Three years ago, my life completely changed when I discovered that I was adopted. My "parents" had meant well, raising me in the best ways they could think of, but the truth of the matter was that no matter how hard they try to pretend I fit in with them and their other kids, the more ridiculously obvious that I never would it became. First off, both my sisters and one of my brothers is a red head, as is my mom, and my other brother is Auburn like my dad. My hair is light brown. My eyes are brown. My "relative" all have green. My skin color is three shades darker than my sister after she's been tanning. But more than that, every day I wake up and I run for a couple of miles to get the heart pounding. I've done this since high school. I like to exercise, but my "family"... they break into sweats getting off the couch for lunch.
Nothing about me and my family ever matched, but then, when I found out I was adopted, it all made sense. Suddenly I didn't feel a pressing need to go to my sister's piano recital or drive my brother 70 miles to a Magic: the Gathering tournament. Yeah, suddenly I was free to live my life the way I wanted, and that pretty much meant girls; lots of girls, all the time. Like I said, I like to work out. My parents are strict Presbyterians, so in High School, when I was in the best shape ever from three sports a year, I couldn't date. Suddenly being able to forget the strange things they taught me was the best thing that had happened to me.
For the first year I didn't even think about my biological parents, but after I was in college, playing college ball for the OSU Beavers, I suddenly started thinking about finding out who they were. Not that I cared about being a family, that hadn't really been a great thing for me as a kid, but just wondering if maybe there were some connections they had that might help me. For all I knew, my dad was the coach of a pro team. Then I'd be in.
So, about a year ago, I got the information on my parents. It wasn't much, but I found out some names which led me to the address listed for my father. I did research on the internet and found out my dad was a construction worker who had been a tight end in college football. He had been an NFL hopeful, but he got injured and found himself working instead of playing sports. Then one day, about 3 months before I was born, he died in some on the job accident. Tragic, but that was the end of my investigation. My mother, Kim Tucker, didn't turn up any good information, so I gave up. In fact, it seemed like after my dad died, so did my mom. No Kim Tucker in Idaho, or anywhere that matched my search criteria.
But like I said, I was going to OSU, and one night my roommate and fraternity brother suggested that we go up into Portland. I was raised in Boise, so I didn't know much about Portland, but I thought it sounded like a nice place. He told me that there was a club we could go too that was adult. I had only been 21 for a few weeks and didn't have a problem getting girls, so I didn't see the need to go to an adult club, but I went to Portland with him. I hung out at a bar instead.
That was the best choice ever. Sitting in the bar down by the waterfront, I probably looked like I didn't belong at a table by myself. Maybe that was why the waitress kept coming over to talk to me. At first I thought she was just being nice, but after the third time she'd come over to chat and touched my shoulder, I knew something was up. Her nametag said Linda, and she was older, but she was still hot.
I decided I was going to go for it, see what happened.
"So," I said, "I gotta ask. You're what, thirty?"
"Almost 40 sweetheart," Linda returned, cocking me a playful grin.
"No!" I argued in disbelief. She had perfect double d breasts, a tight core, and had no wrinkles on her face at all. My "mom" was 40 and looked like she'd been wadded up on the floor for most of that time. "Seriously, no older than 31."
"No, really," She returned. "I'm turning 38 this year." Leaning over to take away my empty beer glass, she whispered. "And age isn't a problem for me if it isn't for you."
"Age isn't an issue," I responded, "as long as you're not going to have a heart attack on me."
She laughed and then stood up straight. "Honey, I eat right, hit the gym 5 nights a week, and I ride my bike to work. I think 20 minutes with you isn't gonna kill me."
"Oh, I take a lot longer than 20 minutes," I responded.
"I've heard that before." She sauntered away, making sure to look back at me over her shoulder behind the wall that separated me from the back kitchen. A chill ran down my spine that got me more excited than I had ever been. It was more intense than the excitement when I realized that I was going to be having sex for the first time ever. This mature woman was clearly interested in me, and something told me that she had some tricks I had never seen before.
Without hesitation, I stood up and slipped into the back through the same entrance she went through. She hadn't been expecting me, I could tell, since she was turned away from the opening and was putting glasses into a rack that would slide into a washing machine. Her body was smooth and tight, showing little signs of wear over the years. Her ass was maybe a little bigger than most girls my age, but that was more of a turn on than a turn off. A little cushioning would be a good thing since the last bony assed girl I was with really liked it hard and I had bruises afterwards.
Stepping up behind her, I slid my hand onto that mound that I imagined would soon be pounding against my stomach, the two of us moaning is sheer pleasure. She reacted differently then I'd expected, snapping her head around in surprise. "Oh," she said before relaxing. "I didn't mean here, but I like your enthusiasm." She put her hand on my chest before leaning in to whisper in my ear. "I get off at 5 am. If you're still awake, you could be getting off too."
"Maybe," I returned. "I've got places to go, things to do."
She sucked air through her teeth before returning with, "Your loss then."
"Give me your number, and maybe it won't be."
She smiled and looked at me. Her brown eyes held in them a serious playfulness, one that seemed to stretch beyond anything I had imagined. I could tell that in her mind's eye, she was already fucking me. Suddenly, in my mental world, she was screaming in orgasm. And all the while, my jeans felt tight as my erection continued to grow.
"Alright," She said finally. Taking out a piece of paper from her apron, she wrote something and folded it neatly. Handing it to me, she said, "Just remember than I'm not going to be waiting around for you."
"Who said I was going to be waiting around for you?" I responded.
"Oh," she returned with a smile. "You will be."
I laughed to myself and then left the back room, dropping the money for my bill on my way out. I could have stayed a little while longer, but that would have made me look eager. Besides, I was ready to go in the back room, so watching her move around the room would have made it harder to keep from taking her right there. I'm not sure the management would have appreciated me bending her over the bar and slamming my dick into her ass.
Walking half a block, I came to the corner and stopped for the light. Unfolding the paper she'd given me, I read the info she'd put there. KIM 503-555-2345.
Kim? Her nametag said Linda. This was definitely something I would have to ask about. Why would someone have a different name on a nametag? I'm sure there were many reasons, but her particular answer interested me.
The rest of the night was spent going from place to place. Everything seemed gray and dulled in comparison to the fact that I was going to be fucking a mature brunette who certainly had everything I was looking for. She was hot, she was experienced, and she was totally into me. Even meeting up with my friend and hearing his stories of running a train on a girl he swore was 17 were disconnected and strange. I told him about the woman and he gave me his car after we got back to the hotel. So long as I cleaned up any messes, he didn't care.
