Patricias Young Studs

My name's Patricia, and I'm fifty. That's the way they start those meetings isn't it? Alcoholics Anonymous and all those other 'I don't want to be that, but I am' kind of groups? You get the gist—I don't want to be fifty, but I am.

It's like some kind of disease, this aging thing. A nasty, ugly disease that you can't do anything about. Oh, I could have my tits done, my face lifted, and my fat rearranged with a vacuum nozzle and a scalpel, but it's a losing battle and everybody knows it.

I exercise. Not just to make me look better, although it does, but to make me feel better. I love the hormone rush or whatever the heck it is after a good zumba session, and yoga just makes me feel more like a woman for some reason. The cute guys I get to watch are a nice bonus. Watching guys sucks though, after a while. It's like looking at pastry through a window. Not very satisfying.

Don't ask me why, but I've always been attracted to younger men—boys when I was in my twenties. Don't fret, I never messed (too much) with jail bait. Now that I'm the big five-o, guys with grey hair just depress me. They remind me too much of my own age I guess, and I don't need anything more than a mirror to do that.

Men my age are mostly out of shape, and the ones who aren't, the ones who work out, are mostly full of themselves. Sorry if you're one of the good ones who isn't like that, but it just seems that way to me.

Which brings me back to younger guys, with smooth skin, tight muscles, sweet asses, sparkling young eyes . . . well, you get the drift. I spend all my spare time on the computer looking at 'mature' porn, the sites with older women fucking hot twenty-year-old guys. Some of those videos are so hot I can't stand it. There's something about a young guy that can go and go and go and a woman with enough experience to know where that go-go can take her...it drives me to my trusty rubber cock every time.

The problem is this fucking aging thing. I'm almost old enough to be their freakin'

grandmother

fer chissakes. Sad but true. Some of you girls out there know what I'm talking about. To put it in slang from my high school days, it

blows

, and I'm not talking about the good kind of blowing.

So here's the story I'm going to tell you. The part were sexy stuff happens and you decide to stay interested and keep reading (if I didn't loose you already. My friends tell me I can ramble on with the best of 'em). I started fucking those twenty-year-olds. I hit on the perfect system. It was completely by accident, but it works like a charm, and so far I haven't ended up in jail. (I always ask if they're eighteen and check their I.D., but you know how those things are these days).

I was in a cheap restaurant for lunch one day, up in the University section of the city. The cutest boy waited on me. I mean totally adorable, but in a totally fuckable kind of way. The reason I was up there was to buy a new camera at the store where the photography students shop. I wanted something nicer than a phone camera, something with a viewfinder like I grew up with, and I got carried away in the store and bought a little interchangeable lens Olympus that was on sale. It's like a little jewel, and I was looking it over and trying to figure it all out when my dreamy, blue-eyed waiter asked me about it. I don't know why, but I told him I was an artist (I'm not) and before I could get my mouth to stop I told him I shot nudes (the only thing I've ever shot nude was my sisters little baby). What happened next is what changed my life.

"I've done some life modeling for some art classes, to make some extra cash," he said.

"Life modeling? That's like nude stuff, right?" I said, sounding like a complete idiot that didn't know a thing about what I supposedly did for a living.

"Yeah," he said, looking at me like I was a little odd.

"So how much do they pay you for that," I asked.

"Fifty bucks," he said, his dreamy blue eyes twinkling. "It's pretty sweet. Easy money."

"Yeah, I hire models too," I said, my mouth still rambling on with a life of its own. "I can pay you fifty."

"Really?" he said, his big beautiful eyes getting even bigger and even more beautiful. "That'd be sweet!"

"So like, today? I'd kinda like to get started," I said. My pussy was already wet, and I could have gotten started with him right there on the table.

"Wow . . . uh, yeah! Cool!" he said.

My hand was trembling a little as I wrote down my phone number for him. He said he'd call when he got off work after the dinner shift. I spent the rest of my lunch time letting my heart rate get back to normal. It wasn't easy because his sweet little twenty-year-old ass showed out the back of his apron, and the stupid kid smiled at me every time he caught me looking at him. Didn't he know I was old and could

die

from that kind of thing? Kids these days.

When I left the restaurant I panicked. I was an

artist

? Who shot

nudes

? "Good God woman, what were you thinking?" I said to myself as I slapped myself on the head. I decided I had two choices—I could look like a complete fool when he showed up, freak the kid out and never be able to show my face around those parts again, or I could quickly turn myself into an artist who shot nudes. What could be so hard about that, right? Artists are eccentric, at least in the movies, and they don't all do things the same way. I found myself walking back towards the camera store and I asked the nice sales guy about it.

"Say I wanted to shoot nice artistic pictures of like, people. People's bodies and stuff," I said to the guy, trying to be smooth but failing miserably.

"Well, for peoples bodies and stuff," he said with a smile, "you're gonna want at least two nice lights. Three's better. These nice LED units are pretty slick . . ."

I ended up with a carload of shit that cost two-thousand dollars. My stupid wet pussy cost me

two-thousand fuckin' dollars!

I felt like such an idiot. But as I loaded it all in my car I was hornier than I'd been in years. My pussy was

still

wet. It was weird—fifty-year-old women don't feel that way, at least I never did. We're supposed to use lube fer chissakes, not be dripping wet at the drop of a hat.

The goofiest god-damn part of all of it was I had no idea if Ryan—that's dreamy blue-eyes' name—would be the least bit interested in having sex with an old gal like me. Chances were good he wouldn't be the

least bit

interested in it. He was just a sweet kid who wanted to earn fifty-bucks, probably so he could take his pretty young girlfriend out to a club and then bang the shit out of

her

.

I got home and unloaded two-fucking-thousand dollars worth of stuff my stupid wet pussy made me buy, and scratched my head wondering what to do with it all. I've got a spare bedroom, with a bed my seventy-five-year-old mother sleeps in when she comes to town for shopping trips, so I hauled the lights and stands in there, set them up as best I could, and sat down on the bed with a book on 'Glamour Photography' the sales guy sold me.

Pardon my French, but it was complicated as shit. I moved the lights around and tried to duplicate one of their set-ups, but I didn't have time to really learn anything, and I was nervous and sweating when my phone rang. I looked at the clock and it was eight o'clock. I had completely missed dinner, and my heart just about flew out of my chest when I realized it was probably Ryan that was calling.

"Hi, Patricia? It's Ryan," he said, his dreamy blue eyes appearing like a hologram before my eyes.

"Oh hi Ryan," I said nervously. "You ready to get started?"

I gave him directions and he said he'd be there in half-an-hour.

"I don't need anything right?" he asked. "I'm gonna be like, naked, right?"

"Yup. Naked," I said, and the full weight of what was happening started to hit me. There was an awkward pause.

"Okay then," he said. "I'm on my way."

Half-an-hour. Good Lord, I thought to myself, realizing what was about to happen. I just about ran to the bathroom and took a quick shower. I scrubbed myself so I wouldn't taste old—assuming we got to the point where he was tasting me—shaved my legs and my pits like a mad woman, took a pair of scissors to my ridiculous looking bush making it look even more ridiculous, and generally had a panic attack that left me sweatier than I was before my shower. By the time I was standing in front of my closet trying to figure out what the heck to wear, the doorbell rang.

"Stupid old woman," I said to myself. "What did you get yourself into?"

All I could do was grab a robe and answer the door.

"Hi," Ryan said as I opened it, and he looked at my disheveled appearance. "We said half-an-hour, right?"

"Yes, you're right on time," I said. "I had another phone call right after you called, my gallery, so just give me a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable."

My Gallery? Where did

that

come from? I rummaged through my closet like a crazy person, with clothes flying everywhere, and then I stopped and took a deep breath. I was on the verge of going stark-raving loopy and ending up in the psych ward if I didn't get control of myself.

I put on a pair of casual pants that make my ass look good and a simple, satiny white button-up shirt. I was combing out my hair when I realized my underwear was

boring

with a capitol B, so I stripped it all off, put on something sexy and dressed again, working up yet another sweat. I cursed myself for being a complete idiot for getting into the whole mess, and went out to see Ryan.

"Shall we get started?" I said, sounding surprisingly sane.

I ushered Ryan into the spare bedroom and switched on the three very expensive lights that sat on their very expensive stands. Luckily I had at least learned how to do that and didn't look like a complete moron.

"I'll let you get undressed," I said. "You can put your clothes on the chair there."

So far so good. I said that without sounding like a sexual predator.

"Do I need to sign something?" he asked. "At the other place I have to sign something. A model release I think they call it."

"Oh," I said. "They're all at my studio. We can catch up with that another time. You

are

over eighteen though, right?"

Ryan showed me his driver's license, and pulled off his t-shirt while I was looking at it.

"Whoa!" I said under my breath as I saw his smooth chest, and he glanced at me with a little smile.

"So where's your studio?" he asked as he put his license in the pocket of his jeans and started unfastening them.

"Oh, it's in Boston," I said, becoming totally flustered at the sight of his perfect naked body slowly revealing itself to me.

"Boston?" he said, no doubt wondering why I would have a studio four-hundred miles from where I live.

His shoes were off and his jeans hit the floor. I was literally trembling as his thumbs went in the waistband of his dark blue briefs and he slid them down.

"Is it cold in here," I asked, barely able to speak. "I'm gonna turn the heat up a little."

I exited the room and stood motionless in the hall, trying to breathe and get my nerves under control. After a few moments I walked to the thermostat and turned it up high. After a silent pep-talk to myself I marched down the hallway and walked back in the spare bedroom. Ryan was naked, reclining on the bed against some pillows, one leg bent and kicked out to the side, and my eyes zeroed in laser-like on his cock. Thicker and longer than I expected, its flesh was darker than the rest of him, and it's circumcised tip was round and smooth and perfect. It was soft and lazy looking, curving over his small, tight ball sack, and he had a hand on his inner thigh, just inches away from it.

"Tell me how you want me," he said, snapping me out of my lecherous gaze. "Are we going to be moving around?"

I could barely speak. Even though I was freezing cold I felt sweat dripped down my chest between my tits, and my nipples were rock hard. The stupid sexy bra I threw on did nothing to conceal them and the thin satin shirt didn't either. Somehow I remembered I was supposed to be taking pictures, and I picked up my camera off the dresser.

"We can start like that honey," I said, finally getting my lungs coordinated with my vocal cords. "I'm sorry, is it okay if I call you honey?"

"Sure," he said with a nice smile.

I don't know if it was my nipples or what, but he was growing. When I aimed the camera at him he was thicker and longer than he had been just a few minutes before. I quickly realized I could look at him through the camera without him really knowing what I was looking at. Of course I zoomed in on his cock. What girl wouldn't? But then I filled the frame with his face and my heart raced again (could it possibly race any more?) when I realized he was looking at my tits. If my nipples weren't rock hard already, they certainly were at that point. He had the most wonderful hint of a smile, and his eyes danced from one tit to the other. I zoomed out and his cock was even bigger. Not what you'd call an erection yet, but thicker and not as soft looking, and right on the verge of lift-off.

Another virtual panic attack swept through me when I suddenly realized I hadn't taken a single picture. Was I busted? Did he realize it was all a ruse? I zoomed in on his face again to gage his reaction, but I couldn't really tell. Still that hint of a smile. Still looking at my body.

"Okay, that looks good," I said, trying to sound in control. "Let's get started."

I adjusted one of the lights so he'd think I knew what I was doing, and started taking pictures. I knew they'd probably be horrible—my sister always makes fun of my terrible compositions. "Why do you always put the head in the middle of the frame," she'd say. "There's nothing up there over it."

Well, this time, 'the head' was at the end of a twenty-year-old cock. Whaddya think of them apples, sis?

After a while I realized I should ask Ryan to move into some other kind of pose, and I had him roll over on his stomach so I could look at—I mean take pictures of—his ass. I got a quick look at it when he stripped, but lying there as he was, with one leg slightly bent again, it looked spectacular.

"Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful," I asked as I snapped away at the shutter.

I was getting into it at that point, moving around the bed and crouching for different angles. Seeing the things I was seeing through the viewfinder was still surprising though, like Ryan's apparently still growing cock against the bedspread when he spread his bent leg even farther. I felt like I was dreaming and none of what I was seeing could possibly be real.

"Roll again," I said. "On your back. Flat this time."

"I'm not sure I'll be flat anymore," he said sheepishly.

"That's okay honey," I said, finally feeling like I was really in control. "We're after male sexuality here." Truer words were never spoken.

He rolled onto his back and his cock levitated. Still not fully erect, but bobbing in the air, giving away his elevated pulse rate.

"Beautiful honey," I said as I moved in for a close angle of it. "Beautiful."

"Can you lay it on your stomach?" I asked, feeling inspired.

He did it, and it's veiny underneath contrasted with his well defined abs. I was close enough to it to smell it, that musky smell that switches even more of my hormones on. I wanted desperately to lift it up and suck it into my mouth.

"Can you crouch on your knees, and put your hands on the top of your thighs?" I asked.

Ryan complied, and he looked positively ridiculous that way—his chest well defined, his abs slightly rippled, his thighs big and muscular, and his engorged cock hanging half-way between down and up.

"You can say no to any of this part honey, okay?" I said reassuringly. "Can you hold it in your hand?"

Ryan didn't hesitate and wrapped his hand underneath his big cock, instinctively knowing just what the camera wanted. His hand moved on it, so slow you could barely tell, and his cock responded by growing hard. The dark flesh was redder, and the smooth tip was almost purple. It grew in length to the point only half of it fit in Ryan's hand, which was stroking it more noticeably.

"You look good enough to eat," my mouth said quietly, and my brain quickly slapped it shut. "Sorry honey, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, that's okay," he said, with a hopeful tone to his voice.

Things were at a turning point, but I didn't know what to do.

"You're not a real photographer, are you?" Ryan said, breaking the tension with a mischievous little smile.

His hand was stroking his cock's full length, and I lowered the camera from my eyes.

"You just bought these lights today?" he asked, gesturing with his head toward the boxes in the corner and the receipt and the book I'd forgotten about. "You could have just asked me you know. I like older women. At least I think I do, I've never really been with a real one."

"A real one?" I asked.

"You know, those MILF sites," he said. "They're not real, are they?"

"So what do we do now," I asked, suddenly sweating and terrified again.

"You let me take pictures of you," he said confidently. "Do you even have a card in that camera?"

He got off the bed and his cock stood proud in front of him. My breathing was short and ragged, and I was sweating like a pig.

"It's like a hundred degrees in here," I said.

"Yeah, it's good," he said. "You look good sweaty. Sexy."

He took the camera from my hands and the tables had turned.

"I'll let you get undressed. You can put your clothes on the chair there," he said, repeating exactly what I had said to him.

I had wanted hot sex with a twenty-year-old, and it looked like I was going to get it, but when the chips were down I froze.

"Am I gonna have to rip those clothes off of you?" Ryan asked, sounding very much in charge.

I whimpered like a little girl, swallowed hard and took off my shirt, shoes and pants.

"Nice," Ryan said as he started to take pictures. "I'm gonna need copies of these."

His words made me smile, and just enough confidence filtered out of my brain to get me naked. I moved quickly—as soon as the bra slipped down my arms I whipped off my panties, not giving myself a chance to freeze up again.

"Wow," Ryan said under his breath as he snapped pictures, and hearing it gave me another shot of happy juice, this time enough to get me onto the bed.

"How do you want me?" I said, giving him my puppy dog eyes look and a little smile.

"From behind," Ryan said. "You have a beautiful ass."

I got on all fours, feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life, and Ryan circled around behind me.

"Fuck!" he said quietly.

He snapped a flurry of pictures, and I spread my knees apart, arched my back and dropped my shoulders to the bed.

"Fuck!" he said again. "This is gonna be epic!"

I smiled a big smile, his genuine enthusiasm at my body finally registering. Thank you yoga and zumba!

"Lose the camera honey and put your mouth in there for me," I said, my brain finally loose enough to say what I wanted to say. "Lick every bit of me."

Ryan's youthful erection had been pointer straight since he got off the bed, and watching it bounce as he walked to the dresser to set the camera down made me smile. It was a big cock by the standards of my previous fuckers, I mean lovers, and my gut was already tingling in anticipation of its arrival.

"I hope you don't have anywhere to be tonight," I said, "because I'm not letting you out of here 'till morning."

Ryan went out of view behind me, and then I felt his tongue on my asshole, a bulls-eye on his first shot, and I just about jumped out of my already tingling skin. It swirled around the sensitive flesh surrounding the hole, and swirled downward and split my pussy in two.