I met Patrice while playing Literati, an online game like Scrabble. There is rarely conversation in these games other than a greeting, a compliment now and then when an unusual or high-scoring word is used, and an acknowledgment at the end of a game well played. With Patrice though there was a flow of conversation. Some people become irritable with that while playing. But I was captivated. What, you might ask, was the reason for such captivation? There was a magnetism about this woman that made me want to hear more from her. And I was eager to respond.

Soon we found that our conversation practically laid the game to rest. Just as soon we eschewed the game and went to our chat screens. We found that we had a mutual interest in poetry, not just poetry but romantic poetry.

The fact that Patrice lives in the Deep South and I in the far West made us “geographically undesirable,” a term used when the clock isn’t kind to an association such as ours. But as always, when interest is great enough, we find the time.

Our chats led to joking and commentary that included double entendres which often happen when there is a spark between a man and a woman. We shared poetry: philosophical, romantic, and, of course, erotic. Sometimes I would send her mildly pornographic depictions of things we began fantasizing about. That, of course, evolved into cyber chatting where we found that, though we were a nation apart, our erotic meanderings brought us a pleasant degree of excitement. Soon it became primal motivation.

We exchanged photos, both finding a compelling attraction. One never knows how long ago a picture might have been taken, or what forces have been at work since the time of its origin. But we didn’t care.

Patrice is the epitome of a lady, one who conducts herself appropriately in all areas of her life. In our interaction online it became apparent to me that she was a highly sexual woman as well. As life isn’t always fair, she drew a short straw when it came to living a full and satisfying sex life.

For me, I couldn’t have married better and had vowed long ago not to complicate my life with involvement with another woman. Just the same, I often wondered if I could love two women. The answer I gave myself was that I could. I don’t think I could have lived two lives with two women, as at least two of my acquaintances had been doing. But I always stayed away from temptation and never complicated my life in such a way.

Patrice once told me, “You’re one of the few here who has treated me like a lady.” She explained that numerous men online had come on to her, often crudely. I had heard the comment in other conversations while playing Literati. But, due to my profound respect for women, it was hard for me to understand.

Patrice stunned me once by saying, “Why couldn’t we have met and established this kind of relationship in real life?” I wasn’t stunned by her saying it, it was just that I had been thinking the same thing, my thoughts often continuing, it’s a good thing!

I don’t know why I threw out this question in response to hers, “Why don’t we just meet for real and see what happens?”

After talking about it for another six months she said, “Now and then I get away by myself for a weekend. Is there any way that you could see your way clear to meet me somewhere in the south?” It didn’t take us long to decide on New Orleans.

On the way from the gate, I ran into a flower vendor and bought a dozen red roses. Patrice, having driven over from Florida, was waiting in the lobby of the airport, under the replica of Da Vinci’s concept of the airplane. Though a mature woman, she was grinning and blushing like a naughty teenager.

She stood about 5’3” and had shoulder-length blond hair. I found her hairstyle perfect for her face. She had what I call cornflower blue eyes and was dressed in a modern sleeveless black and tan dress that had flower designs on it. The gold pendant she wore stopped just above her attractively displayed cleavage. The best way to describe her breasts is “substantial.” No question about her being a real woman.

I was pleased that, when I handed her the flowers, she was touched. But it did get us into a short “You shouldn’t have/I saw them on the way to the lobby and couldn’t pass them up,” conversation. Mostly we just smiled and studied one another in as an oblique way as possible. Clasping hands we studied each other’s faces. Her soft blue eyes seemed to me to be as clear as a baby’s. Thrilled to be together we were alive with nervous anticipation of what the weekend might hold.

As we hugged, I whispered to her that it might not be a good idea to kiss or walk hand-in-hand. We agreed, “Even though we’re both far enough away from home you never know who we might run into.” As we walked through, we soon forgot about being cautious, making it the rest of the way holding hands like a pair of giddy teenagers.

We checked into the Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street. I had reserved a second-floor balcony overlooking the heart of New Orleans. There was always something going on down on the street of always answered desires. In the elevator, with thoughts of kissing this woman and exploring her body for real, we watched the flashing floor numbers with great anticipation.

A man and a woman in a hotel together always create a special sexual energy. And, as we walked down the hall our movements, like an out-of-body experience, seemed exaggerated in slow motion. When I slid the plastic key into the door slot the symbolism struck me as intensely erotic which caused an intense tingling in my groin.

As I held the door for Patrice her mouth curled into a satisfied smile. It was apparent this was not the kind of treatment to which she was accustomed. In a voice that sounded sexy and sultry to me, she said, “It’s nice to be with a gentleman.” Feeling like Jack Horner I pressed my tongue into my cheek.

At the airport, I was too breathless to fully appreciate this elegant woman’s perfume. Walking into the hotel room though I followed her scented trail made even more vivid by my perception of the ultimate femininity which pervaded her as if an erotic spirit enwrapped her.

The silky swishing of her dress brought my eyes to her shapely legs, which caused me to imagine her thighs brushing together; causing her hidden lips to slide through the lubrication that must have been activated by the heavy petting in the rental car. It started innocently enough, a kiss as I said, “It’s so good to finally be together,” which led to uncontrolled curiosity to confirm some of the things we had sexted while talking online.

As the door closed behind me my heart boomed like drums at a native fertility dance. Taking her hands, I gazed into eyes that stared coyly yet shamelessly back. It seemed like they were telling me she needed confirmation as the desirable woman she was.

In the dimly lit room, her pupils were wide enough to provide a portal for a search into the depths of her body. Her hands met mine halfway. They were soft and warm. I pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and said “Welcome to the Sonesta Patrice.” Her buxom body melted into mine, her large breasts pillowing softly against my chest. As our abdomens pressed together her eyes seemed like those of a small child anticipating a thrilling carousel ride.

I kissed her lips and cupped her bottom with my hands, pulling her tighter against me. Pushing my hardness against her fulfilled a need for both of us. Taking her left hand, I felt no resistance as I coaxed it down between us. “Patrice,” I whispered in her ear, “Is this alright?”

“I’m here Toby.”

As we kissed again her fingers found my hardness and grasped its bulk through the fabric of my pants. Tenderly, I pecked her cheek and whispered in her ear, “I want you so much.” In response, she kneaded my maleness and stroked me.

As I pecked her earlobe she murmured, “Oh Toby.”

No sooner had I said, “I can’t believe I am here with you, Patrice. then I felt a tug below my belt and heard the erratic rasp of my zipper being drawn down. The electric charge that went through me when I felt her naked hand grasping me and pulling my cock through the fly of my underwear made me clamp my buttocks together to keep from having an adolescent accident.

Raising the hem of her skirt I clutched the satin softness of her panties and through soft silk, touched her petals. She shivered and whispered, “My goodness Toby.”

With my swollen member now fully exposed she stroked it curiously to which I said, “I can’t believe how comfortably we are doing this together.”

I don’t know how comfortable she was with that, but my pleasure excited her. And as my fingers tenderly caressed the cheeks of her ass she moaned. Then, as I kneaded her soft cheeks, she alternately fondled my erect phallus and stroked the loose outer skin over my hard, veined shaft.

With Patrice’s hand working my penis intensely I peeled her panties down, took her hand off my cock, brought her fingers to my lips, and kissed her fingertips, which glistened with the ooze of my precum. Leaning forward I pressed my hips toward her and eased my hardness between her legs, just beneath the warm wetness of her vulva. As we humped, I flexed my throbbing organ in her flooded trough and collected the sweet nectar which lubricated my shaft. While kissing again, I gently moved the bulk of my maleness forward and back making slurpy sounds as our moving flesh seemed like it was floating together.

When with a chuckle I said, “That’s such an incredible sound Patrice,” she giggled in what seemed embarrassed pleasure. Nodding, she purred, “mm-hm.” And as she worked herself back and forth on my tumescent rod she cooed, “Imagine, Toby, after all of our erotic words online your cock is finally between my legs.”

Button by button my fingers fumbled down the back of her dress until it was open. As I bared her flesh, I groped to unsnap her bra and said, “Unbutton my shirt, Sweetie.”

Peeling each other’s tops off hers dropped to her hips and mine fell onto the floor. I flipped her bra straps off her shoulders and stepped back to allow the garment to fall between us. Unable to keep from staring I murmured “My goodness sweetie, I have never been with a woman with such spectacular breasts.”

“Do you mind?” I said as I bent forward.

“Uh uh,” she grunted, and I leaned in and put my hand under her left breast. Platforming it I licked it gently, opened my lips, and sucked her nipple.

“Mm,” she moaned.

Fondling her right breast, I continued suckling and licking her left nipple as I gently rolled her right one. Amazed at how the nipple between my lips had hardened, I could feel her beating heart in it. It was only seconds before feeling the other nipple harden between my fingers. While thinking these are marvelous, I repeated, “You have such magnificent breasts Patrice,” to which she smiled and blushed.

As our bare torsos caressed each other’s welcoming flesh I told her how incredibly feminine she was. And while I unbuttoned her dress and she worked my belt buckle and my pants while my engorged member still nestled between her vulval lips like a wiener in a bun, I pulled back slightly so I could step out of my trousers. As they dropped around my ankles, I reached the hem of her dress and pulled it up. Holding up her arms I pulled the soft fabric up and over her body, dropping it on top of my shirt.

“My underpants too Hun,” I said.

She giggled shyly and said, “Perhaps you can remove that thing from between my legs,” so I can get them off your cock. Working my black polo underpants down she threaded my 7 ½ inch, erection through the fly hole. When she pulled them down the head of my stiffened penis caught the waistband and slapped back against my belly, which caused us both to giggle like teenagers. I had been a teenager when it had last happened that way to me.

Kicking off my loafers I scrapped my socks off with my toes then, holding Patrice’s hands, I pushed us apart to scan her body. Except for her black, lacy thigh-highs she was now naked. Surprised that this otherwise “proper” lady had dressed this way I said, “Wow.”

Gazing at her magnificently proportioned body, I swallowed a large Adam’s apple. Her nipples were erect, pink erasers. Though out of proportion to such large breasts, I thought they were cute. They were pink and excitable, standing out, puffy with her pulsing blood. “You’re beautiful, Patrice,” I said having never even seen pictures of such lingerie during our online chats.

She giggled and said, “I bought them special—for the trip ... for you Tobe.”

Before making this trip, I had been so taken with so many things about this woman, her sense of humor and wit were only two of them. Her willingness for adventure was another. As my erection throbbed to the increasing beat of my heart I said, “Stroke me please sweetie, ok?”

As her fingers encircled my girth, she clasped and moved the loose outer skin of my muscled penis’ veined hardness. We embraced so our chests compressed but we kept the space between our abdomens loose so our fingers could explore each other’s most intimate parts. And the sensations were heavenly.

Hugging gently but firmly I kissed her as I placed my hand over her spongy, vulva. She opened her legs to allow me room and while not giving me a verbal indication of what she wanted me to do, she wiggled her hips. I pressed my middle finger between her large labia until they parted with a “click,” and found my fingers being caressed by what felt like gossamer butterfly wings.

Gliding in Patrice’s groove my fingertip slid back and forth in the most glorious lubricant in the world. As it moved in her sodden trench, I felt her labia caressing its tip. As I fingered the entrance to her Holy of Holies I ached to slide deep inside. But I wanted this to be slow and meaningful for her. So, each time I slid my fingertip in her crevice I traveled a little further back, each time bumping past the indentation of her threshold. When I was just shy of her anus, I slid it all the way forward until I bumped into her engorged, hooded node of pleasure. She winced, wiggled her sexual saddle, and gave forth a tiny “ooh.”

It was hard and dry before I painted her clitoris with the slippery essence I had gathered in her groove. The sheath that covered it was soft and pliable like a well-tanned chamois. Its suppleness sent chills up my backbone as I thought, how can I even be here doing this with this exciting woman? Continuing to dip my finger in her flooded cleft I saturated her sheathed clitoris with her sexual essence until it became ultra-smooth and slick.

In the past, whenever my eye has been close to such a clit, it never was as large as it felt. Hers was no different. But hidden from my vision it seemed huge to my tactile fingertips. Hoping to bring ultimate pleasure I felt good as Patrice cooed and writhed in my arms.

As I explored her clitoral expanse, I marveled How can my fingertip travel on such a small thing yet feel like a huge peninsula? I was Ponce de Leone searching for the fountain of youth, Francisco Coronado searching for the Seven Cities of Gold, Albert Einstein searching for the secrets of the Atom. I found none of them. But judging from my sweet lady’s sighs, coos, and sucking slurps, I was managing to bring to her at least the modicum of the pleasure I tried to foster.

Such a little thing in its physical presence, I thought, but such a giant in its importance. Slowly and even slower I searched for that elusive spot that would tingle in her toes. As I touched each millimeter of her love button’s complex surface, I looked for that tiny door to paradise.

By the time Patrice experienced three small orgasms my middle finger had found the slippery, tight softness of her love tunnel. Probing I entered then moved my finger in and out, making wet sounds that I can only explain as “Futch, Futch, futch.”

As we kissed and caressed, I moved my finger inside her. Patrice squirmed as my finger explored the warm, clutching muscles of her innerness. Making love to her vaginal pocket I also barely caressed her clitoris with the fingerprints of my thumb.

Wild breaths escaped through my lover’s nostrils as I unlocked more of Patrice’s erogenous spots. And as she stroked my incredibly sensitive member we continued to kiss until saliva leaked past the seal of our lips.

Patrice’s hand, like a portable vagina, flailed my tumescent maleness while she gyrated to the rhythm of my probing finger which was reciprocating in her spongy core.

Heeding the warning in my testicles I clamped my cheeks to hold off a surprise ejaculation. I felt positive that she was on the verge of a world-class orgasm. But I sensed that, for some reason, she was holding it back. Having become much more flexible I added another finger to her love hole and redoubled my efforts to unlock her box of pleasures. Breaking the kiss, I allowed my lover to breathe more freely. Needing confirmation, I, with a ragged voice, urged, “Cum for me for me, baby.”

With demure but exciting sounds coming from inside her throat, she wriggled wildly and hugged me tight as she demanded, “I want you inside me, Toby. I want you NOW.”

Condoms weren’t an issue; she had never gotten pregnant. So, we both thought we were safe. Accepting the fact that I had sex with only one woman in the last forty years she stood on tiptoes while lustily holding the strawberry-shaped head of my cock to her threshold and gasped, “I want it INSIDE me, Toby.”

Leaning back, I flexed my knees. As she held my glans against her opening it accepted my bulk as I wedged her open. As I eased inside her warm, wet, lusciously supple vagina, the feeling was heavenly. It felt as if she was sucking me to her core. When my pubic hair matted against hers my erection bottomed out a mere eighth of an inch from her cervix.

Falling back upon the bed pulling gravity won as Patrice fell on top of me. With her hands on my shoulders and her legs straddling my body she drew up on my rigid pole and impaled herself, her bottom slapping softly on my thighs.

When I told her I was going to come she flailed wildly, the slaps on my thighs becoming louder as she bounced. As her hair tossed in all directions she reached Reaching for her clit with her left hand and started rubbing.

My sex was on fire, my glans even more volatile. Biting my lower lip, I bucked up. Each time she dropped and filled her pussy with my bulk her breasts rotated in interesting directions, sometimes bouncing, sometimes circling in one direction, now and then the opposite.

Reaching her orgasm in taut silence her lips formed a tight oval. I felt the gush of her essence flood around the bulk of my cock and found that her outbursts had simply been delayed. “For the love of GOD Toby” her words going both in and out of her mouth, “OOH, OOH, OOH.”

Unable to hold back I felt pressure being forced through my urethra and in three clutching spasms I spurted my warm seed deep inside her. “Oh Patrice,” I blurted, “This is INCONCEIVABLE.”

She bounced on me, my erection still stiff, sliding through the slippery combination of our essences. But my knob was in such a state of ecstasy that I couldn’t tell whether I was feeling pleasure or pain.

Like a spent marathon runner, she finally gasped for air, her bright red chest heaving. Her breasts were punctuated by nipples resembling plump cranberries. And she collapsed, her breasts, cushioning my chest.

Though my erection began to wane I couldn’t stop my testicles from clutching in dry spasms. My phallus, being tenderly clutched in Patrice’s soft yoni, felt like it basted in a pool of warm aloe. As my sex steeped safely in my lover’s soft, warm pocket, the issue of pain or pleasure was resolved in the afterglow of euphoric pleasure.

Before our breathing leveled Patrice had wrapped her legs around my waist and was holding me, prisoner. She alone would determine when and if she would release me from her loving bond.

Now completely flaccid my manhood was still cunt-bound. I could feel my slippery semen bubbling out of her vagina, oozing through my pubic hair, and marinating my balls.

“Oh Toby,” she purred, “You have made me feel so WONDERFUL.”

In return, I murmured, “You’ve done a pretty good job of making me feel the same way.”

With her legs still wrapping me, we turned on our sides, kissing and cuddling until she reluctantly told me, “My legs are starting to fall asleep sweetie.” Opening them I rolled off. Rising on all fours and kissing her.

It was the relaxation that made the difference. Or it was just that we had become more at ease in accepting our liaison. But both of our mouths had become incredibly soft—delicious in fact.

Our mouths opened together, and our tongues explored, coiling, and twirling sensuously around each other, our nostrils becoming intakes and exhausts, mine breathing in, hers breathing out. Our blissful kisses melted together like drawn butter. The gamboling of our tongues created new sensations that began to rise from our toes to our sexual girdles. We knew we needed a respite ... to gather our wits. I snuggled behind her, fitting my knees behind hers, and we spooned.

As I nuzzled the back of her neck, I snaked my right hand between her side and arm, my fingers tracing the soft expanse of her right breast. As my thumb and forefinger toyed with her nipple, the last thing I remember her saying was, “I have almost forgotten just how wonderful making love with someone who WANTS to please me so MUCH can be.”

Awakening on my back, I almost forgot where I was. I felt movement around my middle and was feeling a series of glorious sensations which gave me the impression they were centered in the arches of my feet. Then there was a tickling sensation on my thighs and scrotum. Looking down at my body I saw what caused the vibrations.

My erect phallus was plugged into Patrice’s mouth. Her head bobbed on its red and slickened hardness. Coming to my senses I gasped, “Oh God Patrice you’re MARVELOUS.”

Feeling the glorious warmth and wetness of her oral cavity, and the flicking sensations of her tongue in the groove under my crown, sent shocks of pleasure to the contents of my scrotum as well as my anus. As she slowly bobbed on me, she made snuffling, sighing sounds being muted in her gorged mouth.

After our initial session, I knew I didn’t have to worry about ejaculating too soon. That should settle the chance of cumming in her mouth. It was something I didn’t want to do if it might turn her off. But something I wanted to do. But I felt the need to reciprocate and said, “I want to eat you, Patrice.”

It was the once you’ve’ learned to ride a bicycle thing. Not stopping or hesitating, she merely pivoted my shaft in her mouth; knee walked her body around, threw her left leg over my waist, and lowered her glistening flower to my mouth. My head was on my pillow which elevated me comfortable enough to place my lips firmly on her labia and start licking.

I had only done this with three women in my life: my girlfriend in college, my wife, and Patrice. Never was the experience anything less than one of the most spectacular, most mysterious, most exciting things in my life. Imagine, I thought, my mouth is on Patrice’s Holy of Holies.

The smell and taste were enough to spring me into dreamland. The consistency of her yoni, its puffy lips that hid labia as thin as sliced ginger, still astounded me.

Having done it thousands of times during my marriage I was still captivated by the female sex, the look, the taste, the smell, and the mystery of it all. To have my mouth on Patrice’s was something inconceivable to me. What added an even greater measure of ecstatic pleasure, was the taste and smell of semen that I had so copiously deposited inside her no more than forty-five minutes ago.

My tongue pressed beyond the hair on Patrice’s outer lips, into her smooth and slippery groove, and slid through her labia. Bumping past the entrance to her love tunnel I heard the snuffling sighs of my woman’s pleasure, merged with my ecstatic moans. The icing on the cake was her large breasts dangling on my chest, caressing my torso, her nipples raking and tickling mine.

As her head bobbed on me so deliciously, I couldn’t help but rock and buck up, driving my tight and shiny head against her soft palate. I felt her hand cradling my testicles like she was carrying eggs from the henhouse. As my tongue traveled the extremes of her feminine valley I caressed the rosebud of her anus with my pinkie finger, tripping over the wrinkles of its soft surface.

I expected that she might object. But when she didn’t, I moved my pinkie back to her moist vagina, collecting lubricant on my fingertip, then moved again to anal her moue, gently sliding my fingertip inside. She whined, wiggled her bottom, and seemed to tighten in a small orgasm.

I took this acceptance as a signal for more. Centering my tongue on her clitoris I left enough room for my middle finger, which I eased inside her pliable, wet love tunnel. As my tongue fluttered on her peeking node, I hooked my finger and pressed against her G-spot. Then, as I pushed and massaged the spot, I felt a sudden surge of wetness boil around my finger.

As I withdrew my slippery finger, I again covered her luscious clam with my mouth, tasting the allness of her feminine flower. Probing her now more pliable anus I slid the finger inside, hooked it to the g-spot through her anal wall, and pressed. As my tongue glided through her smooth gash and around her clitoris, I pressed my fingertip even harder against her anal wall.

Needing more air and space for what she was experiencing, her mouth came off my cock. As her entire body writhed, I felt the resistance and then submission of her g-spot. And as my fingertip sunk in, my mouth experienced the surge of her orgasmic essence as she cried, “Oh yes, yes, Toby. Ohhh Yesss!”

After a few moments, when her clitoris lost its almost painful sensitivity, she wanted me inside her again and asked, “Will you do me from behind sweetie?”

I rolled off the bed and stood while she turned over and positioned her knees on the edge of the bed. She placed her hands in the middle of the mattress and crossing her arms she lowered her head onto them.

As she raised her bottom high in the air I placed my left hand in the middle of her butt, pressed on it, and spread her cheeks slightly. Then, while holding my erect penis, I wiggled it in her flooded groove, found her threshold, and popped my lavender-colored glans inside her accepting vaginal ring.

The long slide of my bulky, pink shaft penetrating and sinking inside her dripping pussy made us “ooh,” on cue as if we had been directed. My curly patch of pubic hair matted against her creamy bottom, and I said, “My God Patrice, this is WONDERFUL.”

“Just do it to me Toby,” came her simple reply. “I want it NOW.”

Holding both of her hips I thrust at first in long, slow strokes which she accompanied with matching “ooh” and “yes.”

Moving my hands to her ample breasts I gathered them, pressed them tightly to her chest, and moved them in large circles. Then, as my fucking cock continued thrusting, I found her nipples with my fingers and thumbs and rolled them lovingly.

Sometimes, when I thrust forward and slammed against her bottom, she would continue the motion, sliding off my cock, then gripping me in the vise of her clutching cunt. Then, as I thrust back in, she bucked back and “smacked” my abdomen with hers.

When I was on the verge and could hold back no further, I blurted, “Come for me Tricey.”

“Help me,” she cried.

Taking my right hand off her breast I slipped my thumb inside of her vagina, hooking the tip against her g-spot. With my middle finger, I pressed hard on her clitoris and began rubbing. With my engorged member sliding in and out, my thumb pressing and rubbing her g-spot, and my finger titillating her clitoris, it was all coming together. This time Patrice commanded, “Come inside me Toby, do it, DO it, NOW!”

In two more strokes, my testicles clutched and sent my aloe-like essence spurting the length of my stiffened prick. Once, twice, three times my sperm-laden semen splattered on the neck of my lover’s uterus.

The noise in the room was cacophony, two adults unable to control the glee of their orgasmic merriment, shouting, moaning, and cooing in pleasure. We had met so innocently, became fascinated with one another, and tried to stay away from such a meeting. But, in the end, here we were, like two children in the throes of more pleasure than we ever thought possible.

Though steeped in desire, anticipation, and guilt before our meeting, we went to a hotel and had done what a married man and a woman were not supposed to do. But fascinated with one another we threw caution to the wind.

In our first coupling, when we just came in the door, we did it to satisfy wild and lustful curiosity. When Patrice woke me up by sucking me, our need was activated by desire.

Our reservation at Antoine’s was for 8:30. Even though we had been talking online for the best part of a year and knew each other well in that limitation. But still, we were so very new to one another. Thus, showering separately made more sense to us. It maintained a sense of privacy that we still needed.