My Son's Girlfriend - Cover

My Son's Girlfriend

Copyright© 2019 by storyace

Chapter 1

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Christy is an 18 year old ballerina; beautiful, healthy, irresistible, and in need of a place to live. Harry is 45, married, fit, and solvent. They know it's wrong, but they do it anyway. Because it's so good.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Cheating   InLaws  

Son’s girlfriend;

It was hot that day; stiflingly hot. As usual, I was last to leave the office. I went out into the reception area with my briefcase, ready to lock up and go home.

There was a woman outside the door; young and beautiful. She knocked and looked in at me hopefully.

I didn’t deal with walk in clients myself anymore, but as I said, my staff had all headed for home already; and the woman was extraordinarily pretty.

I opened the door for her. Who could refuse a woman like that?

“Can I help you?”

“I need a new apartment.” She said.

She had a very light cotton dress draped across her that did little to cover her. Her breasts were small yet full, her hips narrow, and her ass tight and round. She had auburn hair tied up behind her head; she had a long thin neck accentuated by large loop earrings, and huge clear brown eyes.

“Everyone’s gone home already; I really can’t do much for you until Monday. Say; I know you! How are you, Christy? I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you for a minute.”

“Hi, Harry.” She said, blushing slightly.

“Well come on in. It’s awfully hot outside. How have you been? You look fantastic.”

She had been my son’s girlfriend for a couple of years before he went away to college. I hadn’t seen her since they’d split up two years earlier.

She seemed so different now; a young woman instead of a gawky teenager. In a dress instead of faded jeans, with makeup around her eyes and mouth instead of the scrubbed fresh face I’d known before.

“I’ve been better, to tell you the truth. I’m in the middle of splitting up with my boyfriend.” She said, sitting down.

“I see. Therefore the need for an apartment?”

“Yes. I need to get out of his place, and there’s no way I’m going back to live with my parents.”

I knew that she was a year younger than Phil; so she was just about 18. Her skin was magnificent, pale yet perfect. It was a bit disconcerting to think that she’d been living with someone since she was 16. And I was quite sure she had been having sex with Phil for at least a year before that. Girls grow up so fast these days.

“What kind of place are you looking for?”

“Something air-conditioned!” she said.

I booted up the office computer to check for her. I seriously doubted she could afford much, but we estate agents have to be sensitive; I’d just show her some pictures and tell her the prices. It was nice and cool in the office, and I didn’t mind talking with Christy.

Could she have been flirting with me? The way those huge eyes of hers seemed to linger that extra moment each time they made contact with me just made me want to spend a little extra time with her.

“Are you still into ballet?” I asked her.

“Oh yes. I make a living at it now, I dance with the metropolitan ballet theater group.”

“Wow, I’m impressed! You must be really good.”

“At ballet, you mean.”

I laughed; “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

She smiled, getting more relaxed as she cooled down after the heat outside.

“Yes, I’m a good dancer. Other than that, though, I’m really not very good at all.”

The system was alive at last.

“I only have one air-conditioned place available for rent.” I told her; “It isn’t cheap.”

She came around the desk and looked at the screen. She put a hand my shoulder as she leaned forward.

Her thumb was in contact with my neck; I could smell her young healthy scent, and at the edge of my vision, her breasts swung enticingly close to my face.

“It looks incredible! I love that kitchen, and the location is perfect, right down town near the theater.”

“But could you afford it?”

“Not on my own. Could you show it to me?”

“You mean right now?”

“If you have time.”

I challenge any man to refuse to take such an opportunity; to take a luscious flirtatious young female into an empty furnished apartment. To just be able to spend a short time alone with her, to be her friend, to bask in her raw beauty in an intimate setting.

“Sure, why not?”

We stepped out into the baking summer evening for the brief time it took to lock up the office and open my car.

“Wow, nice car!” she said as it cooled down inside. “I’m into civilized cars.”

We talked a bit more on the way downtown; she asked about Phil, and I told her he was doing well in school.

“I really liked him, but I somehow needed someone more mature.” She told me.

“How mature?” I asked impulsively.

She laughed, slightly nervously. “Well, I went with Sam after Phil, and he’s 38.”

There was a silence as I thought about what she’d told me. She had left home to live with a man more than twice her age. It seemed a bit sad.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“46.” I said.

“Hmm.” She said.

I switched on the airco as we stepped inside the apartment. Christy seemed to belong there, she flowed across the living room floor with a smile on her lips that seemed capable of lighting half the city. She looked into the closets, checked the bathroom, and threw herself onto the sofa.

“I love this place.” She said her big soft eyes playing me for an utter fool. “There’s something sensual about it, don’t you think?”

“You mean other than the fact that you’re in it?” I asked, openly responding to her flirting for the first time.

She stretched herself, the living image of desire; daring me to make an overt move. My cock was twitching just thinking of touching her, of holding her in that tender way that only lovers do. She was just teasing, I told myself, Christy had always been a bit of a teaser. I was a married man, and I still loved my wife very much; we didn’t have much of a sex life, though.

I’d never cheated; not physically at least. I’d flirted, I’d lusted after a woman or two, but never crossed that line.

Christy’s bosom heaved gently with her breathing, the shape of her ballerina’s physique displayed before me. I had to, I had to take my chance; if she laughed and rejected me, made a fool of an old man, at least I would know I’d tried.

I approached her, my heart pounding nervously in my ears; she looked up at me, the challenge still clear in her eyes. I leaned forward, and put my hand on the side of her angelic face. She could have pulled away, or pushed me off, but she just smiled in response, and then I knew that she would be mine.

For the afternoon, or forever; whatever consequences might come of it, there was no way to stop us. I wanted her like I hadn’t wanted for 30 years, I wanted to touch her, kiss her, love her.

And I did, too.

She was 18, with the stamina of an athlete, the face of an angel, the body of a dancer, and a will to please.

I thought of myself as someone who kept myself in good condition, and I knew I’d need all of it with Christy.

I sat next to her, and we kissed for the first time; as my middle aged married mouth met her teenaged lips, we crossed over into the forbidden zone together.

She was excited, but I knew the price I’d have to pay. There are thousands of men my age who want girls like Christy, but very few girls like Christy.

As the apartment cooled, we heated up. Her skin was so soft and smooth, her lips so eager to know mine. I could smell her, sense her hormones, I was being sucked into a whirlpool of hopeless lust.

For ages, for millennia, we kissed; our hands became more and more bold, touching here, then there. Then everywhere.

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