The Professor Maes a Move

[This story is ideal as a cyber sex starter. Some older women are inexperienced with role play. Send them here and you can finish in live chat or even email. Have fun!]

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"Excuse me," an accented male voice interrupted my thoughts. "Is anyone sitting here?"

Busy trying to meet my deadline, I hadn't noticed how crowded the little coffee shop had gotten. "No," I smiled up at him, noticing his friendly eyes and signalling him to join me at my table.

Boyish good looks, I couldn't help but peek at him over my laptap and watch as he dug out his own Mac Book and notebook. He glanced over at me and I looked back at my document. "What are you working on?" He asked.

"I have an article due tomorrow and...." my voice stuttered to a stop when I met his gaze. He was flirting with me. I was sure of it. He was young, scary young. But I could feel his eyes on me and it threw me. "Um and, well I better get back to it."

"Sure," he said, "I don't want to disturb you."

"No worries," I smiled back trying to collect myself and act calm and unaffected. Yeah, right.

Since my divorce, I had been resolutely single. Unwilling to open myself to another man and all the drama, I was doing ok for myself. I dated occasionally just to prove to myself that there was no one out there worth the time. Between my freelance gigs and my dog, I kept myself busy enough.

I hadn't met anyone remotely interesting in well over a year and certainly wasn't expecting to meet anyone at an obscure coffee shop. I felt my face flush and reached up to brush through my hair with my fingers. My heart was beating faster. I took a couple of deep breaths and closed my eyes. He couldn't really be interested in me. I must be imagining it.

Glancing back over my draft, I dragged my attention back to my deadline and the task ahead. "Sorry to bother you again," he said, "Could you plug this into the outlet for me?" He leaned over and handed the cord to me, fingers brushing my hand and lingering just for a second too long.

"Sure," I said, pulling my hand back. It had been a very long time since I felt this way and it kind of terrified and thrilled me at the same time. Reaching down to put the plug in the outlet, I was glad for the excuse to look away. I grabbed my phone and babbled out, "Could you please watch my stuff for a sec? I have to make a call."

"No problem," he smiled at me. "I have plenty to do and I will be here for awhile. Take your time." I hurried away feeling weak in the knees. I didn't want to open up to anyone. I like being unattached. But, I definitely like feeling this way. I haven't been pursued by a man in forever.

I made a quick call to my client and then returned to the table. He was busy typing and glancing at the stack of papers next to him. I sat down and started a new document. My mind was running all over the place and there was no point in trying to focus on my project.

I listed all the reasons that a handsome young man like the one across the table from me couldn't possibly be interested in someone my age. I bit my lip. I sensed how close he was sitting. His knee just inches from mine. My mind locked on how good it felt to be this close to him. His cologne hypnotized me. I wanted to reach over and touch his arm.

I looked down at my keyboard and saw that I had typed this: I wiorhi hjyo jr ropepskd ejaitpfojshiot. I laughed out loud. Glancing up at his quizzical look, I said, "My brain is fried, I can't write another word."

Closing my computer, I began to pack up my things. "You aren't leaving on my account are you?" he asked. "Oh no," I reassured him, "I have a class to get to."

"Could I have your number?" He said with a smile that melted me. "Sure," I said smiling with more confidence than I felt. I scribbled my number on my napkin. "I'm Angel." "Jack," he said, "Very nice to meet you, Angel." "Me too," I said, pulling my hand out of his and turning to go.

I hurried away fighting the urge to turn around and get one last look. He did ask for my number but he probably asked lots of other women. Ho hum. "He is probably a player anyway." I said a little louder than I thought. "What?" said the lady next to me. "Nothing." I said and busied myself texting on my phone.

After the seminar, I stopped at Trader Joe's to pick up some asparagus and carne asada to throw on the grill. I was standing in the wine aisle holding a bottle of Malbec in one hand a bottle of Pinot Noir in the other.

"Hey Coffee Shop Girl." I heard a familiar accented voice near my left ear. I turned quickly and startled. "Hi!" I said looking up into impossibly delicious chocolate brown eyes. My heart jumped to my throat. "We have to stop meeting like this," he laughed.

"Are you stalking me?" I managed to croak out, trying my best to be cute, confident and flirty. He laughed and said, "You bet I am. I don't want to let you get away." I was flustered and wobbly. I hadn't felt like this for years.

"That Malbec is a winner," he said. "I think you will love it." "Thanks," I smiled up at him. He was 6'2" at least and he was even more appealing than he was in the coffee shop. He had a certain ease about him. He was relaxed and confident. I was afraid of how very young he was. I wanted not to care, but my brain was in a cramp trying to wrap itself around the reality of our unlikely partnership.

"Let me buy you a cup of coffee." He said reaching for my arm and directing me to the corner of the store where the coffee bar was empty in the mid afternoon. I heard what I came to recognize as my own voice giggling nervously. I closed my mouth and took a deep breath trying to quiet the pounding in my chest.

"Vanilla Latte?" He asked as he pulled the chair out so I could slide in. "Sure," I said glad for the moment to check my mirror and reapply my lip gloss. Calm down, I demanded of myself. After all, I had been researching older women/younger men for nearly a year. Here was a chance to walk this out in real time.

I ran my fingers through my hair and smiled in the mirror, pleased with what I saw. Sure I was 63. I don't look it and sure don't feel it. He called me "Coffee Shop Girl". It had been a million years since a man had called me a nickname. I bit my lip.

"Vanilla Latte for my Coffee Shop Girl!" He said putting our steaming mugs on the table.

I thanked him and picked up my mug, closed my eyes and sniffed the warm fragrance. "MMMM, smells so good."

"My pleasure." He smiled back.

We sat and talked for over an hour. He told me about his research and I told him about mine. I confessed that I was flattered by his attention and that I was curious about dating a far younger man. He told me he was very interested in dating someone like me.

He reached across the table and took my hand. He turned it over and traced my life line with his index finger. He didn't say a word. Neither did I. He looked back at me and the look in his eye melted me on the spot. My mouth suddenly dry made me gulp self consciously. "Let's get out of here." He grinned.