My name is Lisa; I will be 19 years old at the end of the year and I can boast a 36-24-35 body, if I was into boasting. I am often mistaken for being at least three or four years older than I am; if I was taller it would probably be more. I suppose that when I get older the age factor might be classified as a problem, but for the moment it doesnât bother me in the slightest. I like being young and I like being mistaken as older.
I thought that I wanted to be a blonde when I was younger, but Iâm now more than satisfied with my long brown hair. It looks like something from a hair shampoo adâ when I wash it, so Iâm proud of calling this my âbest featureâ. All my friends have mentioned just how much they envy me and my looks, but I have never been a poser or a big-head so I just thank them for their comments and leave it at that.
Although I wouldnât say I have a lot of experience when it comes to sex I have had enough boyfriends to know what I would consider as good and not good. Most of it has been the not good variety. I must admit to myself that I do like older men. I fantasize about them a lot of the time. I get a bit fed-up with the antics of the young guys in college, they all seem to fit into the same mold and I donât seem to enjoy that category.
Most of the younger guys seem to have the attitude that they are the best thing since sliced bread; but with many of them they are simply hopeless when it comes to treating a girl properly. Iâm not talking about opening the car door for me or buying dinner and stuff like that; Iâm referring to sex, making love, call it what you will. In the times that I have been with boys of my own age I think I have had one orgasm; this event happened with me doing most of the work on my clit while this boy, Gilbert, pushed his rather small cock in and out of my pussy until he was grunting and groaning like he had it trapped in a door. Not the best of memories.
I have this fantasy that when I lose my virginity proper, in other words when the man includes me in the love-making, it will be a really distinguished older man who knows just how to push all the right buttons.
*********
I went on a skiing holiday recently, my first holiday without mom and dad. This holiday was my first real experience as an âadultâ, it felt like I had been let out of jail. This doesnât mean that I had a bad time at home, or anywhere else for that matter, I just believed that I was missing out on something⊠although I had no firm idea what. As we boarded the bus to the ski resort I couldnât help but think about my fantasy of an older man.
The two girls that went with me on holiday had been friends since we were ten years old. I was the most recent arrival into the neighborhood and we all seemed to hit it off straight away. We had since been in the same classes at school, we were all currently dabbling at cheerleading and we didnât have too many secrets from one another. All in all we got along great. With their make up on my friends also looked at least two to three years older than their present 17 years.
We planned to be at the ski resort for five days, arriving Sunday evening and leaving Friday lunchtime. Stupid timing, but it made it less expensive for us. We had been saving hard all year for this holiday, so we were going to make the best of it while we were there. People who came into the hotel at the weekend paid almost the same amount for the Friday and Saturday evening as we were paying for five nights, this didnât make sense to us; we wanted to use our spare cash for partying and skiing.
We went down to dinner immediately after unpacking and the hotel dining room was half full already; the people already there looked as though they had been out on the slopes all day. Many of them would not be too long out of bed from the look of them, most of them looked exhausted.
Surveying the room I couldnât help looking hard at all the men to see if there were any that fitted into the category that rang my bell⊠the distinguished, single, older man; the one that might be able to show me just whatever it was that I had been missing while I had been messing around with the young college students.
A quick hard scan of the room showed that I wasnât in luck this time.
The hotel had an a la carte menu, if this was what the guests wanted, but they also had a smorgasbord meal where people simply got in line and chose whatever they wanted from a fantastic array of food, just like at college â but ten times better. The smorgasbord came at a price that was usually far less than the a la carte meal. There were quite a few people in the line.
All three of us joined in the line, me at the rear. I then caught a glimpse of what Iâd been fantasizing about as I was idly looking around at the food displayed in front of me. He came into the dining room and took a place in line right behind me. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with graying hair at the temples and a tan that had taken a lot of sun time to achieve. He was well over six feet tall and was obviously very fit.
His wide shoulders and narrow waist did not go unnoticed. His clothes were in shades of grey and black, except for the white lettering around the neck of his turtle-neck sweater; it was a logo of some sort, probably a ski maker. There was no doubt in my mind that everything he was dressed in was expensive, and heâd spent some time choosing them. This was like an identi-kit picture from my fantasy, come to life. He looked good enough to eat; literally.
I quickly looked toward the front of the line, a little embarrassed; I had been staring at this man like I was a bitch in heat. I wondered what he thought of the way I had looked at him. He said, âHiâ as I couldnât help turning my head again to get another eye-full.
âHello.â I said in return, feeling like an idiot as I spoke.
I collected my food and rushed to the table where my two friends were. I almost fell as I sat down with a thump. They could see that I was flustered and wondered what had caused the color in my cheeks to change to a couple of shades less than bright pink. They looked around but didnât notice anything that might bring upon my sudden state of embarrassment. They were interested to know why I had rushed back from the counter but not that interested to continue with questions, we left it at that and no more was said.
When I got back to my room I undressed, jumped into bed and before going to sleep I fantasized about my older man. As I closed my eyes I dreamed of a very fat cock forcing its way inside me. I finished up having a wonderful, no frills, orgasm while playing with myself.
All three of us had enjoyed a good nightâs sleep and we got an early start to the slopes. We wanted to get in a full days skiing, so we were on the road at 7.30. The weather looked like something from a picture-postcard; a great start to the holiday. Something I didnât know was that my first day skiing would come to a halt just over three hours.
With not training specifically for skiing before I left for the holiday, it didnât take too long for my thighs to begin to ache. They then began shaking from the unusual stress of skiing down the slope for the third time; then a few moguls later I was on my back with my skiâs facing up the hill and my head facing the opposite way. Snow began making its way down my pants to the crack in my ass. My ankle had taken a bad turn and my back felt as though I had strained a few of the muscles alongside my spine. All-in-all I didnât feel on top of the world. I crawled around to a position where I could get back on my feet and with a struggle I stood up.
As my friends arrived I thanked my lucky stars that it wasnât worse, and said the same thing aloud to them as I told them what had happened. I said that I would have to call it a day, go back to the hotel - have a hot bath or a spa, and rest up for what was left of our first day. I said Iâd catch up with them at about 6.00pm when they returned from the slopes.
*********
I arrived back at the hotel just before lunchtime. I put away my skiing gear then went down to the hotel bar for a coffee. As I went into the bar my fantasy-man from the evening before was there enjoying a cappuccino. He smiled, looked at my slight limp as I walked in and said, âTrouble on the slopes?â
âYou could say that.â
âWhat happened?â
I explained about the lack of ski fitness and the fact that I stumbled through a couple of moguls and I was feeling slightly silly, as well as sore. I told him that Iâd decided to call it a day rather than chance hurting myself further.
It turned out that my fantasy man was called Jeff and the reason he was in the bar, not out on the slopes, was because he had been at the hotel a week already and he wanted to have a day without snow and too many people around him. I thought, âWell thatâs OK with me!â
Jeff asked my name and I said, âItâs Lisa.â
âYou know Lisa, the thing you should be doing now is having a nice hot bath, then a warm oil massage. You will feel a hundred percent better when thatâs finished.â
I didnât say anything about his comment, and then asked the barman for a coffee. I have to admit, the recommended massage treatment sounded fantastic. I was sure that he would raise the subject again if he was really interested.
For the next half hour we talked as though we had been friends for a long time; absolutely nothing like the conversations Iâd had with my male friends at college. I knew that there was every chance that my fantasy might come true if he was as good at everything else as he was at holding a conversation.
I found out that Jeffâs wife had died the previous year; they didnât have kids, so when she was gone he was left on his own. He was fit, successful and lived in a really great part of the same city that I was born in and now lived in. His fitness came from visits to the gym every night of the week, and running and cycling at the weekends. This was the first time he had stopped work for long enough to take a holiday since his wife died. He felt that working was one way of getting over his wifeâs death.
It had taken him almost a full year to come to terms with the fact that he must get on with his own life. He didnât make a drama of the situation when he told me, he just explained it the way it was. He had not been with another woman in the time since his wife died and his business had kept him so busy that he rarely thought about sex. âMaybe only once or twice a day,â Jeff said with a cheeky smile on his face. I didnât feel in the slightest bit pressured from our conversation, in fact it made me feel more assured that he really was my fantasy come true.