This is the story of a foolish woman who thought romance was only for the young. But romance has certainly changed since I was of that age.
If you've been following my stories then you probably think I'm a self-centered slut. And you're right. But I wasn't always this way. For much of my adult life I was a respectable wife and mother. I had what some would call a normal sexual appetite, maybe even above the average. When first married, my husband and I made love frequently and I enjoyed it very much. The years went by and we didn't make love so often. I assumed that was normal. When the children came along our love life tapered off even more. I figured that was normal too. Then one day my husband decided that we would start using condoms. I knew that wasn't normal.
I engaged the services of a highly regarded investigator. I didn't want to trust my family's dirty laundry to some low budget private eye. What the agency found was even worse than I expected. Let's just say I was glad for those condoms. If I were vindictive I could have raked him over the coals. But he was good to me for the most part and I wanted to stay on good terms for the family's sake. You can be assured, though, that I dictated terms. For three years he was on his best behavior and we kept up the sham of our marriage. When our youngest turned eighteen we divided the assets and went our separate ways.
My professional skills were woefully out of date so I decided to go back to school to get my MBA. Thanks to some acquaintances on the faculty of a small private college I secured a teaching assistantship. Part of my duties was mentoring interns at an accounting firm that partnered with the school. It had been two decades since I worked in an office so this was really as much of an internship for me as it was for the undergraduates. It quickly became clear that for me to succeed I needed to update more than just my professional skills.
I took up Jazzercise, changed my hairstyle and makeup, started adding more stylish articles to my wardrobe. I didn't overdo it. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, just wanted to fit in with the attractive people around me. One area I did indulge myself: my undergarments. Should be no surprise there if you know my story. Lingerie, fancy bras and panties, stockings and hosiery... I loved the way they felt. I loved the way they looked when I dressed myself in the mirror. Wearing these things under my clothes, having that secret, made me feel sexy and desirable. It had been so long since a man found me desirable. I was ripe for the picking.
My new look caught the eye of the firm's junior partner. James, who would later become my new husband, was an attractive and sophisticated gentleman a few years older than me. We hit it off and made it a regular thing to go to lunch several times during the week. Saturdays we would spend together at his country club, playing tennis or golf or just enjoy time together before the evening's dinner and drinks. I was strongly attracted to him. But we kept things on a professional level. I was pretty uptight about appearances at the time.
This story isn't about James though. It's about one of the students I was mentoring. Travis wasn't amazingly attractive and he wasn't the greatest student. But he had manners and style and he oozed charisma. I knew that would take him far. He wasn't a flirt but you could always find him in the company of one or more girls from his class. The female employees of James' firm were not immune to his charm either. And, to my amusement, I would even catch myself gravitating to him at group events.
It was at the last of these group events, for the spring semester, that Travis asked me if I would drive him home. We were celebrating the conclusion of the internship class with a cocktail party. I was abstaining, being still "on the job" but I enjoyed watching the young people sampling the selection of liqueurs in the company bar cart. As the party was winding down, Travis confided that he was feeling impaired and, since his house was on my way, would I mind? Of course I didn't mind. I was pleased to spend another few minutes with this charming young man.
It was dark by the time we pulled up in front of his house. He was telling me about his plans after graduation and as we talked I turned sideways in my seat so I wouldn't have to crane my neck to look at him. After a while, to my utter surprise he reached out and put his hand on my crossed leg and, you know, just gave it a squeeze. I could not believe it. You hear about these things happening to other people. But when they happen to you?
"Travis, your hand."
"You aren't wearing panty hose tonight," he said, not removing the hand. Rather, he began stroking my calf. "I was curious how your bare skin felt."
"Listen, I will overlook this since you have been drinking."
"I'm not actually drunk, Rita. To be honest, I just wanted to go for a ride with you."
Flabbergasted is the only word I can think of to describe how I felt at that moment. I was a forty-five year old woman being groped in a car by a young man the same age as my own children. He told me how he had a crush on me from the moment we met, how he enjoyed watching me make myself sexy all year. And since we no longer had a student-teacher relationship, he thought we might have another kind of relations.
As he told me this his hand crept over my knee and onto my thigh. He was seriously crossing the line and I wanted him to stop. But I wasn't resisting. I realized, in fact, that I was enjoying both his unwelcome attention and the feeling of his hand on my body. Please forgive me, but when he leaned in for a kiss I leaned in to meet him. And the sensation of his lips on mine awakened something in me that has never really gone back to sleep.
I can rationalize why I accepted his invitation to go inside. I was starved for affection after years of loneliness and neglect. His kisses were pleasurable and I wanted more. I can tell myself I was going to make out with him a little, maybe a lot, and then go home. But maybe, just maybe, I was already a whore for young cock and didn't know it. Maybe I wanted what happened next so bad that I would set aside my morals and scruples and even my ethics to get it. Regardless of why, I followed him into his house and joined him on the couch. And as embarrassing as it is to admit, I don't regret it.
We made out, all right. Like teenagers on prom night. His hands were all over me. I made a show of resisting but he wasn't having it. Part of me thought it was wrong. He shouldn't be manhandling me this way. But part of me was thrilled at the effect I was having on him. I could feel his desire in his lips and questing hands and the delightful bulge I felt when some part of my body grazed the front of his slacks. I lost track of time as we wrestled together on that couch, searching under each other's clothing and sighing at the touches.
Somehow he ended up between my spread legs, kissing and licking my inner thighs. My dress was bunched up around my waist and the only thing protecting my flame-red bush was the embroidered lace of my virginal white leotard. My brain was shouting to stop before things got out of hand. My pussy just wanted to go, go, go. Travis worked his way up to my crotch and was licking at my lace, pushing his tongue up under the edges of the garment to try and taste my honey. It felt so good but I was impatient for real contact. I decided to move things along.
"You know how those snaps work, Travis?"
