He insisted that I allow him to pick me up. In the seven years since my divorce I had become so jaded about dating that I had previously refused to let any man even know where I lived before we had been out at least a couple of times. But like all foolish young girls I threw caution to the wind and told him where he could pick me up at seven o'clock.
Our dinner together was great. Easily the best meal I had experienced in years. He wanted to know everything about me, my work, my kids, everything. When I told him that I liked to go hiking, he responded that he loved to go hiking. He responded to everything with the same intense passion, there was nothing cynical our skeptical in his expressions, such a strong contrast to the social world in which I was accustomed.
After dinner we walked down the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade holding hands, laughing, and simply enjoying each other's company. I started out self conscious, every glance towards us seemed to contain the same judgment about our age difference, but Marcos didn't seem to mind or even to notice. Not once did he mention the differences in our ages. After a while his indifference spread to me, I even started to realize that it was probably me that read the condemnations in stranger's eyes.
If anything lurked in their stares it was jealousy. Marcos was gorgeous. He had a sculptured face, high model cheekbones and those stunning hazel eyes. He wasn't tall only a couple inches taller than me, but he had an athletic body, whose strength I could feel each time I brushed up against him. His dirty blonde hair was tied back in a short pony tail, the kind of look which I would have mocked if I hadn't been on his arm, but since I was I found it cute, he was the dreamy European man I had always pictured meeting in some cozy, Italian cafe.
He walked me to my door only kissing me briefly on the lips before saying goodnight. He could have easily asked to come in, in fact I wanted him to ask me to come in, but he remained the gentlemen telling me that he had a wonderful time. I said the same, smiling contently as I watched him make his way back to his car from my open door.
The next day he called me at ten in the morning, he obviously didn't intend to play any of the typical games. Since he was the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep and the first thing I thought of when I awoke, I definitely didn't mind the break in dating protocol.
"I had a great time last night," he began in his earnestly sexy voice, "I want to see you as soon as possible. I have to work today and tomorrow, but I am free on Tuesday. Let me cook you dinner. I'll make you something very special."
"Well," I hesitated, a thought reminding me that I usually worked until eight on Tuesday's popped into my head, but just momentarily, "That sounds great," I replied matching his enthusiasm. My rationale side did emerge in convincing him to cook dinner in my spacious kitchen rather than his cramped two bedroom apartment that he shared with three friends.
I took a half day at work so I could prepare for our date. I enjoyed a complete makeover treatment; my hair, nails, and face were all pampered at my favorite spa and salon. I even had a full bikini wax. I was determined to look my best for him, as youthful and vibrant as a cynical forty year old lawyer could manage.
There was no place in my fantasies for a tired, bitter, divorcee. The images that had flashed through my head the two days after our first date were enough to stimulate more than a few self induced orgasms. If he was half as good of a lover as he was in my dreams, it wouldn't matter what he cooked for dinner.
I had a few doubts about how attractive he would find me. I am forty-four years old. But it is not like I haven't stayed fit. I started running long distance when I was in high school, and except for the years when my kids were young I have kept up the habit of jogging. I don't have large breasts, so they only slightly sag, and although the rest of my body isn't perfectly toned I've never been embarrassed to put on a bathing suit. I was anxious about his reaction, since as a good looking young man I'm sure he's had his share of gorgeous young women, but any serious anxiety about his opinion was quelled by the yearning between my thighs.
He arrived at the appointed time on Tuesday. Like I said I wasn't really interested in experiencing his culinary skills, at least not that particular evening, so I tried to get him to make the simplest dish possible. But he was adamant in his desire to provide me with the promised "good meal". So I tried to remain patient, sipping on my glass of red wine as he worked in front of the stove, explaining what he was doing like a proud student.
Despite my impatience I enjoyed being in the kitchen with him. He repeatedly had me test his different dishes, blowing gently on each hot item before slipping into my mouth. Everything tasted great, and the kisses that he gave after each testing were even more delicious. Each kiss became successively longer and more urgent. I held his body against me as my tongue licked the flavors off his lips. I was already wet from being in his presence; it took all of my self restraint not to start tearing off his clothes.
But despite our growing passions- I could feel his cock swollen slightly against my stomach when I squeezed him for a kiss- he stubbornly continued to prepare the meal. The food was actually really good, although my ability to judge was no doubt biased by the hormones racing through my body. The salmon was tender and juicy, the sauce was flavorful without being heavy, and everything else provoked nothing but praise for his culinary skills. His face beamed with each compliment I gave him.
I wasn't sure what to do after dinner. I knew what I wanted to do, but wasn't sure how to go about it. All my experiences since my husband had been so formulaic; I would invite my date inside and we would head directly to the bedroom. Here I wasn't sure if I should offer to watch a movie or watch television. I know now that those thoughts were ridiculous, but at the time I was out of my element.
I rose up to clear the plates of the table, but Marcos immediately jumped out of his seat and told me to sit back down, "Let me clear away the plates for you," he offered gallantly making me feel even more like a princess.
"Don't be silly, I want to help you. You've already done so much," I protested.
"Just sit right there, I am going to bring you your desert," he beamed.
"Dessert? Marcos, you didn't have to," I called to him as he headed towards the kitchen. He said nothing in response, allowing me to admire the firmness of his rear as he walked away. I couldn't wait any longer.
I followed him into the kitchen, creeping behind him as he ran water over the dishes and wrapped my arms around his torso, "I think I'll have my dessert now," I whispered in his ear as he stopped the running water. I reached down and placed my hand on his zipper fly. I could feel his sex expand upon my touch.
He turned around, "You don't want to taste my mousse first?" he joked as his strong hand gripped my rear and squeezed me close to him. We kissed passionately, our tongues lashing out at against one another. I devoured his sensual lips with a hunger that was only fed with each additional kiss. He seized me with his powerful hands and lifted me up onto the kitchen island. His lips found the tender parts of my neck as I closed my eyes and let his hands roam my body.
His nimble fingers unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off my body allowing his mouth to explore the skin of my lower neck and upper breasts. I tugged at his shirt ordering him physically to remove it from his body. He complied with my wish exposing his well-built frame. I ran my hands over his muscular shoulders and taut golden back. I was already losing my breath as he deftly unhooked my bra and revealed my small erect nipples, "Beautiful," he whispered under his breath before enveloping my pointy buds with his warm mouth. His kisses sent shivers up my spine.
"I want you to taste my dessert," he playfully said dipping a finger into the bowl of chocolate mousse then bringing it up to my lips. Lust must have poured from my eyes as I seized his hand and wantonly slid the finger inside my pursed lips, moaning my desire as I slowly slid it out.
"Do you like it?" he mischievously asked
"Delicious," I purred.
"Good, now let me taste," he dabbed a drop of mousse on my left nipple and devoured it with his greedy mouth.
"Delicious?" I asked.
