Early spring of 1979 arrived, my girlfriend and I had broken things off. It was not that we were moving in any direction as a couple. It was a relationship based solely on convenience at the time. Obviously, she wanted some direction that I did not.
In mid-May, all the employees of the company I was employed by. Informed the employees, that the company was filing for bankruptcy. At twenty-two years old, I was without a girlfriend or a job. I spoke to my parents about my predicament. We came to an agreement that I could move back into my old room. However, I would have to find employment and pay seventy-five dollars a week towards expenses.
With this convenience of situation I came to the decision. I would get a night job, and pursue my passion of surfing for the entire summer and into early fall.
One of the positive aspects of living near the ocean is a wealth of beach bars. One in particular, "The Castaway's" catered to a younger crowd. It was essentially a meat market; the women were young and attractive. But for a horny young man it was many more strikeouts than homeruns.
One of my surfer friends, Larry. Who was older than us by about twelve years, was divorced and ran a successful business. He and his ex-wife had no children, so his divorce involved a lump sum payment to his ex-wife. Which left him no strings attached to his former spouse.
Larry suggested we stop at a bar a few miles inland, named The Scotsman's Inn. The Scotsman's Inn was a divorcee bar and hookup location. It was here that I discovered the joys of being a younger man sexually involved with older women.
There were many memorable evenings from The Scotsman's Inn. This story is only about one of them. This particular experience didn't happen on my first visit to The Scotsman's Inn. I had probably been there ten to fifteen times already. Given the chance to go back in time, I would probably go back to this night.
Larry and a few other surfer friends agreed we should each go home and shower and shave. Meeting later at the parking lot of The Scotsman's Inn approximately 8:00 PM. After all, most women wouldn't be interested in grubby and sweaty men.
It was approaching 10:00 PM one Sunday night. The people in The Scotsman's Inn were thinning out. Most of my attention always centered upon women from their early to mid-thirties. I went up to the bar to get my last drink of the night. To the left of me, several feet away sat a woman who was fifty to maybe mid-fifties.
Her drink was down to the ice cubes and she was nursing a cigarette. I ordered my drink and as the bartender turned away to make my drink. She said to me "Didn't your mother raise you correctly. Why didn't you offer to buy a lady a drink?"
When the bartender returned with my drink. I said, "I would like to buy a drink for the young lady next to me." As the bartender turned to make her drink. I told her that I would be right back; I left my drink at the bar. Then went to tell my friends to leave without me, we always drove our own cars just in case you met someone.
I returned to the bar and extended my hand, "Hi, my name is Greg." She grasped my hand lightly and said, "My name is Connie." I asked her if she would mind if I took the stool next to her. She told me she would not mind at all, over the next hour or so we made small talk about our lives.
During the hour, we each moved closer to one another. She reminded me of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. The scent of perfume, cigarette smoke and alcohol on her was an aphrodisiac for me. As time passed, we punctuated our conversation with glances and touching each other's arms or shoulders.
At a bit past 11:30PM or so, I thanked Connie for the pleasant conversation and said I must be going. She told me that she should get home too, so I offered to walk her to her car. After her remark about lacking politeness, I wanted to prove her wrong about that.
Our shoes made a crunching sound as we walked across the gravel parking lot. At that dark and quiet hour, the sound seemed much too loud. I thanked her once again and asked if I could kiss her goodnight on the cheek. Connie said she wouldn't mind at all. We each leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. After we kissed, we each lingered and then our lips met. All our pent-up sexual desire flowed like electricity between us.
In a low husky voice, she asked me if I wanted to join her for a nightcap at her house. As I followed her the few miles to her home. The thought of being with a woman thirty years older than myself, was making my head spin. My erection felt as if it would snap off before we arrived at her house. As soon as we entered into the front door, our lips and hands were all over each other.
Connie told me to make myself at home on the couch and that she would be right back. She went down the hall and returned in a few minutes. I was glad to see that see didn't return in a negligee. Because as much as I like a present, I would enjoy unwrapping her from the clothing she wore to the bar even more.
Connie sat next to me and we began to kiss again. I placed my hand on her breast outside of her blouse. Her hand rubbed my erection through my pants. I started to kiss her neck; she asked me not to give her any hickeys. Then she whispered, "Would you mind if my mother watched us?"
I sat bolt upright almost instantaneously. The look on my face must have betrayed my true thoughts and feelings. Connie put her hand on mine, "Greg, I know this is an unusual request. Just meet my mother, if you want to leave. I'll understand and won't harbor any bad feelings toward you."
There are moments when your brain can calculate hundreds of scenarios simultaneously, and this was one of those moments. I quickly assessed different options for myself. I quickly settled upon, if I was being setup somehow. I was most likely younger, stronger and in better physical condition. Then whomever might try to rob me or cause me harm.
If this whole thing was real, the worst option. Would be a nice blowjob while mama watched her daughter go to town on me.
