*Note – This is a work of fiction.
I got married in the spring of ’76 at the age of 20. My bride was 19. We were much too young and we were too young to realize it. We had four children, one boy, who is now 29 and three daughters, 26, 25, and Cynthia, 23.
The wife and I divorced in ’96. She left to pursue her ‘inner self’. The boy and the two older daughters moved to various states and Cynthia stayed with me. She lucked into a job that made her a lot of money. When Cynthia turned 19, she went to live on her own. It was the first time I had been alone since I was a bachelor.
Every holiday season, the kids would somehow find a way to come home to visit. I looked forward to it every year.
This past season, the older three couldn’t get away from their jobs long enough to make the trip. Even Cynthia had to go away on business. So, I sat looking at a Christmas tree that I only put up for them, a bunch of presents that were going to go back in the closet, and a 25-pound turkey dinner that was going to go bad before half of it was gone.
The weekend after New Years, I was busy felling lonely and horny when Cynthia dropped by to exchange gifts. I suppose I was in a rather dark mood that day, and Cynthia asked what the problem was.
How do you explain to your kid that you’ve been divorced for seven years and hadn’t been laid in twenty? I decided to blame my mood on the no shows at Christmas.
“Maybe next year I won’t go to any bother and then you’ll all show up,” I said sarcastically.
“Aw, come on, dad,” she said as she gave me a hug. “What would cheer you up?”
“A six-pack and a hooker.” I said before I could catch myself.
“A what and a what?” she said, starting to laugh.
Well, at least she was laughing. So I said, “You heard me.”
“I’ll get you the six-pack, dad, but the hooker might take longer,” she said still giggling.
“Story of my life,” I said.
“What’s the matter, dad? Feeling lonely?” she chuckled.
“You could say that. I’d like to see you go 20 years with out any.”
She stopped laughing.
“Twenty years? You guys have only been divorced seven.”
“Didn’t the separate bed rooms give you an inkling as to what was going on?” I asked.
“Now that you mention it, yes. I just never really thought about it before. I have trouble going a week without it. Why didn’t you cheat on her, or just flat out leave?” she said.
“’For better or worse’. I do believe in the vows, honey.” I said.
“Why don’t you go out more? You might meet someone.” She asked, cheerfully.
“That’s a pain in the ass. Besides, I don’t take to new people that well. I even knew your mother for a year before I started dating her.” I answered.
“Well, I’ll try to find you a hooker, dad, but no promises.”
A week later, I had a knock at my door. I opened it and there sat a package with a bow on it. I picked it up and walked back into my apartment. It was kind of heavy for it’s size. I opened the box and in side sat a six-pack of beer and a card.
“Don’t drink them yet, the hooker is on her way.” It was signed, “Cynthia”.
“No shit!” I thought. “Better get cleaned up”.
Thirty minutes later, I had another knock at the door. I nervously went over and opened it. There stood a girl, with a blond wig, a big rimmed black hat, dark sunglasses, heavy makeup, a mini skirt that was two sizes too small for her ample body, black stockings with garters, boots with 8” heels, and long black leather gloves that went up to her elbows.
“Hey, sugar!” she said as she brushed her way past me into the apartment. “I was told to be here tonight. Call me Shelly.” She said with a heavy Brooklyn accent.
“Uh, hello, Shelly.” I said.
Isn’t it amazing that when you want something so badly and the situation presents itself, you get cold feet?
“What’s wrong, sugar? I do have the right place, don’t I?” she said while holding out an address card.
I nodded yes.
“Well, lets go. You’ve only got an hour and the clock is ticking.”
I stood motionless.
“Okay, sugar,” she said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. “Someone paid good money for you to have a good time. Let’s not disappoint them.”
She sat me down on the bed and started a dance in from of me, removing one piece of clothing every minute.
I never felt so embarrassed in my life.
She had a gorgeous body. Very ample breasts with perfectly shaped nipples, a tight ass, a neatly trimmed muff, and legs that wouldn’t quit. Soon she was down to just the wig, gloves, stockings and sunglasses.
She held her breasts in front of my face and asked me what I thought of them. Then she turned around and presented her ass and womanhood for my inspection as well.
“Very nice,” was all I could get out.
She stopped. “Okay, sugar. How about a more direct approach?”
