First Night of the Rest of My Life

(author's note: if you like lots of quick, jump in the sack action, skip this story. If you believe, like I do, that "getting there is half the fun", read on. I hope you will find it worth the trip.)

The arrival of my 50th birthday loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon. Milestones like that lend themselves to introspection and self-evaluation. My life was good, for the most part. I was a successful real estate agent. I had a wonderful and thoughtful son, Brent, who was 28 and lived nearby. I had been married for almost 30 years. Oops. It was at this point that my evaluation of my "good" life ground to a halt.

My marriage of almost 30 years wasn't anything I wanted it to be. It had started as new, exciting, and passionate, but moved quickly into thinly cloaked indifference and on into open hostility. My husband, Calvin, since my 40th birthday had taken to introducing me as his "old wife" and making jokes about being married to an "old woman". At first I found it mildly amusing, but as time went on it became tiresome. After I tried to explain to him that his "jokes" were no longer funny, but hurtful instead, he only doubled his efforts. His drinking made it worse. The emotional distance between us grew and the physical gap between us followed.

I worked hard to stay slim and shapely. I had managed to keep my weight at about 135. True, my blonde hair was kept that way with help out of a box but my breasts and ass stayed firm without surgical help or silicone. I still was able to get the appreciative eye of most men that I dealt with. But Cal loved to point out my physical imperfections and made cow sounds when he saw me naked.

Cal, on the other hand, found his primary exercise in doing "12 oz. curls" night after night in the recliner. His weight had ballooned to over 260 pounds, as he seemed hell-bent on being elected for a heart attack. I found him physically repulsive and emotionally abusive.

So, why stay married, you are probably asking yourself? Good question. It was the advent of the aforementioned 50th birthday that made me ask it myself. I couldn't come up with a single good reason. I suppose it was the fear of being alone for the first time in my life that kept me from making an appointment with a lawyer. I had gone from being my parent's daughter, to Cal's wife, to Brent's mom, to where I was now and had never been alone. I was waiting for some sort of sign or impetus to push me over the edge I guess. Life is funny. You never know where such signs come from.

A few days before my big five-o, I got a call from Brent.

"Hi mom. How's my best girl?" He had asked.

His voice was always a pick-me-up. He was so unlike his father. Brent was thoughtful, kind, respectful where his father was, well, where his father simply was none of those. And he was good-looking and in great shape. He had been married once before but his wife had not appreciated his gentle nature, nor had she respected his drug free life style. Their marriage ended in divorce when she ran off with an unsavory character with lots of tattoos. Fortunately, there had not been any children involved. Brent had thrown himself into his work as personnel manager for a manufacturing plant. I knew he dated but was sure there was no one "special" in his life at the moment.

"I'm doing ok, honey" I replied, but apparently I wasn't convincing.

"What's the problem, mom?"

"Nothing new. Your father is being an asshole and I am about to be over the hill so far I can no longer see the top."

"Forget dad, that's nothing new for him. And as far as being over the hill goes, forget that too. You are successful, you make a ton of money, and you are still quite the babe I might add."

Brent was always quick to compliment me and boast my ego. It made me feel good because I knew it was sincere and not just empty words.

"Mom, let's go out for dinner on your birthday. Dad can go with us if he wants or he can just sit and watch TV at home. Who cares? If it's just me and you that might even be more fun."

"You sure? You really want a date with an old woman like me?"

"Mom, in response to that, let me say this… Susan Sarandon… Joan Collins… Meryl Streep… Linda Carter…" and I think he would have gone on naming beautiful women over the age of 50 if I hadn't said,

"OK, OK, I get the picture. Thank you for making my day. I love you baby."

"I love you too, mom. It's settled then. I'll pick you up at 7 Friday night for your birthday bash."

Friday afternoon rolled around. Cal had made it clear that he had no intention of going out with our son and me. After all, "his" NBA team had a big game that night. Every game was a "big" game and apparently they had no chance of winning if Cal wasn't glued to the TV, beer in hand, to watch them.

About 4, I decided to treat myself to a nice long bath, something I hadn't done for a long time. As the tub filled, I added foaming bath oil. I put my hair up in a towel and lowered my bare butt into the hot water. The water made me flinch as my butt and then pussy were lowered into it. It sent that delicious contradictory cold chill through me. My nipples became as hard as if I was standing naked in the cold instead of being engulfed in almost scalding water. It was a wonderful feeling.

I lay back in the tub, almost floating. My breasts felt light in the water. The warmth of the water warmed my insides. My clit became sensitive. The bath oil had not only created a blanket of bubbles, it had made the water silky. I let my hands run up and down my arms, enjoying the softness of my own skin. My palms glided over my breasts, my nipples tingling as they did so. That tingle went straight to my clit and once again I shivered. One hand remained on my breast, lightly pinching my nipple. My other hand slid across my tummy. My thighs parted almost automatically. It had been months since I had had sex with Cal and years since I had actually enjoyed it with him Now, my pussy was aroused like it hadn't been since I don't know when.

My finger found my clit. I moaned lightly I'm sure. I began to run my fingertip around my aroused button lightly. I gently pulled at my nipples. My finger dipped into my pussy. I slowly let it slide in, letting every nerve tingle as it did so. It was such a exquisite sensation. Each nerve impulse sent a wave of pleasure through me. Each new nerve that was touched by my finger only served to make it more intense. Finally my finger was planted deep inside my pussy and my thumb rested on my clit. I breathed deep, basking in the sensations. And then I let my hand begin to move. I finger fucked myself. The bubbles were displaced and I could see myself through the water.

My breasts were full, round, and soft. My nipples were hard and erect. My finger disappeared into my trimmed pubic hair, my mound swallowing it up. I closed my eyes. I bit my lower lip. My hips worked in tandem with my fingers. As my finger thrust into my pussy, my hips rose to meet it. I added a second finger and it magically doubled the pleasure I was feeling. Faster and faster I fucked myself.

I felt my orgasm begin to build, that indefinable thrill that seems to start in an unidentifiable place. The pleasure began to focus on my pussy. The pleasure was like an ever-tightening circle. I knew what would happen when the circle enclosed around my pussy. And then it did happen. I held my breath. I came. Oh, god, how I came. For the first time in months I had a real orgasm, a breath taking orgasm, a pussy shattering orgasm. I worked my fingers and thumb to hold myself as high as possible for as long as possible.

I laid there with my cheek resting on my shoulder as I returned to reality. My nipples were still throbbing as was my pussy. I shuddered as I withdrew my fingers from my pussy.

The rest of my bath time wasn't really as nice.

I was in the bedroom, trying to decide what to wear out to dinner with Brent. I had put out a couple of nice, but very different, dresses. One, black with silver sequins, split from the ankle to mid thigh and a low neck line. I loved the dress but wondered it was appropriate for dinner with my son. The other was a much more conservative dress: pastel yellow, high neck line, looser fitting, mid calf length, much more "mom-like".

I was trying to decide when Cal stepped into the room, smelling of beer already, and said, "Better wear the yellow. There is nothing sadder than an old fat woman trying to look dress like a sexy kid."

That settled it. The black dress it was.

I stood and surveyed myself in the mirror. I had put my hair up with little curls hanging around my face. The black dress flowed and poured down my womanly curves. My cleavage was alluring but not overflowing. . I put on a string of pearls and they settled lightly across the swell of my breasts. A pair of black heels raised my height to 5'8" and shaped my calves nicely. A dab or two of "Taboo" behind on the sides of my neck and I was ready.

I was giddy. It had been years since I felt like I was going out on a date. Then it hit me. I was going out to dinner with my son. This wasn't a date at all. Suddenly I felt silly. I was getting all "dolled-up" to go to dinner with my son for my 50th birthday. Who was I fooling? The afterglow of the orgasm must have clouded my thinking. I looked at the woman in the mirror. Was I really just an old woman trying to dress like a kid? I glanced over at the conservative yellow ensemble on the bed. Again I was torn.

The doorbell rang. I heard the usual grunts of acknowledgement exchanged between Brent and his dad. Then Cal's voice grumbled up the steps in a mocking tone. "Lorraine, your date is here."

Fuck you, Cal, I thought. I looked at the yellow outfit laying there, also mocking me. Fuck you, too, I thought as I left the room.

Brent was standing at the foot of the steps as I came down. He was dressed in a navy blue sport coat, beige pants, white shirt, and red tie. He looked very sophisticated and grown up. Of course he looked grown up; he was 28 years old. He wore his hair a little on the long side compared to the way many young men wore theirs these days. I liked it. It fell naturally across his forehead and seemed to make his green eyes come alive. He was a stark contrast to his father next to him. Brent dressed nicely, standing proudly straight, his firm form apparent under his fashionable clothes. Cal in old running shorts, a ragged dirty t-shirt, grossly over weight, unshaven, a beer in his hand.

Brent's smile spread as he saw me. "Wow, mom, you look beautiful" he whispered.

"Lorraine, you look like a streetwalker" Cal said out loud.

Brent spoke right up. "Mom, you look great. Dad, cut her some slack, huh?"

Cal grunted something unintelligible and shuffled off, disappearing into the living room to watch the "big game" to ensure his team won. I prayed they would lose.

Brent stepped up to me and took me in his arms. "Don't listen to him for one minute, not even for one second… Mom, you are stunning." He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I loved the warmth of his compliment and the warmth of his embrace. A shiver went through me, the last aftershock of my earlier orgasm I supposed, though its timing was odd. Brent felt me shiver. "Are you cold?" I smiled and hugged him back. "Nope, let's go."

We drove across town. He hadn't told me where we were going and I didn't care. We chatted and rattled on about his work, recent sales I had made, the various ups and downs in the lives of various relatives. We chatted about everything and talked about nothing. We chatted like friends that liked each other. It was wonderful and refreshing. I loved Brent and respected him for who he was, and the man he had become. We freely touched each other's hands and arms as we chatted, the physical contact being natural, warm, and sincere.

We got to the restaurant and turned the car over to the valet to park. Brent had brought me to the fanciest, nicest restaurant in town. Henri's was the pride of the best hotel in our city. Rather than being a ground level restaurant, it was high on top of the building, offering a princely view of the surrounding downtown skyline. I hooked my hands around Brent's arm as we walked up the entryway. My breast was resting on his arm as he put his hand over mine. As we walked into the building, I noticed that a number of men were looking at us. They would look at Brent, and then at me, then back to Brent. A couple of them gave him a knowing smile. It occurred to me that all they saw was a young man with an older woman on his arm. From their looks, they saw an attractive older woman on the young man's arm. It made me feel good. I hugged Brent's arm tighter. I felt my breast rub the top of his fingers. That felt good too.

Brent had reserved a table for us by the window. The restaurant was dimly lit; candles on every table gave a romantic air of privacy to the room. A four-piece dance combo was playing softly on the other side of the room, across the dance floor. It was early yet so no one was dancing. I told myself, my birthday would not be complete without spending some time on the dance floor with Brent.

The wine steward (there is a French name for him, but I can never think of it) came around. Brent ordered champagne for us.

"Be careful, my boy, champagne makes your mom do weird things" I whispered to him half joking.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" he replied taking my hands and bringing his face close to mine and pressing his forehead to mine. The intimacy of our closeness surprised me but in a pleasant way. This was turning into more of a date than I had hoped for. This man liked me, cared for me, and thought I was funny. The fact that "this man" was my son only made it more special.

The champagne came and Brent held his glass high. "To the most wonderful woman I know, who just gets better all the time." The sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips told me that he meant every word.

I heard "Hear, hear" from the next table. I looked over and saw two middle-aged businessmen raising their glasses to Brent's toast. I think I must have blushed. Brent beamed. One of the men said, "Boy, if I had a lovely lady at my table, like you do, I would kiss her after such a toast." His friend agreed.

Brent looked at me, deep into my eyes. Maybe he was looking for something in my eyes that would say, "Come on, now, I'm your mother…" Maybe he was looking for something that would say "Please, come on, I am a woman…" All I know is at that moment as he gazed into my eyes and I searched his, I melted. Suddenly there was a tension, an anticipation that I had not felt for years. I felt my tongue involuntarily wet my lips. I saw Brent's eyes follow my tongue as it moved over my lips. Then his eyes met mine again. No more than a few seconds could have elapsed but it seemed time stood still.

Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. My hand came up behind his head and pulled his lips tightly to mine. My lips parted and his tongue was in my mouth; slowly and lovingly dancing with mine. I felt my heart race. He put his hand around my shoulder and pulled my breasts tightly to his chest. My breathing quickened and I became light headed. We broke our kiss.

"Atta, boy!" the men at the next table cheered and then went back to their meal.

Brent looked at me with eyes wide as saucers. He whispered breathlessly,

"Wow… I mean… mom, I didn't want them to think I was… I mean… I didn't want them to think you were… wow…"

I'm sure that my cheeks had a flush to them they hadn't felt in years. I felt like a woman. An attractive, desired, wanted woman.

"It's ok, baby. Tonight I am your date. No one here knows us. They just see two happy people enjoying a night out together. I am fine with that." All the while I was stroking his hand. "Besides, that was about the best kiss I have had in… well… maybe ever had"

Brent smiled a big grin. "You mean it?"

"Of course I do, baby. That curled my toes."

"Well, I don't know about curling my toes, but it sure straightened my…" he stopped suddenly as he realized what he was about to say and to whom he was about it say it. He blushed a deep red.

"It's ok, darling. I'm glad to see I still have some fire left in me"

We drank our champagne and ordered our meals. Though we hardly paid any attention to anything other than each other. To this day I can't tell you what I ordered or ate but I can tell you the thrill that went through me when I felt Brent's foot nudge mine under the table. He wanted to play footsie with me. I was happy to oblige. I slipped my foot out of my shoe and ran it up his shin. His eyes grew wide but he was cool. I felt his sock covered foot brush the inside of my calf and run up and down my calf a couple of times. Without being aware of it, my legs parted a little. My toes were drawing little circles on the inside of his knees. He was looking intently at me.

This game took much longer than it sounds. We were slow; cautious. I don't think either of really knew how far it would go or even how far we wanted it to go. But as the saying goes, "Getting there is half the fun"

By the time dessert came, I knew my pussy was wet. Brent had run his toes up as far as the middle of my thigh which was as high as my long dress would allow without me adjusting it. I had caressed the inside of his thigh with my stocking covered foot, which was all the higher I could reach, again because of my long dress. It clearly appeared that the ball was in my court as to what would happen next.

I looked long and hard at my son. His eyes were filled with excitement, lust, hunger, but also love. I had been deprived too long. I had been put down too many times. It was my birthday, by god, and I was going to enjoy myself. A cliché came to mind, but it really was the first day of the rest of my life.

I raised my ass off the seat cushion and adjusted my dress just enough. I scooted forward to the edge of the chair, reached under the tablecloth, and took Brent's foot in my hand. I parted my thighs. I pressed his foot to my panty-covered pussy.

This time, instead of his eyes growing wide, he smiled a suave little smile. He wiggled his toes. That made me inhale slowly and close my eyes. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at my chest. I looked down. My nipples were hard pebbles under my dress. I know I blushed but I didn't care. I felt him remove his foot from my crotch. I raised my eyebrows in question. He made a quick gesture with his head and I knew what he wanted. I raised my foot and felt him take it in his hand and pull gently. I wiggled forward just a bit more and then felt my foot come to rest on a bar of iron. Of course, it wasn't a bar of iron. It was his cock. I could feel its heat radiating through his pants. I felt it throb under my foot. I ran my toes up and down its length, estimating it to be about 7 or 8 inches long. I dropped my toes slightly and found his balls between his thighs. I lightly caressed them, feeling them roll under my toes. It was his turn to close his eyes and simply enjoy.

The dance combo was playing a slow ballad. Couples were on the dance floor, swaying to the music. I cleared my throat, which caught Brent's attention and brought him partially back to earth.

"Maybe you should ask your date if she would like to dance."

"Huh? Oh, sure, ma….uhm… Lorraine" there was a question in his voice as to what he should call me.

The way he said my name sent a lovely flutter through my insides and I smiled. "Yes, darling, say it again."

Emboldened by my response, he said "Lorraine, my love, would like to dance?"

He stood. I could clearly see the outline of his hard cock. He came and stood by me, a little closer than necessary and it put his cock only inches from my face. I longed to reach out and caress it, to expose it, to take it into my mouth. I looked up at him and smiled. I leaned forward slightly, knowing that it would open the front of my dress and give him a wonderful view of my breasts. He offered me his hand, which I took. I rose, my dress falling back to its proper place.