Thank you for your comments about my recent story. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the kind words. I realize that after having finished reading of my adventures, there is no reason to spend a few extra minutes sending me an email. The fact that so many of you do is very flattering and spurs me on to write again. I won't make you wait a full year for another one. This experience happened when I was quite young, but it's a story that involves, yet again, older men.
For those who have not read any of my other stories, I'll describe myself. I'm 5'4, with brown hair and eyes. I have put on a few pounds since this adventure, but at the time I was thinner, with a little baby fat that was quite noticeable on my face. I believe it added a certain roundness and innocence to my overall look. My breasts were 34c even back then. I matured quite young in that department.
I was 20 and I had finally moved out of my family home and into my own place. Many of you probably remember the intoxicating feeling of freedom and independence that came with your very own first apartment. It was modest, not to say run down, and I shared it with another girl called Lisa, whom I didn't know very well. We used the usual cheap methods to decorate: Old furniture donated from our respective parents and siblings; unframed posters of Impressionist paintings on the walls; old items we picked up at flea markets and called - our own little joke - "antiques"; and tiny plants in cheap plastic pots that we attempted to grow. The blinds were picked up second-hand, and did not fit each window perfectly. Our sound system was a boom box that had seen better days. Lisa had inherited it from an old boyfriend. It didn't matter. Lisa and I hardly knew each other, but felt bound together by this exciting adventure. Many nights we'd buy an inexpensive bottle of wine and sit around sharing confidences, giggling as we got a little drunk and told of our sexual adventures.
What Lisa didn't know, and what I could not bring myself to tell her, was a secret I had kept from everyone. For the last few years I had felt an increasingly strong attraction to older men. Not just men a few years older, but men in their fifties. I couldn't explain it. I simply felt a stirring deep within me when older men would look me over on the street, or on the bus, anywhere. I didn't dare act upon it, but the feeling was inextricably tied to my sexuality. I had had a boyfriend, and the sex was fine, but I knew that I had ended it because he was my age. He had been devastated, and the fact that I hadn't been able to give him a believable reason for the break-up added to his confusion. I felt awful about hurting him, but the body wants what the body wants, and no amount of reason or goodwill can change that.
Then my unspoken desires were answered in a most unexpected way. I needed a job, and landed a position as a banquet waitress. I had no experience, but banquet waitressing was very easy. Hundreds of people eating the same meal, drinking the same wine. All you had to do was set up the tables, bring the food out and then remove the empty plates. If you wanted to go the extra distance you could fill up their water glasses without being prompted, but this was about the extent of the job. The pay wasn't great, but the hours fit in with school, and my colleagues were kind and helpful.
One night I arrived and found out we were setting up for one of those organizations like the Kiwanis Club. An organization of business people who got together to schmooze and do good deeds for the community at large. I put out the cutlery, folded the napkins, and opened countless bottles of wine in preparation. I then went in the back and had a quick bite to eat before the customers arrived. The manager called us into the kitchen and we began to take plates out to the floor on large trays.
I went through the large swinging doors and my knees almost buckled. There, in front of me, were about one hundred men, mostly middle-aged, and maybe two women, total. My heart hammered in my chest as I started placing the first course in front of each customer. We wore black skirts, white blouses, and a red vest provided by the hotel. I had put on black nylons and was wearing very sensible underwear. I felt the gazes of many of these men rest on my tits, and felt the heat of their attention on my ass as I walked away. I couldn't believe what was happening.
We finished delivering the first course and I quickly went to the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and removed my nylons and panties with trembling fingers. I quickly passed a finger over my pussy, and found out, without much surprise, that I was wet. I washed my hands, stuffed the nylons and panties into my locker, and went back to work. The manager immediately saw I had taken off the nylons, which were part of our uniform. I told him I had noticed a very large tear in one of them, and decided the best thing to do was to go without them the rest of the evening. He looked annoyed but agreed with my decision.
The next few hours passed in a sexual daze. The manager certainly could not fault my performance that night. I went from table to table, filling up water glasses and being very friendly. Some of the men brushed their hands along my legs as I bent over to fill their glasses, and the fact that I never made a fuss about it made them bolder. Soon I could see some men eyeing me as I approached their table. These were the bold ones, the ones that would wait for me to fill up their glasses in order to get another feel of the slutty little waitress without nylons. I was all I could do not to lick my lips suggestively as I approached. My fantasy had become reality within the space of a few hours. I was being paid to fulfill an unspoken and largely undefined urge I had had for years: to be a sexy little plaything for older men. Some were married, but that didn't stop me, or them. At one point a man in his fifties was quite brazen about running his hands up my leg, all the way to my thigh. Thankfully it was a table far away from the eyes of the manager.
"Hey, show the lady some respect, Al." Commented one of his more conservative colleagues.
"Check out her nipples, for Pete's sake, she loves it." He retorted.
I had unbuttoned a few the buttons of my vest, and my hard nipples strained against my thin bra and the even thinner material of the white blouse. Some of the men laughed, and I blushed. I became quite worried that this man would go up far enough to find my juices running down my legs. The laughter and rude talk made me quiver inside.
The meal ended and the group drank coffee while one of their own made a speech. He spoke about the latest good works of the organization and gave amounts that had been collected for various charities.
The night slowly drew to a close. More and more tables emptied of customers, and the manager told a few of the waiters and waitresses to clock out. I asked to stay. This was a request that was usually granted. Most workers were more than happy get off their feet after 6 or 7 hours of walking around. I was told I could close.
The middle-aged man who had commented on my nipples was still at his table, with one other man. I didn't want him to leave, but there was nothing I could say. I was doing a job, and propositioning customers was unheard of and completely unacceptable. I had no idea what I would have said even if I could have approached him. He wasn't a beauty by any stretch of the imagination. He was married, slightly overweight, quite short, his face was red from alcohol, and he was dressed in a cheap blue suit. He had an impressive mane of hair, full and silver and brushed and blow-dried to perfection. We're all vain creatures, I guess, and his vanity was his hair. He looked to be around fifty.
I removed everything I could from the empty tables. To my relief my middle-aged man was still talking with his companion. I approached with the coffee jug and politely asked if he would like a refill. I ignored his companion, my only effort to let him know I was interested.
"I think I've drunk enough for one night, doll face" He told me, his eyes fastened to my tits. Once the manager had gone to his office I had opened my vest completely. My bra was perfectly visible through my blouse. Even the monicker "doll face", seemingly from another era, added to my excitement.
"Well please let me know if there's anything else I can do for you." I said, staring into his eyes and being as forward as I could while still being professional.
I turned away and went back to work. I heard them both laugh after a few seconds, and I imagine a rude comment had been made at my expense. It made little sense. Here was a man 30 years older than me, not very attractive, quite crude, and I was getting wet at the mere thought of being fucked by him.
Somehow he must have realized he had a chance with me. His table mate left to go to the bathroom, and I managed to walk close to him.
