Ghosts and Shadows
Chapter 4: Moving on

Copyright© 2012 by Daniel Q Steele

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 4: Moving on - Hugh Davidson had the perfect marriage and the perfect wife for 36 years. But he learned the hard way that nothing perfect lasts. He wasn't a dramatic man, no grand gestures for him. A hard-headed Jacksonville banker, he accepted reality and all he really wanted was to die and for the pain to go away. But when you have loving children and loyal friends, and your boss and friend is worth a cool $50 million, sometimes they won't let you take the easy way out. You just have to keep going.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Tear Jerker   Cheating   Workplace  

At 8 p.m. I stepped into Pelicans, a downtown bar that I'd been in a couple of times, squiring around business clients of the bank who wanted to check out Jacksonville's nightlife, such as it was. I tended to like the Beaches bars or a down home place called O'Brien's on Jacksonville's Westside, but Pelicans had a cachet and had been featured in national and regional publications as the 'in place' for the young and hip, or hep, or whatever the hell they were called nowadays.

Coffee stood beside me as we stepped in and guided me to one of the tables for four that were scattered around the floor away from the long bar that ran the length of the establishment along one wall. She saw friends and waved at them.

A minute later we were standing at a table where four attractive young women held court for six guys who were holding and buying drinks.

"Who's your grandfather, Coffee," one of the young guys said with a grin.

The tall redhead sitting immediately next to him jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "Don't be an asshole, Greg. Don't you get enough of that at the law office?"

"No insult taken," I told them, reaching out to shake Greg's hand. "I know I'm a little out of the age range of this crowd, but I still manage to get around pretty good without my walker."

He just grinned and shook his head, taking my hand briefly and then dropping it.

"My bad man. Sorry, just jealous. Any guy walks in with Coffee, I hate him on principle."

A blonde came up behind me and linked her arm inside mine.

"Why do you always grab all the good ones, Coffee? You are such a greedy bitch."

"You're just jealous you can't have them all, Brittany. Actually, you've had most of them, haven't you?"

The blonde just stuck her tongue out at Coffee, then said, "You're married, aren't you? All the good ones are."

Coffee jumped in, "No, Hugh is free. He's just been out of circulation for a while and I decided to give him a taste of the nightlife here in Jax."

"So what do you do, Hugh?" Brittany said, moving her large breasts, that were obviously unconstrained by a bra, against my arm. "You look like a lawyer or a banker."

"He's one of the top men at my bank," Coffee said.

"Oh, what's your title, Hugh?"

"Trying to complete your collection, Brittany?" Coffee snickered.

"You are never going to forget about Rodney, are you?"

"Who? Anyway, you can call Hugh 'The Trouble Shooter'. He's the guy they give problems to."

"That sounds so fascinating. Do you think you might want to buy me a drink and tell me about it?"

Coffee grinned at me and then at Brittany. "I'll let you have him, if you promise to be gentle. That okay with you, Hugh?"

I looked at the tall blonde dressed in a silver outfit that revealed almost as much as it hid, the glossy lips and heavy breasts whose nipples poked out against the fabric.

"That depends – Brittany! Do you bite?"

She grinned at me, "If I really like you."

I looked back at Coffee, "I'll take my chances. Thanks, Coffee."

"Thank me Monday if you survive."

I have to admit, it was touch and go there for a while. An hour after we left Pelicans we wound up in her Beachfront condo. I was looking out of the plate glass window at the surf rolling up on Atlantic Beach when I saw her in the glass padding up behind me. She had shed her clothes, her heavy breasts bouncing with each step, and she balanced two snifters filled with a dark liquid.

"I feel kind of overdressed," I said without turning to her.

"That's easy to take care of," she said, setting the snifters down on a nearby coffee table. She turned me and dropped to her knees, unbuckling my belt and pulling my trousers down, followed almost instantly by the Hanes briefs. She fastened her mouth to my rapidly rising dick and gave me a minute but very thorough tongue bath of my genitals.

"That's nice," I said, for lack of anything else to say. It had been a long, long time. What DO you say to a beautiful young woman you've just met who has your dick in her mouth.

"Oh, you don't know," she said, letting me go and turning to pick up one of the snifters. She took a sip, swirled it in her mouth, and sucked me in. Mary might have done something like that – actually she had and it hadn't been decades ago but, as some wit once said, every blow job is the same and every blowjob is different, and this one was different because of the face and mouth I was sticking it in.

I closed my eyes and opened them yelping a moment later to find she had placed my very rigid extension into one of the snifters that should have been a block of ice from the way it felt. Before I could scream she had sucked it in again. The competing sensations of painful cold and warm suction threatened to blow the top of my (big) head off.

I was squirting into her mouth as I leaned back toward one of her couches and she let me go down, but never lost her lip-lock. She took everything I had and then crouched over me with the expression a mountain lion must have when it gazes down at a ripe hare it's cornered.

"That was nice," she said, letting a little of my byproduct dribble down onto her fingers from the corner of her mouth. "It's always good to get the first one over quick, so we can take our time with the second, third - and fourth. I've got a kitchen stuffed with food we can cook, or snacks, or frozen meals. We never have to get out of the bedroom at all until Monday morning."

I wanted to tell her that, from previous experience, that might be my LAST time until sometime late Saturday, but the look in her eyes was a little frightening. I wondered if Coffee had been really joking.

Actually, I wasn't afraid of getting eaten alive. What scared me a little was the thought that she was used to virile, horny 27 year olds, not a 57 year old - well preserved, but still 57 year old - grandfather. I'd never been embarrassed because I'd never had to perform for a stranger, not in this lifetime. Still, I'd do the best I could, for God and Country, that kind of thing.

I did survive to stagger out of her front door to a waiting limo Monday morning, but I thought I might have seriously damaged my sex organ. It hid against my leg as I escaped. She gave me a last kiss, but I seriously thought she was just being kind. I got the impression that, while she liked me and probably would have given me a score of three out of five, she wasn't really impressed. Like I said - 57 years old.

I was in my office, leaning back in my chair with my eyes closed and trying not to nod off – she had really given me very little time for sleeping – when I heard Coffee say, "Sleeping the sleep of the innocent?"

I opened my eyes and looked into her beautiful face. She was grinning.

"I don't know whether to thank you, or consider some sort of lawsuit if my penis never returns to working order."

She just smiled and said, "Brittany said that she was very pleasantly surprised. She's never slept with anyone your age. She said you convinced her to widen her parameters of the age of men she'll consider going to bed with."

"Why do I feel like such a trailblazer?"

She came over to my desk, draped her shapely ass on the side of the desk and sat there bouncing one nylon-clad leg upon the other.

"I know you enjoyed the sex, Hugh. Did you have a good weekend otherwise?"

I thought about it. She obviously knew her friend, if Brittany was a friend.

"Honestly, there were a couple of times she put porno films on her DVD player, and not because we needed the stimulus. You can't fuck 24 hours straight. When I wasn't inside her, we really got bored. There really wasn't - we didn't - there didn't seem to be much to talk about."

I was being charitable. The waits between the times when I recharged, if I wasn't eating her out or using vibrators front and back, were deadly. I'd forgotten how easy it was to talk with Mary, and if we didn't feel like talking, we could sit outside and watch the squirrels or the birds in a companionable silence.

 
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