Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Heterosexual, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Bart Stocklas goes to an old haunt to restart his life after 8 months of mourning the loss of the love of his life. He hopes combining work and pleasure in a place he only knew happiness will get him off to a good start at mending his heart. He encounters woman in somewhat the same sort of situation. An unlikely, sexy, relationship seems to be distracting them both until they realize that something real may be happening here while constantly being careful not to trip over their hearts.

When I tell you what I do for a living it may sound seedy, or cheap, but it really isn’t what you first may think. I photograph pretty girls in their bathing suits. Not in a studio, but on beaches up and down the East Coast. I do it mostly without their permission, unless I shoot their faces. Still sound seedy? Well, if you go to the page 3 or page 6 features of a certain tabloid syndicate, you’ll see my photos almost every day in summer months, and even sometimes in the Sunday color sections, only then we re-color the apparel, just to be sure no one can positively identify someone. We aren’t looking to embarrass anyone; we just show young ladies “better” sides as they appear on a nice beach. A favorite seems to be two young ladies, or a man with his girl standing facing the ocean. Why is beyond me, but they seem to draw the most response.

On occasion we do shoot fronts and faces for which they receive $50 and sign a release. If we use the photo in print they get another $100. In recent years with so many girls sporting tattoos, which identify them, it has cut down the number of photo’s I can take. I won’t photo-shop out a tattoo, it takes away from the genuine-ness of the picture.

Also, the loss of my long time live-in girlfriend has curbed my travel as I am just getting over her untimely death in an accident when she was home visiting her family in Missouri.

I was at a condo/hotel in the lower Maine seacoast where we had went for 9 years solid the last 2 weeks in August every year. Seeing old acquaintances and explaining the details as to why my Piper Lee wasn’t with me was opening old wounds and extending the depression I seemed to have beaten.

As usual I brought my camera, beach chair, and umbrella to the sands below the condo building and set up just behind the magnificent body of a young woman sunbathing. With her head propped up on a towel over a large rock, she had her arms at her side and the dark blue and white striped bikini bottom made her derriere most deliciously prominent. I was hoping to get her walking to the water to get a better picture of her lovely curves.

She would readjust her position every now and then and when she did she would scan the general area and caught me staring each time. After a few of these incidents I decided to go back in so as not to spook her. The following morning as I set up my chair and umbrella in roughly the same spot and from the corner of my eye I saw her emerge from the same building where I was staying, in the same bikini, and set up just in front of me again. It was then I realized her target was an angled, smooth rock, which when she placed a rolled terry towel, provided a perfect angle prop for her head.

She pranced down to the water, giving me 3 good shots, and came back and I watched her apply sun lotion all over herself, quite deftly I might add. I wondered if she were putting on a bit of a show for me, but one angry scowl when she saw me watching told me “no, don’t let your imagination get away from you”.

With her head resting on its side and her arms perfectly placed at her sides, she sunned her little body while I kept an eye on the perfect swell and slope of the well displayed bottom halves that protected her most private places. I quietly took a few more candid angles of her and once again hid my Canon.

Three more times she readjusted the side and angle of her head, looking my way and catching me staring each time. I was truly fixated, but she was not amused finally springing up to her elbows and snarling, “Why don’t you just take a picture?”

I had been waiting for an opening to display my camera so I could take other pictures, so this seemed as good a time as any.

“I already have,” I said as I reached into my beach bag and pulled out my camera.

Right away I went into my spiel about what I did and produced a flyer with sample shots and the explanation of the how and circumstance of the publication of the photos and how they were anonymous and not identifiable and legally non-obtrusive. Nine times in ten my subjects never know they were photographed and even when they see them don’t readily recognize themselves. These are not sex shots, and they are barely voyeur shots. They are primarily mood shots to take peoples mind off the rigors and depressing news of the day. You read about the war, turn the page and see a pretty girl or couple at play or contemplative at the beach. You don’t see their face and it’s not a close-up. They are just pictures of happy lives among the drudgery of the day. Mood breakers, as my agent calls them. A handsome couple seeming alone at the beach, arm in arm or embracing, staring out at the forever of the ocean. However, the couple would have incredible bodies, sure to catch the eye of all who see. Yes, there are the women, and sometimes men, who willingly accept our small fee for posed photos, but they are always done in public with no hanky-panky. Up until this point, my girlfriend was always with me, and nothing slippery ever happened.

This young woman heard my spiel, looked at my flyer, and heard my mea culpa as to the reason I was caught looking so often. Wordlessly she looked at me, shook her head, folded the flyer and tucked it under her towel. She assumed her prior position and acted as if she had never challenged me or heard a word I said. I’ve had similar situations and found it always best to leave it be and not pursue anything further, because that made it look as if I WERE trying to push the envelope. I was simply a free lance photographer who took a simple one time assignment and turned it into a nice little syndication piece for which I was paid enough to get by on plus expenses. The balance of my work was assignments in or near the locales I worked for the syndicate. I also sold my scenic photos for calendar and postcard companies, and even sold some to LIFE for one of their special issues. (If only I could have done that in the 60’s when LIFE was a weekly household staple.)

I decided to put my camera away and let this situation be. This particular spot was one of favorites and we regularly came here for more vacation than work. My subject was staying in the same condo building as me and I really didn’t want trouble. Tomorrow I would set up my umbrella and such further down the beach and leave her be. I zipped up my bag and pushed it under my chair to show her I had no intention to stalk her or cause problems. I put my ball cap back on, pulled the bill down and slumped a bit in my chaise, hoping to nap a bit.

I felt myself nodding off, little by little, until I heard the breath sucking and choking back of tears each time the low tide ocean waves ebbed to their low. I pushed up the bill on my cap and saw my subject in the blue and white striped bikini was crying into her towel and the hands she was trying to hide her tears with.

I felt awful in that I saw myself as the reason for her tears and upset mood. I stood and walked the few steps to where she lay and knelt to speak to her.

“I am so sorry if I have upset you so. I do not mean any harm in what I do and I know how much this beach and setting means to so many people. I am not taking any more pictures today and I will avoid snapping you and erase what I’ve taken. Please don’t be so upset, I’ve meant no harm, you can watch while I delete them. You have my word.”

“Please go away. I can deal with this myself. You are the least of my worries. Get lost!” She said as she looked up to me in her red, tear stained face.

While I has estimated her age to be 21-25, it was clear with the tears and redness negating any make-up or creams, she was definitely 30-35, but her body in that bikini was still a young supple one. I chided myself for making such assessments at such a troubled time, but it was the nature of my work.

“Are you sure, because if something I did or said brought this on, I’m truly...” I started to say again when she angrily rose up on her elbows and spat out,

“Don’t flatter yourself! I’m upset I’m here the first time without my husband. I lost him before Christmas and coming here was a big mistake!” She said before falling to her forearms and hands to grieve to herself.

I didn’t move for a few moments and contemplated touching her to show comfort, but thought the better of it. Instead I leaned down to almost whisper.

“I know you think no one knows how you feel, but my fiancé, who lived with me for 10 years, was killed New Years in an accident while she visited her family. We traveled a lot of beaches for my work, but Wells Beach was very special, where we spent 2 weeks every summer and made our time here special.” I said fighting back my own tears.

She propped up again and reached out to pat my leg. “I’m so sorry for your loss as well. I didn’t mean to burden you, or shout at you.”

“I just wanted you to know that someone knows how you feel, the emptiness and helplessness. Your friends try to help and say the right thing; there is a hurt only we know.” I said as I fell to my side so we could hear each other over the waves.

“Why do we torture ourselves by coming to these places?” She asked, somewhat rhetorically.

“Because of the memories and happiness they remind us of. A wise person I know once told me, long before I ever thought I might need the advice, that the day will come when we’ll think of our lost loves and smile and only recall the happy times. The pain will go away. I was actually getting towards that plateau until just now. You’ve reminded me of the horror of it all.” I told her.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh God, don’t apologize. It was going to rear its ugly head later. Tonight I’m going to Mikes to sit at the bar like we used to and drink until I have to take the trolley or cab home.”

For the first time I saw her smile a bit as she nodded and said, “I may see you there, I was planning on doing the same thing. I was just worried about the ride back. I was thinking about wearing a sign with my address on it, as in “please return to”. Last night lasted forever and I have to do something to allay the self pity and boredom.”

I was able to give her a knowing smile and I moved to get up. “Well, be careful. If you end up passed out on the floor I know where you go.”

“Thanks uh... ?”

“Bart, Bart Stocklas, and you’re?”

“Melody. Call me Mel. Melody Ostin. Maybe I’ll see you up there, Bart. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“No, I should apologize to you for upsetting you so.” I said and she waved me off and lowered her head back to her towel to soak in more sun.

I decided to pack up my stuff, go to my room to use the bathroom and go for a long walk with the tide out. It was over 2 hours later when I got back and didn’t notice if Melody (what a dreadful name for an adult, her parents must have been hippies) was still out or not. I showered and hit the bed for a quick nap and before I knew it the ocean air knocked the hell out of me. I woke up just before 6 pm.

I didn’t feel real hungry, but thirsty I was and I was going to let beer quench that at Mikes. I got dressed in a local bar tee and sweat-shorts with just my ID, room key, a plastic pouch with B complex vitamins, and 2 $100 bills and a few ones for the trolley.

The trolley ran a run each evening from 4:30 until 1:00 a.m. from the two big night spots and restaurants, to the 3 larger hotels on the main drag and then down in to Wells Beach where locals and condo renters could take advantage. The whole run took about 20 minutes around. It was $2 a trip and well worth it. The walk from the place I was staying to the Trolley Stop was no more than 100 yards. When I turned the corner to the sheltered stop I saw Melody sitting there waiting.

“If I may be so bold, Hello uh, Mel? Headed to Mikes?” I asked.

“Yes. I asked about the trolley and you have a great idea, not having to drive. Please don’t feel uncomfortable calling me Mel. I really hate my name now that I’ve over 14, but my parents were hippies (I knew it!) and they told me it was either that or Poppy. My middle name is after my Grandma, and that’s Harriet. So, Mel it is.” She said shaking her head.

“I suppose it could have been worse. I’m Bartholomew and my grandparents always called me that, but besides that I’ve always been Bart, and of course in school I was always Black Bart. Being white, I never understood it but...”

Just then we heard the bell and the trolley was pulling up. I got on and sat on the front bench and Mel sat across from me. I made a point of getting on first so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable asking if I could sit next to her. I wanted her to have the option. I didn’t want her think I thought this was any sort of date. I think we were both far from that restart, besides I was 15 or more years older than she.

Neither of us said anything on the ride as we watched the marsh go by and then let a bunch of people off at one popular restaurant before they pulled into Mikes.

We bypassed the crowd waiting for dinner tables and made our way into the bar where she grabbed my elbow.

“Bart, would you mind much if I sat beside you? I don’t need anyone hitting on me. Don’t worry I won’t burden you with my problems. I just want to drink and get the edge off and get a bite later. There’s two people going to eat, I’ll bet I can get those 2 stools.” She said shyly

Just as she went for the two stools at the bar 2 younger guys cut in front of her.

She suddenly put the sweetest smile on her face and leaned in to say something to them with her arm on one of the stools and she said a few words and they backed away, almost apologizing. She motioned me up and I sat down.

“What did you say to them?” I asked.

“I told them we’ve been waiting for 2 stools for a long time and our table was going to be called in a few minutes.” And then she blushed and brought her shoulders in pressing her breasts together making some nice cleavage as the front of her scoop tee opened as she said “Young boys are impressionable.” as I chuckled. (But the size and shape of her tits did not escape me, mourning or not.)

The bartender came and Mel told him before anything was ordered that it was separate checks and she ordered a Jack and Coke and clams casino trio, I got a large Sam’s Summer Ale and garlic knots. Neither of us said much for the next 15-20 minutes while we watched the TV and nibbled, reading the closed captioning (it was so loud they couldn’t possibly have the sound on), and then checking out the people. At one point Mel saw a shooting gallery type game open up in the back corner and asked me to watch her drink and change while she went back and played. I continued to watch the TV which just changed over to a Red Sox game. I glanced back to the corner and saw Mel talking to a guy while she shook her head and he turned away, but when I looked back again the same guy was there seeming to confront her about something, his hand on her shoulder. I could see she was upset and this guy at least looked like he was being persistent.

The bartender came by and I said that we were staying, but playing a game and not to give our seats up. Between the two of us, we had already pushed 4 or 5 dollars into the bar gutter for him, so he just nodded.

I went back to the corner I heard this guy saying “C’mon it’s only fair.”, as she pushed his hand off her shoulder a second time that I saw. So I just walked up and asked, “Honey, is there a problem?”

Mel looked to me with a half smile and said “This gentleman wants to challenge me to a game of pairs for a drink. I prefer to play alone.”

“You heard the lady, she doesn’t want to play you. And honey, our food is there now.” I said hopefully convincing him that she was not alone here.

I went back to my stool and when she finished the game she came back to the bar.

“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself. I would have taken great pleasure in beating the shit out of him if he touched me.” She said full of bravado.

“You both would have been arrested and also charged with inciting. Don’t do something stupid to satisfy your inner aggressions. He didn’t take your husband away from you.” I deadpanned staring straight at the TV as I was actually pissed at her for saying something so stupid.

I heard her choke back tears and then take her unfinished drink and down it and place the glass on the bar, pushing it to the edge for refill. After the bartender refilled her she leaned toward me. I took it as her wanting to say something private to me as I saw her in the bar mirror below the TV we were sitting in front of.

“I have my wedding ring on and the guy didn’t even care. He thought I was looking for it.” She said as an excuse for making her tough gal threat.

“I think he wanted to play the game more than anything, not pick you up. Once you sent him away the first time, he was wrong to persist. I still wear MY ring too and I had held my hand up behind you to show him, in case he needed convincing about his walking away.” I told her without looking at her directly, but into the mirror. She wasn’t aware I was watching her reaction in the mirror and probably thought I was aloof.

“Oh! I didn’t know that. Thanks, ... uh ... Bart.” She said looking to me to acknowledge her mea culpa, so I pointed straight to her, in the mirror and said with a shit eating grin “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

“Well, of all the gin joints, in all the towns of the world...” She said with the brightest smile I had seen her use yet as she matched my one liner from Casablanca.

That smile of self pride in knowing where my line came from and throwing down another from the same movie lit up her face and I knew how her husband had fallen in love with her. She glowed, she was so pretty when she was happy and any man would have done anything to keep that look on her face.

“You’re right. I would have been stupid. Thanks for rescuing me. My Frankie couldn’t have done it any better, and he would have chided me for my idle threat too.” She said suddenly getting quiet as memories and reality descended on her.

She threw back her 4th Jack and Coke and pushed her glass up for the bartender to refill.

“If you’re going to drink like that you better get something else to eat as I pushed the basket with the last 3 garlic knots I hadn’t finished.

She grabbed the basket and ate them quietly, heeding my advice to get something in her stomach, which she may have heard before.

“I see those big haddock sandwiches getting served down the bar, a couple times. Would you share one with me?” She said to me, our eyes meeting in the mirror.

I looked down two stools and saw what appeared to be a long roll with lettuce and tomato and mayo or tartar oozing out with a large piece of haddock and said “OK, it looks good.”

We sat quietly after she ordered “that sandwich, two plates.” from the bartender. I hadn’t thought about Piper Lee all night, and that was the purpose of my drinking. However I could see she was still immersed in keeping “My Frankie” on her mind, despite the 4 Jacks with Coke.

Our sandwich came on two plates and I could see why she ordered this way, we each got garlic fries on the side with a little cup of slaw. She knew Mikes served “two plates” this way.

We each ate and enjoyed the tasty fresh fish sandwich without saying as much as one word. When we finally pushed the plates away we each ordered our 6th drink and we were ready to go deep into the night with the alcohol and our little party. However I wasn’t in the mood for a pity party and I wanted her to unload. As painful as I knew it would be at the moment, she might enjoy her night a little if she dumped her burdens.

I touched her hand for the first time and got her to turn and look at me.

“So, how did Frankie die?” I asked feeling a little cruel, but I knew she had to get it out of the way.

“I don’t want to...” She started quietly averting her eyes.

“Bullshit Mel! It’s the elephant in the room and he’s begging you to let it out. I’ve been there and talking is the best way to get it off your mind and let yourself live a little. God, you know I’m not trying to do anything with you. We’re just two sad people trying to drown our sorrows and enjoy a place that used to bring us happiness.”

Melody looked down and I could tell she was stifling a cry, but she tipped her head back and swallowed hard saying “OK, you’re right.”

She took about 3 deep breaths and swallowed hard a few times and looked at me.

“We were on vacation in Italy. Frank felt like hell and it came on fast. Soreness in his shoulders and neck, persistent headache. He had been there before with family, so he sent me to some sights close to the hotel and asked me to let him sleep it off. He took some Advil or something and stayed in bed. When I got back he was still sleeping and I let him sleep for almost 20 hours. When he woke in the morning he was confused as to what day it was, wondering if sending me off alone was a dream. But, he got up and said he felt pretty good and we went for breakfast after which we journeyed to his family hometown and homestead for a reunion of sorts, people from all over the world. In the middle of the day he had broken out in a huge rash across his stomach and felt nauseous. He stuck out most of the day and we got back to the hotel and he started vomiting. He finally got to sleep and I went to ask the desk about local hospitals. They directed me and in the morning I arranged a medi-cab type of transport to the hospital. They kept him for a day and said he had Lyme disease and gave him medication and said he should clear up in 7 or 8 days as long as he knew he hadn’t been symptomatic long. When we left the states he claims he felt fine. By our fifth day we skipped the last 2 days of our trip and flew home. After 2 days at home and no improvement we went to the hospital that examined him and sent us to Boston. After 7 days in the hospital there, he died and we still don’t have clear reason or cause of death, just some kind of virus or strain of staph or something. They tested me over and over again and I never showed any abnormalities.”

She took her last drink and downed it, looked at me and said, “So you can see why I’m still in shock and wonderment how God could be so cruel.”

I was misty eyed at her tale and simply answered her by saying, “God must have loved him very much, and wanted to test your faith. That’s what the nuns would tell us.”

“I didn’t buy that old Catholic School shit then and now even less so. He was my life and he got taken away.” She said shrugging off the words and looking to me for more.

I added my own experience, “I went to see a therapist, but only for one session and she told me one thing to take away. That was “All the tears in the world, anguished cries and pleas to a higher life form will bring her back. So begin each day knowing you have to restart your life, and every day you put it off is one more day of being miserable.” So that’s why I’m here in Maine where we always went.”

Mel didn’t break down and cry, but the tears were flowing pretty heavy as she tried to remain composed.

“I came here looking for him or some sort of sign that he knew how I felt. Maybe what you just said came from him, because he always said that same line to me when I lost my Mom, then my Dad. It was almost word for word. I’ve cried and been miserable for the past 9 months and it’s only made me more crazy. Thank you, Bart. I think he just spoke to me through you.”

I was a little taken aback by her words and hoped I could continue to live by the same words, as I had tried. I didn’t come to Maine looking for Piper Lee, I came to start anew and to do things I knew I loved.

We each spent the next 20 minutes in solitude, despite the crush of people around us. We both finished drinks and pushed our glasses up for refills. The bartender sensed a bender coming on and asked for our credit cards to run while we could still walk (his words). I told him I had cash, but I never let myself get “that” drunk. I’ve walked that line many times and I know when to stop, get some carbs to continue or quit. She let him run her card, but I gave him a hundred, down payment to show good faith. I pulled a little plastic pouch from my pocket and took two B complex tablets from it and asked for a glass of water. I nudged Mel from her reverie and asked her if she wanted to try my hangover and drunken fool preventative. She said no at first, but then after seeing me guzzle the water, asked for two of my pills, and ended up doing the same.

We each had one more drink and I saw the time as just after 12:30.

“Mel, the last trolley back will be leaving from out front soon and I’m going to be on it.” I said as I stood, paid the rest of my bill and left $25 for the bartender under my glass.

“I may stay and find someone to pick me up and bring me home. I feel adventurous all of a sudden. I haven’t been single for a long time.” She said in a sudden act of bravado against her depression.

“OK, just remember, you have to live with your conscience when you get up in the morning, or afternoon. Don’t do anything you can’t equate to your depression. You already spent 9 months feeling sorry for yourself and seeking pity.” I said with a little grin as I took her hand and kissed it.

She had been a great companion for the evening, despite the lows, and a few bright spots. At any time in my life I would have been proud to sit for the evening with a woman so attractive. I had to do a little mothering, a little fathering, and a little appreciating her companionship.

The crush of people in the bar had dwindled, and some of the parties moved into the now closed restaurant part of the building, so I was able to walk out freely and see 2 other couples waiting in the bus shelter for the last trolley. One couple was sort of necking and sort of anxious to get to where they were going to be alone. The other couple was making constant eyes to each other while their hands rested on each other’s knees. I sat alone waiting for the ride and remembering the nights Piper Lee and I had spent like that.

I heard unmistakable DING-DING of the trolley from up the road. It was about 2 stops away.

Suddenly I felt a person plop down beside me. I was startled and began to move away thinking it was a drunk Mikes patron when a hand went to my knee. It was Melody.

“I decided YOU should bring me home Bart. I’m still not that single to get picked up by a stranger.” She said with a giggle I hadn’t heard before.

I laughed at her remark and put my arm around her to give her a friendly hug. She turned and planted her mouth on mine for a big wet kiss.

“You’re no stranger, Bart. You’ve been so nice.”

“We were good for each other tonight.” I said thinking nothing of her advance.

The trolley was just pulling up and as we stood she quietly said, “The night isn’t over yet, and we can still be good.”

On the trolley I was trying to figure what she meant in her words because I had certainly made no advance at all towards her and besides the fact I had acknowledged to myself she had a nice body, I had not thought once about her and I being together in ANY way. (I had 15-20 years on her, although I looked pretty good for my age)

I did the same as I had earlier in the evening, I got on ahead of her to sit in the front horizontal bench, but this time she sat right beside me and took my arm and hugged herself to me. I didn’t really know how to react, if I was assuming too much, or if she just wanted to get back to her room safely. We were on our way to the final stop when she tipped her head up to my ear.

“Come home with me. I know we have issues, but let’s talk, OK?”

I said nothing but just gave her a look to which she responded, “No promises given or assumed from either of us. Deal?”

She must have seen the fear and trepidation in my eyes as I sort of nodded. I really didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t really, seriously, thought of sex in many months. When I was cleaning up stuff about 3 months after Piper Lee died I found a video we shot of ourselves. I thought we agreed to erase it, but apparently she had a reason for keeping it. We had taken it from the side of the bed and she climbed between my legs and began sucking me, flipped around for some 69, and then she rode me a bit and finished her doggie. I sat on the bed afterward while we laughed at what we did, recording ourselves, and she fell to her knees in front of me and sucked me clean, although you couldn’t actually see her, just the back of her head. The video had me excited as hell and I beat myself off that night and then in the morning I felt guilty and destroyed the tape, like I had dishonored her. I replayed it in my head that night and repeated my performance and I haven’t really thought of sex since. So to say I was nervous, was an understatement. If I thought she was drunk to ANY degree I wasn’t even going to go to her place.

When the trolley stopped, as you can read in my words, my mind was reeling. She got up and took my hand and led me off the trolley and we walked around the corner and down the lane past two houses to the condo structure.

We got to the walk-thru and stairwell that was just out of the light before the stairway up and she stopped. I turned and she kissed me hard. I began to resist, feebly, and gave in, her lips felt so good. She broke the kiss and pulled me toward the lighted stairwell opposite where I should have been going.

“Come on, we’ll talk this out.” She said taking my hand and going up to her condo.

Once inside the door she turned on lights and went to close the curtain on the double slider that faced the ocean. She came back to where I stood and tipped her head like a curious cat.

“I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing. I’ve always told myself that I could be with another man once I knew my Frankie would understand. When you quoted your therapist, it was what Frank told me to draw me out of my funk. Your last line, “you have to restart your life, and every day you put it off is one more day of being miserable,” was what he told me over and over, word for word. I’ve dreamt of being with a man so many nights. I’ve watched porn on the internet and it seems that going through a case of batteries in every toy I own hasn’t been enough to push me over the edge. Bart, we went from making love 3 or 4 times a week to nothing from the day he went to the hospital. I need to be with a man and if I have to put on that bathing suit to entice you to lay a hand on me I will. I figured after you left tonight that it was time for us to put Piper Lee and my Frankie behind us. There’s a reason we both came here.”

“I don’t want you to hate me or for me to hate myself in the morning. We aren’t kids anymore. When I was 20 or 25 I would have sniffed you down like a dog in heat if I saw you out.” I told her, still not committing to anything.

“If you exuded the self-confidence and talked as wise as you did tonight, and looked out for me as you did tonight, you wouldn’t have had to sniff. I would have been waiting for you. But when you were 20 or 25 I wasn’t even 10. You said you were with her for 10 years. Were you married before then?” She asked.

“Am I being vetted now?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Bart, you aren’t taking me serious are you? I’m just curious. I’ve only had a couple one nighters, and I do mean 2. I think you’ve had a lot.” She said with somber innocence.

“Before Piper, there were many, but none I took as substantial possibilities of being “with” a person, you know like being married. Neither she or I had any sights on marriage, but we lived like we were.”

“What was different about her?” She wondered as she moved closer to me, putting her arms around me, her chin even with the middle of my chest and now looking up at me, almost daring me to meet her eye to eye.

I chuckled a little and looked her square in the eye. “She was a lot like you, she knew what she wanted, she was sexy, and she didn’t play games. Where other women pressed me for commitments, she just wanted me like I was, with one exception. I couldn’t run around. If I wanted to, she was fine with it, but she wouldn’t be there when I came home. We moved in together after a couple weeks and I never wanted another woman.”

“Until now, ... admit it. I can feel some interest pressing against me.” She said, and she was right, she had me interested.

I had spent the night trying to be the good guy, trying to help this woman through her sadness so depression wouldn’t get the best of her and suddenly she wanted me. But if she wanted me it would be on my terms.

“Let’s go to the small sofa.” I said taking her hand from behind me and leading her to the love seat opposite the convertible sofa.

“Why don’t we just go to the bed?” She whined.

“Wait, that sounds like a desperate drunk woman, and I’m not playing that game Mel.” I said suddenly going cold on her.

“Bart, I’m not drunk. I just want to hurry this along. It’s after one!”

“Why don’t we wait until morning then? Are you afraid the waning alcohol will lessen your desire for me?” I asked, still suspect it was the alcohol talking.

She shifted to her knees on the sofa and faced me bringing her face right next to mine.

“Bart, I’m not drunk. I want you to make love to me and make me happy, just like I’m going to make love to you and make you happy. I won’t be sorry in the morning and I’ll prove it by fucking you in the morning too. I promise.”

“I don’t need promises Mel; I just want to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register

Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Heterosexual / Safe Sex / Oral Sex /