retired from his profession as an architect the previous summer and was beginning to enjoy life once more.

Having been involved in such a lucrative profession, he had all the things he wanted. Well,

material

things, that is. He was now 58 years old, by no stretch of the imagination an "old man," but older than most of the women he met. Their dates always ended in shy kisses or awkward goodbyes, while he came home alone and silently kicked himself in the shin and cursed himself inside out.

Paul was a good-looking man. He stood about 5'11" or so with an average build; he was not "classically handsome," but his goofiness and awkwardness endeared women to him. His brown hair was slightly gray, and his brown eyes usually gave away his mood: mischievous or serious, depressed or gleeful, fun or just plain boring.

Little did he know that, just a few hours away, a young college girl would soon be the other half of him. Maybe for a long time, maybe for a short time, but long enough to revive his belief in love, or, at the very least, very well-intentioned lust.

Valerie was the name of this vibrant and blessed and slightly homespun bombshell. She had had many experiences with young men her own age, but by no means was she considered "easy" or a "fast girl." With her good looks, intelligence, and wanton hormones, she was every man's dream and most of the time she had no problem finding dates.

At age 20, she was in the full bloom of her beauty and youth. She stood about 5'2" and her weight shifted between 100-105 lbs. She had long brown hair that ran halfway down her back; her hair was full and voluptuous, shiny and wavy, thanks to her strong Sicilian heritage. Her hair was the envy and jealousy of every female she came in contact with (much to her amusement). Her eyes were a deep brown, expressive, and full of laughter. Filling up her tops were small but pronounced breasts: a B-cup (a C-cup if she stuffed).

There was one physical asset that drove all the young men wild: her firm tummy that was donned with a glittering, shimmering belly button ring. The jewelry always set off her soft and toned skin, a feature she had worked so hard to perfect during the many practices, basketball games (for which she was a cheerleader), and personal hours of fitness.

It may sound like Valerie was a vain girl, and indeed, she was. She cared very much about her appearance. She figured there would be plenty of time, later in life, to be old, heavy, and unattractive, but this was not the time for it. She was a second-year college cheerleader, and she took great pride in her appearance.

Valerie was a studious and smart pupil at Naropa University, located in Boulder. From her first day at the school, she decided she would be a Political Science major. In all honesty, she had no idea what she was going to do with her degree once she earned it, but she would reap the benefits, as anyone who knew her well understood.

Part Two

That Friday night, Valerie and her squad girls found themselves four hours away from their university. They were to play Aspen University. The girls were prettying themselves up for the game, slipping on their skimpy uniforms, helping each other correct their ponytails with bows, and applying the last smudges of makeup.

Their cheer uniforms were very suggestive. They were a deep purple color, outlined and decorated with stripes and zigzags of white. The skirts were short, stretchy, and they fit snugly around the purple bloomers/panties that matched their outfits. The top half of their uniform were short like crop tops; they generously showed off the dancers' midriffs. In this way, Valerie could show off her most-prized asset. Earlier in the evening she had changed belly button rings: now a precious jewel of white-and-lavender crystals pierced her way through her navel.

It was a cold night in late mid-November and the girls were just happy to get out of the biting wind. Their athleticism showed in every split, dance move, basket toss, and outstretched leg or arm. Valerie enjoyed the prying eyes of the young men who appreciated their cuteness and slender frames, purple-and-white pom poms shaking like two mad clumps of loyalty for their school.

For the most part of a basketball game, the girls were kept out of sight, hidden behind the basketball hoops, only noticed by the most ardent and amorous of observers. But when halftime came along, that was the time for the young women to shine: the flex of their thighs, their grinning, shiny faces, the smiling eyes, their friendly and rhythmic cheers. In short, when halftime came and it was time to do their too-short show, they became the spectacle outshining the glow that the basketball players could ever hope to have.

Long gone were the days of being nervous before a crowd; Valerie was a confident dancer, at ease with large groups of people, always very warm and friendly.

Valerie and the girls walked out of the locker room, down the long hallway, and into the gymnasium. People had still not yet settled in their seats, and they were patterned along like spots, some standing, some sitting, some juggling food. The usual. Valerie stooped down to tie her white Adidas sneaker. She then looked up and almost stumbled over herself. There was a man sitting in the audience. He had a bag of popcorn, and he was completely oblivious to her presence. He had an aisle seat, maybe three or four rows back and he was talking to a gentleman who was standing over him. They made funny hand gestures and then said goodbye to one another. Maybe an old friend.

This man was much older than herself. He had graying brown hair and he snacked casually on his food, completely unaware of the young woman spellbound by his folksy and attractive appearance. He was no Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. In fact, he was somewhat ordinary in the looks department. Cute yes, but nowhere near handsome. There was just

something

about that man that drew her in.

Her best friend, Olive, gave her a friendly shove from behind and urged to get out there and start the game just like it was any other Friday night. Suddenly, the man looked up from his buttery popcorn and caught her staring at him. She blushed and quickly looked away, embarrassed by her gawking. She pretended not to notice him and followed the other girls, playing it cool.

But she was anything but cool.

She could feel her temperature rising and she felt a warm moisture in her purple bloomers. Whatever. He was only a

man

, it's not like he was a

king

. Get a grip, girl! She mentally pushed herself into her old ways and, more determined than ever, she had her mind set to forget this old man

completely

.

The game proceeded without incident. All while the basketball players were dribbling and dunking and passing the ball, Valerie could not concentrate. She kept thinking about that man in the stands. She went through the motions of dance and movement almost automatically. The way her squad was positioned, the man she had seen in the stands was on her left-hand side. Again, she tried to play it cool, but she began to feel overheated.

And finally, halftime came along.

She knew she was to be the center of attention: she was the girl who did the flips and basket tosses in the air. Worst -- or maybe best of all -- she would be facing the older man for much of their performance. She had to give herself credit: she could put on a brave face when the time called for it.

The routine went on without incident. And then it was time for little Valerie to be hoisted into the air. Her girls handled her feet and the backs of her thighs with care. It was now time to look into the crowd. Oh, God. That man was looking in her direction. How was she going to manage this? And she slightly grinned to herself, knowing that this older fellow would be eyeing her tiny panties as she was tossed in the air. And so it went. As her girls threw her up in a well-calculated throw, she poised with such grace, her ankles tucked in a straight line and bent to her forehead, her hands placed firmly on the back of her thighs. Her skirt blooming up, she flipped in her little cocoon of a body and landed precisely into the arms of her waiting comrades.

She had flashed the crowd both erotically and legally in an upskirt pose. This normally spruced up her voltage, but her eyes danced with nothing but desire as this adorable man seemed so focused on her stunts.

He seemed concentrated on

her

and

her alone

.

Part Three

When the game had finally finished, Valerie spent some time hanging out in the gym with a new girl on the squad. She was officially exhausted. The fans were emptying from their seats. Children squealed defiantly, not wanting to go home to bed, being tugged firmly by their mothers. Food was spilled all over the floors of the seats. It looked as if the Gestapo had been through the place.

The new girl retired to the locker room, and Valerie found herself in a drafty building, soon to be alone, the way the spectators were filing out. She took a swig of her Gatorade and then headed to the locker room in the footsteps of the new girl when a soft voice interrupted her stroll.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Somehow, she knew it was him.

She turned around and showed him her beautiful smile. Wow. He was even cuter up close than when she had seen him seated a few rows back. He seemed to be a little hesitant to talk with her even though he was the aggressor.

"Hello," she said, at a loss for words.

"Hello. I just wanted to tell you you were great out there. I don't remember seeing you here before." He said, nervously stroking his hair, his eyes shyly wander from her neck to her face.

"Is basketball one of your favorite sports?" she asked curiously, tossing her head back and taking a gulp from her Gatorade. "Or do you just like to watch the dancers?" she teased him.

He laughed. "Well, I have to say I enjoy both," he said quietly, taking in her beauty. "Basketball is one of my favorite sports, but I have to say I admire the cheerleaders as well."

She crossed her arms skeptically, much like a woman twice her age. "Ah, I see. But you realize that our team beat you tonight. I assume you side with Aspen?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Lucky guess. I could tell you were rooting for me, though."

His eyes flirted with and held her own. "I was."

"To be honest, I noticed you in the stands," she said, batting her eyes up at him suggestively. "I normally don't attract attention from grown men."

"I think you probably attract them more than you think you do," he said, chuckling under his breath and sliding his hands in his pockets.

"Well, you're the first that I know of," she confessed.

"Well, you broke cherry on me then," he said, blushing, not realizing the crudeness he had spoken until it came out of his mouth.

"No need to be embarrassed," Valerie urged. "That contract was void a long time ago."

There was a clumsy pause between the odd couple.

"So, what's your name?" he asked. "I'm Paul. Paul St. John."

She extended her small, soft hand and they shook hands; there was an understanding of their mutual attraction. "I'm Valerie. Valerie Blossom. Glad to know you, Paul." He had the biggest, most gentle hand she had ever encountered.

He glanced down at her belly button ring and then made eye contact with her once more, blushing. "So, I know this sounds kind of odd coming from an old guy like me, but would you like to have dinner with me some night?"

She laughed. "I'd adore to, Paul. Do you have a pen?"

Paul provided her with a pen from his breast pocket and she wrote her phone number on his forearm. It was a nice arm, indeed. It was exposed from his rolled-up sleeves and had a nice patch of dark hair on it. She wanted to touch it, but she simply jotted her number down, leaving her mark.

"I would've written it on your hand," she said, grinning. "But I'm afraid you'd use it for other things tonight."

"Would you be sorry if I did?"

She paused and smiled softly. "No. Not at all."

With one smooth motion, she slipped the pen back into his breast pocket and kissed him quickly on the cheek, and, running into the locker room, the young lady was excited by this new development. He watched her as she ran; her dark little ponytail swayed back and forth as she scurried inside the labyrinths.

He could feel his erection already growing to full-length as he watched her run away. He wanted to touch her body. Her butt strained against the confines of her stretchy and tiny skirt. Her uniform exposed her soft lower back, and how he longed to gently guide her with his hand as he held the door open for her.

Part Four

Valerie, being one of the last girls to make it into the locker room, chatted with Olive who was still fussing with her looks. She had a date that night. Valerie pulled her snug turtleneck over her bra and slipped her tight jeans on, up and over her bottom. She was all T&A and she knew it. Olive questioned her about the man Valerie had been talking with.

"Are you going to go out with him?" she asked, reapplying her mascara.

"I think so," responded Valerie, taking her hair out of her bow, and brushing her tresses out. "Do you think he's too old for me?"

"Yes." Good old Olive. She never beat around the bush. "But I still think you should go out with him, even if he has arthritis and reads AARP."

Valerie laughed. "Who cares? He's cute as hell and I like him!"

Olive looked at her girlfriend in the reflection of the mirror as she dabbled on some lip gloss. "Be careful what you wish for, Valerie. You don't know how exhausting older men can be."

Valerie looked at her with a lopsided grin. She caught her friend's meaning.

Part Five

The day after Paul had approached Valerie, he called her to ask her out for a dinner date. They agreed to meet at a romantic restaurant the Friday night after Thanksgiving. During the phone call they had flirted and made suggestive comments. It was destined to be a very exciting date, indeed. Since they lived approximately four hours apart, they drove to a "halfway point" to meet; it was about two hours away from each of their residences.

Valerie arrived at the restaurant at a little bit after 7 p.m. She walked into the restaurant and saw Paul waiting for her in the lobby area. He looked so handsome and good-looking. He was wearing dark blue slacks, a powder blue button-up shirt, and a dark blue blazer. He grinned widely when he saw her and held his hand out.

"Hello Valerie, so nice to see you."

She hugged him closely, smiling. "It's so nice to see you too, Paul. Gosh, you look so handsome." She stood back and looked him over.

He chuckled. "Excuse me, waiter? Can we have a table now?"

The well-dressed and immaculate waiter smiled and grabbed two menus. "Certainly, sir. Right this way."

Valerie and Paul held hands, their fingers interlaced, as they walked to their table. The sexual chemistry was undeniable, even to those casually observing them. The restaurant was very attractive; it had a cozy, intimate setting to it. Well-lit, yes, but they looked forward to dining together that night and maybe on future nights as well.

He helped her slip out of her winter coat, which he draped over the back of the chair. She looked so sexy in her date outfit: she was wearing tight tan pants and a tight teal sweater, her navel playing peek-a-boo. She sat down in her seat, and he did the same.

They started off by ordering a bottle of champagne. The cheerleader and the widower looked at their menus and eased into chitchat, first about superficial things like favorite music and favorite movies and favorite books, and then into deeper subjects. He wasn't sure how he should broach the subject of him being a widower, having been married for nearly 30 years. He held back.

"I'm surprised a man like yourself is single," she said after the waiter had taken their order. She grinned at him.

"Well," he said. "It's kind of a long, complicated story. I don't want to burden someone so young with all my problems."

She gently reached out for his hand, communicating to him that she was ready to hear what he had to say, if he was comfortable with saying it. He looked up from his wine with tears in his eyes and saw only a trusting nature in the expression of the young woman across the table from him. He delved into the hardest part of his past.

"I feel like I can trust you, Valerie. Okay, here goes nothing." He paused and looked down at the table and then back up at her. "About six years ago my wife died. She endured a long battle with cancer, and, unfortunately, she lost. Honestly, I've never stopped loving her or missing her. We married when I was twenty-four years old. We were just youngsters." He took a generous swig of wine and cleared his throat. He rested his curled hand on his face and smiled sadly at her, his eyes glistening. With a few awkward coughs, he abruptly ended one of life's saddest stories and uncomfortably passed the buck to Valerie, suggesting she mention something about herself. It was apparent to the 20-year-old that he felt ill at ease, so she indeed took over the conversation.

"Well, there's not much about me that...that can compare with your story, Paul. I'm studying Political Science at Naropa University. I've been a cheerleader since my high school days. It's been a bright spot in my life. I come from a large family, so, to say the least, I've enjoyed getting away from home and experiencing things on my own." She cringed at her silliness and immaturity. Was she using the right words? She wondered.

"Yes, I felt the same way when I went to college. I was just glad to be out on my own, doing my own thing. When I saw you dancing at the basketball game, I knew you had been doing it for a while," he commented. "I could see you were experienced the night that we met."

She tilted her head back and laughed a hardy laugh, able to break the somber mood that his tragedy had brought upon the two of them.

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked him, attempting to steer the conversation in a different, positive direction.

"I was an architect for many years. I retired just this June. Retirement has been a blessing and I've been lucky enough to where I could retire a little bit on the young side. If you could call me 'young'," he joked.