Please look at the category. If this isn't your thing, it's not for you, so please move on before leaving negative comments. For everyone else, I hope you enjoy our first hard look at Jean.
Jean, Rediscovered
It's one thing to wake up in a hotel room, forgetting where you were and how you got there; but it's another when you wake up naked, next to a naked man sleeping face down and you struggle to remember his name.
I looked around the room and recognized my luggage.
I was in my hotel room.
Denver business trip.
Conference.
It was all coming back to me.
I got up to pee, trying not to wake the sleeping giant in my bed. I moved slowly, not so much to be quiet, but because I realized moving any faster would cause my head to spin.
"What did I drink last night?" I thought to myself. "And what time is it?" I must have just missed the sunrise.
While I sat on the toilet, it didn't take me long to realize my mystery man hadn't used a condom. Having just turned 42, I wasn't as concerned about getting pregnant, but at my age, I really didn't want to make appointments with my gynecologist to check for STDs.
I decided to hold off on flushing the toilet while I peaked through the open door at the quietly sleeping mystery man. He had turned onto his side. Broad shoulders. Football player?
I turned on the bathroom light and looked at myself in the full mirror.
Forty-two years old, divorced, mother of a college boy, sales and marketing professional, and apparently recently well-fucked. My shoulder-length red hair was a mess, but in a good way. My make-up still looked good, not that I used that much. I had a pretty good idea where most of my lipstick had ended up. The crows feet at the corners of my eyes were a little more present than usual. Normal, for early in the morning.
I still had an all-over tan thanks to the previous-Summer visits with my just-turned-nudist friend that I had known from high school, Marjorie.
Marjorie inherited a huge sum of money from a distant relative years ago, invested as she was told, and sold when she was told. I doubted anyone thought she was filthy rich, but she certainly had money to spare. She maintained some of her sensibilities by putting money in trust funds for nieces and nephews and their families. She opted for the smallest of boob jobs that made them look more real than my natural breasts, she had a personal trainer that I was pretty sure was her personal sex provider when the mood struck her, and she grew almost all of her own fruits and vegetables. She reminded me of a younger, prettier, and less-uptight version of Martha Stewart. For the most part, she had her shit together.
Marjorie wasn't without her peculiarities, though. About a year ago, she bought a hilltop estate in Provo with a pool, and decided anyone coming over to just lounge around, drink, and get tan had to lose their clothes at the front door. I thought she was kidding, at first. But when she was naked the first time I came over to lay out by the pool, I decided to go with it.
It had been a great Summer. I went over there several times a week. A little work talk, and a lot of girl talk. She was a little more adventurous than I had been at 37, but then again, I was married when I was 37.
My natural 36D boobs were still nice to look at, even without a bra, and my butt - once firm, round, and muscular - only recently started to show signs of age. Marjorie turned me on to squats before my butt sagged too much, and with time, I was sure my butt would eventually look better than it did in my twenties. Maybe.
My arms and legs looked great, considering the amount of sun I had been exposing them to. My belly still showed the hint of having been pregnant twenty-some years ago, but I could live with it. Thanks to a lot of creams while pregnant, the stretch marks were barely noticeable. I opted for natural childbirth, so I could wear the tiniest of string bikini bottoms and not be self-conscious about any C-section scar.
I'd been shaving or waxing my nether-regions since my late teens, and seeing this, Marjorie recommended laser hair removal. I had told her I'd think about it, and then she made a point of spreading her legs and butt cheeks to show off the results. If such a thing could be marketed, she would have been a natural salesperson. Laser hair removal was on my list of things to do after this trip. For the time being, though, my pretty hairless pussy still looked hairless and pretty.
The stranger in my bed was a heavy sleeper. He rolled onto his back and was sporting a morning hard-on under the thin sheet barely covering half his body. Curious, I tiptoed to his side of the bed to get a better look at him.
Handsome, thankfully.
Built like a football player.
And young. Oh my gosh, young.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" I said under my breath. He didn't stir.
Wanting to peak under the sheets, I knelt next to the bed and leaned in close. I slowly pulled back the sheets to expose a handsome example of manhood with a ring of my favorite lipstick around the base of his eight inch shaft.
"Back for more?" the young man said as he placed a hand on the back of my head and pushed it toward his beautiful cock. His slick helmet parted my lips and I instinctively sucked half his shaft down my throat.
"Oh, fuck," he gasped. "You sure do know how to suck cock, don't you?"
Without taking him out of my mouth, I positioned myself on top of him in a sixty-nine, and his mouth and tongue went to work on my wet sex. His hands felt incredible on my butt and legs.
He stopped for a moment, shifting under me.
"Let me fuck you again before I leave!" he said with enthusiasm.
Without saying a word, I rolled off of him as he positioned himself between my legs. I guided his shaft to my pussy, rubbing the head across my wet slit before he eased himself in.
"Ughhh," I grunted as he sank his shaft into me. He felt good. I can see why I let him come inside me before, and it was probably why I was going to let him do it again.
He fucked me hard, and fast. I pulled my legs back, letting him hit bottom and then some. His hands moved from my thighs, to my breasts, to my neck, and then my face. Every muscle in his body seemed to flex as he fucked me, and it didn't take long for sweat to cover his face, neck, and chest.
I sucked on his thumb when he placed it in my mouth, and I looked into his eyes. He seemed to like that. I have sexy blue eyes that seem to scream "orgasm" especially with something in my mouth.
He leaned forward and kissed me. I locked my ankles behind his waist as our tongues intertwined, and felt his spurts of warm come filling my pussy. He slowed his thrusts almost immediately.
"No!" I blurted out. "I'm so close. One more time?"
"I would, but I've really gotta go," he said, withdrawing a very wet cock from between my legs.
"Do you want to at least shower, first?" I asked. I knew it wouldn't take much. I could come just by fingering myself while I looked at him.
"Nah, sorry," he said, hopping off the bed and looking around for his clothes. "I really gotta go. The guys are probably already looking for me and getting ready to give me a hard time about this."
"About what?" I asked.
He pretended not to hear me, instead, putting on his t-shirt, his missing flip-flop, and grabbing his phone and wallet before opening the door.
"I'm sorry, but I guess I had too much to drink last night. I don't think I remember your name," I said, with my best puppy dog eyes.
"That's 'cause you didn't ask, and I didn't tell," he replied with a smile and closed the door behind him.
I wasn't sure how long I sat in the small puddle of come, but the ringing phone snapped me out of my trance and sent me into an instinctive panic. Nobody called me on the hotel phone unless I was late for something. I rolled across the bed and the hotel phone went silent before I could pick it up. Seconds later, my cellphone range. Of course, it was on the other side of the bed. Not without kneeling in the puddle of come, I could see it was one of my coworkers calling.
"Hey Jean!" Brad said, obviously on his third cup of coffee. "You coming down for breakfast?"
"Hey... hey Brad," I yawned. "Yeah, I'll be down in a few minutes."
"What'd you end up doing last night? Or should I ask who? Ha-ha..." Brad was such an idiot. Click. I turned the phone off, looked around the room to gather up clothes that had apparently been thrown in every direction the night before, and started my day.
The shower helped, but the coffee helped more. Brad was his usual, annoyingly chipper self, accompanied by the rest of the marketing team; Linda, Ron, and our trip boss, Kevin. They had already finished eating when I arrived, so I kept my breakfast to a minimum.
"Rough night?" Kevin asked.
"Not especially," I said, not making eye contact.
Linda looked at me as if she knew something, but wanted to know more. I looked at her quizzically, and she nodded as if she understood that we'd talk later. I wasn't sure what about. She probably knew more than I did. I still had no recollection of who the young stud was, or where I had met him.
Of everyone on our team, I was the only one no longer married. I was pretty sure Linda bounced between Ron and Kevin on these trips, and neither seemed to let on that they knew about her screwing the other. I never came out and asked her, but she would drop tidbits of information such as what brand underwear Kevin wore, or how she heard Ron shaved his balls before every trip. How would she hear that? And why did she need to share that with me? I wondered why she never gossiped about Brad, and realized he probably never flirted with her. She obviously never flirted with him. I wonder who his wife thought about while Brad made love to her.
While the rest of them were bar-hoppers, I usually stayed local, drinking at the hotel bar until closing time, and then going straight back to my room - alone - as had been the practice while I was married.
