Pam Angelo's nipples ached with arousal and threatened to poke holes into her ebony turtleneck sweater, even as her stomach turned flip-flops with butterflies of anxiety. She smiled despite herself and remembered a line from the Arnie Becker character from LA Law. Pam was "overwrought with ambivalence".
People always say 'I've never done this before', Pam thought as she eased her white Lexus into the hotel parking lot, but she had really never done something quite like this before. Meeting a man who had seduced her on the Internet was, in fact, something that Pam never envisioned herself doing.
So, then, why was she already so wet? And why had she trimmed her pussy and fingered herself into a frenzied orgasm while showering for her first 'date' with this persuasive charmer?
His prose, his humor, yes, even his looks had intrigued her almost from the beginning. His initial correspondence described a romantic yet erotic story about what he would do to her in the coatroom of a restaurant. Normally, Pam would have hit delete in an instant. After all, she was used to being bombarded with sexual propositions on the dating site she had joined while in the throes of her recent separation from her long-time very possessive husband.
But there was something different about his words. It was as if he had an entry pass into her mind, her innermost thoughts and fantasies. She had masturbated herself almost nightly for months now, anticipating his e-mails, and sad when one did not arrive within a day or two. This electronic dance had gone on for months now, and when he had told her he would be coming to Columbus for business and had invited her to join her in his hotel room with one obvious intention, her mind said no time and time again.
But, for once, her pussy dictated her decision. She agreed.
If she were true to herself, Pam would realize that she really did not want a traditional dating relationship. That was too complicated, too time-consuming. No, for the first time in her life, at age fifty-one, what Pam really wanted was to get laid. However, the conundrum was that, as a good Italian Catholic girl, she wasn't supposed to think with her cunt.
Although the Bible didn't phrase it quite that bluntly, the intent was clear.
For his part, John had been divorced for four years now and had well utilized the last two or three years to pursue only a rare quality of woman. Oh, he had quantity over the last several years, but as soon as he saw Pam's photos on the dating profile, well, he just knew he had to have her.
And when he saw her climb out of the Lexus as he stood on the hotel curb waiting for her, his own heart skipped a beat. She was possibly the sexiest woman he had ever seen, much better than even her spectacular photos. He took her hand and was disappointed when she turned her cheek as he leaned to kiss her.
He knew intuitively to go slow, as slowly as necessary. Pam was like a skittish deer, vulnerable, and any sudden move would cause her to scurry back into the Westerville woods.
And that just wouldn't do.
As they walked through the hotel room corridor, John studied Pam's frame as he insisted that she walk ahead of him. Pam knew exactly why, she knew she was being examined. yet she complied. Though shy, especially given the circumstances this evening, Pam was justifiably proud of her body.
She was quite cognizant of the effect that she had on most men, yet she chose to ignore it for the most part, still shuttered emotionally from the pain of her separation, and the fact that her estranged husband had been insanely jealous of any advances from other men. That was a long story, Pam sighed to herself.
John was younger than her by a few years, yet he couldn't believe that Pam's body was that of a woman who had celebrated her fifty-first birthday only a day before. She wore black from head to toe. Black sweater, tight black denim jeans, black leather boots. Each item accentuated Pam's silky raven hair which cascaded down over her shoulders, and her jet black eyes. Only her lipstick was bright crimson, a shade which Pam herself referred to as "blowjob red".
Upon entering the elevator, John himself became nervous at the close quarters with this sensationally beautiful mature woman, the essence of a Mediterranean goddess. He told her softly, and the words were indeed sincere, "You are stunningly gorgeous." She blushed, in a mixture of embarrassment and desire. More dichotomy.
The impromptu couple reached the room and John eased the card into the slot. He gestured for Pam to enter first, and decided to continue small talk intended to distract her from her easily apparent discomfort. She looked straight ahead, as if to study the room and where she could hide. "Have you ever modeled?" Again, the interest was genuine.
She turned, smiling, appreciative of the question because she had a willing answer. "Yes", she responded simply. He made a motion for Pam to sit on the queen bed, and she did so, gingerly placing her luscious denim-clad ass on the edge of the mattress.
"What type of modeling?" He loosened his tie and sat on the bed next to her, but within arms' length, understanding it was not yet time to, for lack of a better word, pounce. When he had done this with other women, some would have already been voraciously sucking his dick by now, such was their excitement. In a strange way, Pam's reticence only heightened John's own attraction and arousal.
Pam looked him dead in the eye, her midnight pupils blazing. "Nudes." She wanted to gauge John's reaction. She was measuring him as much as her was taking inventory of her. Yet, again, her answer was a true one. The details weren't important enough to reveal to John, not yet, anyway. But secretly, Pam got off on displaying her body to men who she knew would not have her.
