Meet-up After Brea-Up

"What now?" I barked when Alex's annoying ringtone sounded. "Can't we have one night alone?"

His eyes flashed with anger but I wasn't sure if it was for the phone interruption or me. "I have to take this," he muttered as he stood and moved away from the bar.

As I slowly shook my head, the bartender Mike, who had introduced himself earlier, came down. "Can I get you another Dirty Martini?" he asked flashing a toothful grin that seemed to set off his blue eyes.

I smiled meekly, not wanting to ruin his evening too. "If I have another, you may have to scrape me off the floor," I joked.

"That's my job, scrape them then send them on their way. It would be my pleasure to scrape you," he replied with a wink.

I felt my cheeks flush with color, thinking that in my younger days, I surely would have giggled and said, "You can scrape me any time," but now, being a 48 year old divorced mother of kids his age, I settled for, "Okay, one more."

"You got it. Three olives, right?"

"You're good. Remembering customers must be a big part of this job."

As he chilled a fresh stem glass and added ice to the shaker glass, he said, matter-of-factly, "Not everyone, but I remember the ladies... especially the attractive ones." Before I could be flattered, he added, "Like I remember the first time you and your husband came in. You ordered a Gin & Tonic with a splash of lime juice."

My eyes widened. "That's right! I can't believe you remembered that. It was so long ago."

Mike shrugged as he added Gin and Vermouth. "Like I said, I have an eye for the classy ladies."

"Thank you, that's very sweet of you to say, but you got one thing wrong: Alex is just an acquaintance. In fact, tonight was supposed to be a reconciliation of sorts. A last chance, if you get my drift. But, based on his constant phone calls he's getting, his job is way more important to him than I am."

Mike stabbed the olives on a spear and poured my drink, looking directly into my green eyes. "Then, your 'acquaintance' is an ass-hole. Oh, sorry, I really shouldn't be expressing my opinions."

I tried not to show my school girl embarrassment. "That's okay. I've called him that, and worse."

I saw Mike look past me, and saw Alex approaching. "Well, whatever happens, I hope everything works out for you."

"Thanks, me too."

Alex had a glum expression as he slid in beside me, watching Mike move off to service another customer. "Listen, something came up at work. They need me there right away."

The look I gave him said it all.

"Listen, this was a mistake. What we had was over a long time ago," I began, knowing this speech would eventually be necessary. "Our priorities are too different. It's nobody's fault, Alex. We're just different people."

His non-response told me he had come to the same conclusion. "I'll drive you home."

"That won't be necessary. I just got another drink, and I'll call a car service."

He eyed me warily. "Are you sure? This neighborhood can get a little rough."

"Don't worry about me. I'll call from here and wait for the driver to pull out front. Nobody will bother me in here. This is too nice of a restaurant."

He rose and came in for a kiss, which I averted by giving him my cheek. "We had some great times, Carrie."

"Yes, we did," I responded, without adding, "but they were few and far between, and a long time ago."

He tossed a hundred on the bar and said, "That should cover the tab and your cab fare," to which I added a crooked smile and nod, and he was gone.

I felt a strange sense of relief. Sure, here I sat, 48, slim, too tall for many men at 5'10, all alone with no prospects, sipping another Martini. Since Alex and I broke up, I'd come into a small inheritance and, after giving each off the kids a few thousand to spend as they pleased, took the remainder and had breast augmentation. Not a major boob job, but I added a cup size to 38C. I also joined a gym that supposedly had many single male members. Unfortunately, most weren't interested in females, but I worked out a few times a week, losing some tummy flab and getting fit.

I also had a make-over, getting a coloring that brightened my light brown hair, added a few blonde streaks, and they taught me current techniques for makeup. All in all, I thought I looked pretty good for my age and the fact that I had 29 and 27 year old kids, and one grand-daughter.

My friends and the kids all complimented me, but there weren't many single men beating down my door; The few who did wound up being married and on the prowl.

Now, here I sat, in a high-class steak house, dressed in a tight black cocktail dress and heels. Since Alex was 6'2", he was one of the few men I could get away with wearing heels without towering over my date. Although heels gave my butt more definition, I didn't want to alienate any prospective new friends.

I idly sipped my drink, listening to the Jazz piped into the bar area, when I had the feeling I was being watched. Sure enough, down the end of the bar, Mike was working the water spots out of a glass with a white towel as he smiled down at me.

I smiled back, despite not feeling very joyous, and he made his way down. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, thanks. You can total me up when you get a chance. And do you know the number of a reliable car service?"

"Oh, you're leaving? When I saw your friend go, I thought maybe you'd stay for a bit."

"Yes, well, a woman my age shouldn't be sitting in a bar alone. It makes me look cheap and may give your establishment an undeserved reputation for unescorted females."

Mike's smile faded. "First off, we could use more women with your class, if you don't mind me saying that. Second-off, too many people get wrapped up in age. You radiate everything that I find attractive about mature women. If your ex-friend can't see that, he's a fool."

It was just what I needed, and wanted to hear. "Thank you very much, Mike. You are not just an excellent mixologist but you do a great job of inflating my ego. But I really should be going. These Martinis are beginning to take effect."

He returned to the register and came back with my check. When I turned it over, there was one entry. "Soft drink, $2.00"

"There seems to be a mistake here. He had three Vodka tonics and this is my fourth Martini."

"No," he said with a smile, "the register doesn't lie. But, there is room on the back for a phone number. I mean, if that's not too forward?"

I looked into his smile, seeing whether his expression would change to indicate he was joking, but he kept his pleasant grin. I didn't want to come across as sassy or bold. "Listen Mike, if you're serious, I'm flattered, but you're probably the same age as my kids. Believe me, you don't want to get involved with someone my age."

His frown made my heart ache for him. He took the hundred and made change, when he returned, he seemed very staid. "There's a car service we use, but at this hour on a Saturday, it may be a while before they get here. Their number is on this card. You're more than welcome to wait. In fact, we'll be closing shortly."

He waved his hand and I realized there were very few patrons remaining.

"If you want, I can drop you off, no strings attached." Now he gave me an ironic smile that melted my heart. "In the long run, it'll be cheaper and you get to keep some of your ex's cash."

When he slid the card across, I softly put my hand on his. "Mike, if I offended you, I'm truly sorry."

"That's okay, the mature women who I'm attracted to, are usually too high-class to date someone my age, and the ones who are interested are usually cougars on the prowl."

I had to smile. "It's flattering to hear you don't think of me as an old, horny drunk on the make."

He didn't move his hand, and looked into my eyes. "You know my name, but I never got yours."

"Carrie. Caroline, but friends call me Carrie."

"It was an honor and privilege to meet you, Carrie. That offer is still open, but call that number and see how long they'll be."

I watched him move away, cashing out another couple for the night and thought about waiting for a cab and riding home with a stranger. I dialed my cellphone and listened as it rang nine times before the dispatched gruffly answered. "Sorry, wrong number," I said and hung up.

When Mike looked my way, I waved him down. "You were right. They said 30 to 45 minutes. Is that offer still available?"

His bright white teeth shone as his blue eyes twinkled. "Sure. If you'd like another drink while I finish up, it's on the house."

"Not another one of these," I said, draining the glass. "Just a light beer is good, thanks."

We talked as he finished his business. When he began emptying his tip cup, I pushed the change from the hundred across the bar. "Here, include this."

He frowned. "That's uncalled for."

"Why? Between what the bar bill should have been and the cab with tip, that's what I expected to pay anyway."

He pushed it back. "Leave me a ten as a tip. Anything more than that and I'd be offended."

I shrugged. "I didn't mean to offend."

"I appreciate the offer, but I do alright for myself here. Buy yourself something nice and think of me when you wear it."

It was half an hour before we walked out, and in the parking lot was a white Ford pick-up. "I hope you don't mind trucks."

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "All my Dad drove was pick-ups, usually a lot dirtier and older than yours."

We climbed up and I gave him directions to my place, as we found out something about each other. I explained that I was divorced six years, two grown children on their own, one married with a grandchild, and that I worked in the beauty department of a large local store at the mall.

"That figures," he said. "They only assign the best looking women to the beauty sections."

I blushed and thanked him and then he told me that he had finished his Masters Degree in Business last spring but hadn't found anything in that field, so he kept his job at the steak house to pay bills.

"Good-looking AND smart," I blurted before I could restrain myself.

He glanced over. "A compliment! Now you've really made my night."

I laughed. "If that's all it takes, you're a cheap date."

"Yes I am. If you reconsider my offer, we can include dinner and a few drinks to that."

Despite our age difference, I realized that not only did I like Mike but I enjoyed his company. I'm sure the Martinis had something to do with my saying, "I'll tell you what: if you're serious and can put up with a home-cooked meal, why don't we see how it goes."

He grinned. "I love home-cooking. Just let me know, red or white wine... or maybe some more Bombay Gin?"

"Gin makes me crazy," I admitted.

"Gin it is!"

When we pulled into the driveway, I said, "I don't know how to thank you, Mike. You took a depressing evening and turned it into an enjoyable experience." I leaned in for a quick peck and he did too, and our lips brushed briefly.

"Oops," he whispered. "Sorry if that was out of line."

I smiled without moving away. "No, it's okay. That's the gin kicking in."

His eyes shone in the reflection of the house lights and his lips met mine again, staying in contact, ever so gently. It was sweet and pleasant and we stared through open eyes, reading each other.

"Carrie, I've never felt like this with someone I just met."

My hand skid behind his neck and pressed myself into him. He responded, kissing firmly, and his lips parted and I felt his tongue brush across my lips. Forgetting our age difference, I opened my mouth to meet him and his tongue tentatively flicked in. The tongues swirled and we were blended together into one.

When his hand cupped my breast through the dress, I was jolted back to the reality that we were in my driveway with nosey neighbors who would have a field day if they saw. "Not here," I whispered. "Come inside."

I had no sooner turned the dead bolt behind us than he turned and took me in his arms. He was shorter than I realized, and with my heels I felt awkward but he didn't seem to mind, pulling my head down to him and meeting my lips. The speed at which this was going was dizzying enough but the Martinis only made it worse, and Mike was strong and forceful.

I managed to steer him into the living room and get to the couch where we were the same height, and his hand was again groping my breasts as he pressed me back and took control. While I am not dominant or submissive, I found his drive very frightening but arousing. His weight held me down as he moved his hands up my dress. With no stockings because of the summer heat, his hand quickly found my black panties, and he grunted as he lifted the dress and tugged at the waistband. I was freshly trimmed in hopes of resolving my problems with Alex and Mike gave me an appreciative grin when he found my small tuft of hair. I spread my legs and felt him dip his finger into me.

"So wet," he whispered as he slid in deeply and I squirmed with excitement. "You like that, don't you?" and I nodded in reply.

He almost tore the panties from me, then slid to the floor, spreading me wide. There was no working his way up to it, he just lowered his face and began lapping at me, slurping at my juices and licking my clit. This was a man who knew what he wanted.

Fear and excitement told me not to stop him or even try to slow him down. I felt his tongue and looked down at his head hungrily working at my body. The entire thing became surreal.

As quickly as he went down on me, he stopped, scrambling to his feet as he undid his pants and slid them and his briefs to his ankles. He pulled on his penis and smiled, then kneeled between my legs. After slowly lining himself up at my entrance, he pressed forward, not rapidly but forcefully, until he was seated within me and I felt the fullness of him.

He smiled and whispered, "Ooh, tight for an old lady," as if I would take that as a compliment. The sweet young man was now a horny prick, but I was too drunk and horny to fight. He backed out, then came in again, hard. I grunted from his weight and being filled up, and he seemed to take that as pleasure.

"Oh, you like that, do you?"

Again and again, he slid then slammed, as I gasped for air, not sure how to react. My wetness meant there was no real pain but his forcefulness let me know I was not in charge of the situation, he was.

Although feeling degraded, I began losing myself in the pleasure, and he continued as I felt my body tighten, then shudder from a major orgasm. I gasped and panted, grabbing at his ass as he slapped into me.

His grunts became louder and thrusts more dramatic and I knew he was close. When he shouted out, I braced myself and he arched and spasmed, releasing his stream into me. He began thrusting again, now draining himself, and filling me. Finally, he slumped over me, panting and breathing heavily into my ear.

I could feel him shrinking and he slowly withdrew. His semen began dripping out, onto my couch, leaving me with my dress up and no panties, like a school girl in the back seat of Daddy's car.

He sat back, watching his handiwork, quite proud of his conquest, then stood and dressed.

I slid the dress down, embarrassed now at thinking a 20-something could have any interest other than getting laid.

"Thanks," he said matter-of-factly, "that was fun. Well, see you around, huh?"

I watched him let himself out and sat there, not knowing if I should cry or scream. I finally showered and in the end, I chalked it up to an exciting ten minutes that I would think about often, and try to block out the humiliation I felt at that moment.

Ps: I never went back to that steak house.