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I was attracted to her from the moment I saw her. She was an erotic fantasy that materialized, miraculously, from within the perspiration scented aisles of Wal-Mart. Her light brown hair, rich with luxurious wavy tresses, framed a porcelain, angelic face and trickled down to the tops of her breasts. Her brown eyes sparkled like exotic gems. The smile she flashed from her pouty red lips when she looked up and noticed me noticing her put a flutter in my heart and a leaping pulse in my private regions. I wondered if I had blushed, my cheeks were so hot. How silly of me, a man of nearly forty, blushing like a schoolboy at a pretty face under the flickering fluorescent lights of Wal-Mart. Right here in front of the laundry detergent and the Mop-N-Glow.
I smiled back at her, trying my damnedest not to look like a wolf. She was so young — mid to late twenties at most. I was almost old enough to be her father, I thought. Yet here I was, smitten, maneuvering behind my shopping cart to hide the bulge in my pants and answering her smile with a big, dopey grin of my own. My heart fluttered a second time when I saw her smile deepen and her eyes seemed to rove from top to bottom of my six-foot two-inch frame.
I had to talk to this woman. I had to hear her voice. Would there be a tremble of attraction in it? Say anything, Ben, you idiot, anything except the god damned weather.
“I see you use Tide Ultra-Soft,” I said, lamely, the best thing my brilliant mind could come up with. “I’m an All-Temperature Cheer man myself.”
There followed a pause so pregnant, I thought it would give birth to a wriggling baby crying on the unwaxed, industrial tiled floor.
Then, from a great yawn of silence, I heard her voice. It was soft and melodious, like the coo of a dove. “I have to do a load tonight,” she said, and then she reached into her cart and held up her box of Tide as if she felt the need to prove it.
My steel blue eyes gazed into hers and in my mind I said, “I’ve got a big load for you, baby.” Thank god my mouth, my big stupid mouth said something else.
“I do my laundry at Bryan’s Laundromat over on Foothill Blvd.”
“That’s where I do mine!” she lied, doing her part to keep the conversation going. Truth was, she had a washer and a dryer in an alcove just off the kitchen in her apartment.
Then I got bold. I knew this woman in her expensive designer dress was way out of my league, that she had to have a boyfriend. Or ten. But I decided to go for broke anyway.
It was my turn to fib now. “Tonight’s my laundry night,” I said. “Would you, um, care to join me in a wash at Bryan’s, say around seven o’clock?” Oh. My. God! That had to be the lamest date offer, ever. But I was desperate. I hadn’t been with a woman in over three years, not since my wife had died. Dating was a lifetime ago — an ancient, forgotten memory. I broke out in flop sweat, waiting for her reply.
“That sounds like it might be kinda fun,” she said. “We could share a dryer and watch our unmentionables tumble and toss together.” She smiled at me again, showing a brilliant row of dazzling white teeth.
My cock pulsed. This vision of heaven, this sexy, beautiful woman was actually coming on to me!
“Great. I’ll meet you there at seven. I’ll bring wine.” Oh, good thinking, Romeo. There’s nothing quite so romantic as swilling booze in a laundromat. Are you going to pass the bottle to her in a brown paper bag, too? “I’ll bring glasses,” I said as an afterthought.
“Oooh, glasses. Nice touch,” she giggled. “Can you make it Merlot?”
“Merlot it is.”
“Then it’s a date. I’ll meet you there at seven. By the way, my name is Kim.”
“My name is Ben. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kim.”
It’s a date. Her words echoed in my mind. A god damned, actual date! I almost did a little dance as I wheeled my cart away, totally forgetting what I came here to buy, and caring even less.
* * * * *
I glanced at my watch for the twentieth time. It was 7:20, and there was no sign of Kim yet. The chilled bottle of Merlot was beaded with droplets and a prominent ring was forming on the table beneath the bottle. As I looked at it I had the sinking feeling that I’d been stood up. “I’ll give her ten more minutes,” I thought, “and then I’ll just pack up and go home.” The laundry was clean anyway; I had pulled all of it from dresser drawers and stuffed it into a laundry basket. I had just done my weekly laundry the night before.
At 7:21 she arrived. Gone was the designer dress that hugged her generous curves. Now she was wearing a flimsy pink top with spaghetti string shoulder straps that showed off her silky shoulders and left no doubt she wasn’t wearing a bra. A pair of white cotton shorts hugged her bottom like cling wrap on a ripe peach and highlighted her long, sexy legs. Her toes, nails polished bright red, peeked from the tips of Italian leather sandals. She spotted me pushing clothes into a top-loader canlı bahis şirketleri machine and hurried across the room to join me, a basket of laundry bouncing in her hands.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, a little out of breath. “My cat got out and I had to hunt all over the block to find her. I would have called, but you never gave me a number.” What she failed to tell me was that she had actually spent the last twenty minutes on the internet, frantically looking for directions to Bryan’s Laundromat.
“Well, let’s fix that right now,” I said with a friendly smile. And in the next minute we were both busy punching each others phone number into our cell phones.
I watched with amusement as she plucked an inordinate proportion of bras and panties from her basket of wonders and dropped them, one by one, into the washing machine next to mine. I wondered, briefly, whether this was all an elaborate little tease just for me. Maybe all those bras and panties were already as clean as the clothes I brought to wash. I had a sudden, half-hearted urge to snatch the pair of panties from her hands and sniff them deeply to get to the bottom of it.
“No, Ben, you idiot. Dont you dare!” my inner voice told me. I let my inner voice have this round, but I decided right then and there that as the evening drew on my inner voice was going to wind up with a sock shoved in his mouth.
Both machines were humming now, sudsing and churning two sets of perfectly clean clothes.
“Care for a glass of Merlot?” I offered, waving an arm to the bottle and two glasses set out on the folding table nearby.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Kim said. Her slender fingers curled around the stem of a glass, and in that instant I saw those same delicate fingers curling around my fully erect shaft, feeling me pulse with the power of a steaming locomotive.
“Are you okay?” she giggled, “you’ve got a funny sort of lost look on your face.”
“Oh, I’m fine. I was just thinking about my load.”
She giggled again, sensing hidden meaning from my unintended double entendre. But all I heard was the lilt of her laughter. It was music to ears that had gone without music for far too long.
I filled her glass and then I filled mine. We sipped and talked and smiled at each other. Over the course of the evening I discovered that she was an administrative assistant at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, a well paying job that easily kept her in so many panties and bras. I told her about my job at Bechtel Construction and how working with my back kept me in pretty good shape “… for a man of my age,” I almost added but thought better of it.
“Oooh! Let me feel your muscle,” she squealed, and before I knew it she had both hands around my biceps and was squeezing me playfully. I tensed my arm for her and she swooned. “Nice,” she said and let her hands linger on my arm much longer than was necessary. I didn’t mind a tiny bit.
The bottle was half empty when she said, “You know, I’ve always been attracted to older men.”
“Is that so?” I tried to say it matter-of-factly, but my raised eyebrows and my widened eyes betrayed me.
“Oh yes,” she went on. “I like a man who is more experienced, more mature, someone who can talk about something other than my boobs.”
“I like your boobs,” I admitted unabashedly.
“Yes, I know. Don’t think I didn’t catch you peeking a time or two, mister. Men will be men. But younger men — that’s all they can think to talk about! That, and how much they want to get me in the sack.” She sighed. Then she reached a hand up to run her fingers through the gray at my temples. “But you,” she continued, “are not like the boys that I work with. You tell me about your job, about your hobbies, and about the crazy little things in life that bring you joy. You tell me jokes — good jokes that make me laugh, not those endless, inane dick jokes — and you take the same interest in me that I take in you. And I find that sexy as hell.” She cuddled up next to me on the bench and put her arm around my shoulders. “Your turn,” she said, looking expectantly into my eyes.
The warmth of her body penetrated into me. I could smell her perfume. The fragrant aroma of jasmine, mixt with her own body chemistry made me light-headed with awakening arousal. My dick was making a very obvious tent in my pants. Words escaped me. The room swirled and blurred around me until the only thing I could see was Kim and her sensuous red lips. I leaned into her and kissed her.
And she kissed me back. It started out slow. My lips brushed softly against hers, and then before long the tip of my tongue reached out to explore the contours of her lips. She moaned softly into my mouth, and then her tongue came out to dance with mine. I wrapped both arms around her and drew her body tight against mine. Her breasts were soft and her nipples were two hardened points in the middle of that softness pressing into my chest. I kissed her deeply, passionately, making canlı kaçak iddaa up for the long years when I knew no other woman, when I knew no other kiss. I plunged my tongue deep into her mouth and ran it in circles around her tongue. I sucked her lips. Time lost all meaning as we panted and kissed and did all we could do to stop from tearing each others clothes off and humping like two wild animals on the laundromat floor.
I opened my eyes after a sweet eternity. Through a haze of lust I noticed a dozen pairs of eyes — everyone in the room — intently staring at us.
“Okay everyone,” I yelled to the room. “Show’s over.” I released my embrace. Kim turned a bright red, and I placed my hands in my lap, doing my best to hide my erection from the gawking multitude.
The bottle was empty. The laundry had long since tumbled dry. The only thing left to do was pick up our clothes and say our sweet goodbyes.
“I’m afraid that wine went straight to my head,” Kim confessed to me. “I don’t think I can drive home just now.”
I looked at my watch. It was two minutes till nine. The place was going to close any minute. With barely a warning, they’d be snapping off the lights and shooing everybody out of the joint.
“Well, we can’t stay here. Do you want to go for a walk or something?”
“I don’t think so. I’m awfully tipsy. Would it be too much to ask if you could please drive me home. It’s not far.” She batted her eyes at me. I smiled at her. I had as much to drink as she had, I thought, and I wasn’t the least bit tipsy.
“Sure,” I said, playing along with her game. “But what about your car?”
“Oh, could you stay with me for just a while? Maybe in an hour or so I’ll be all right and then you can drive me back to my car and I can drive myself back home. Pleeeease?”
Her game was getting more interesting by the minute. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I could possibly do at a sexy young woman’s apartment in private — a woman with whom I spent the last god-knows-how-long tongue wrestling in public — for a whole hour. Or longer.
I tried my best to suppress a grin that was begging to break out on my face when I was saved by the bell. The lights shut off. “Everybody out!” a husky voice shouted in near darkness, “Closing time.”
I grabbed Kim by the hand. “Come on,” I said, “let’s drive you home.”
* * * * *
She leaned heavily against me as I fumbled with her keys to the front door. “Thanks you for driving me home,” she said, slurring her speech.
I got the door opened and led her over to the sofa. She plopped herself down on it like so much dead weight. “My god,” I thought, looking at her, “only half a bottle of Merlot. She really is a lightweight.”
With fading hopes for the rest of the evening, I went back outside — careful not to let the cat out — to retrieve her basket of laundry from my truck. When I returned she was slumped over to one side of the sofa, fast asleep.
I set the basket down on the coffee table and took a long look at her. She was so young and beautiful, not a line or wrinkle on her face. Her firm, well rounded breasts rose and fell rhythmically with her quiet, steady breathing. I wanted to reach out and cup them in my hands, to knead them with my fingers like soft dough, to feel her nipples harden with excitement beneath my gentle touch. There were a thousand things I wanted to do with this woman, each of them deliciously more wicked than the heated kissing we had done no less than an hour ago. But she was out cold. I sighed heavily. There was nothing I could do now but tuck in my tail and go home.
I picked her up off the sofa and carried her gently to her bedroom. She was surprisingly light. I laid her down on the bed and kissed her forehead. She never stirred. After a long, loving gaze I crept quietly out of her room and wondered where her cat could be. I hadn’t seen a trace of it since I got here.
Curiosity got the better of me. I took the liberty to go have a look in her kitchen. When I got there I had a good look around. Hmm. No cat. No food bowl, no litter box. That’s interesting, I thought. I rounded a corner and came into a neat little room that was equipped with a washer and a dryer. That’s very interesting! I grinned, thinking about the pretenses Kim had put on to go out on our “date.”
I strode back into the living room and over to the basket of laundry resting on the table. I reached in, snatched a pair of her panties, and greedily stuffed them in the pocket of my blazer. And then I left.
* * * * *
I was home now and I was so damned horny. I couldn’t get Kim out of my mind. Nor could I stop thinking about that kiss, about the fun we might have had back at her apartment if only she had not gotten so darned drunk and passed out.
It was some time after midnight that I took off my clothes and went to bed. I still couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the way her cute little nose wrinkled up when she smiled, canlı kaçak bahis about the way her chocolate brown eyes sparkled when she looked at me, about the way her pouty red lips stretched when she wrapped them around my throbbing, hot cock. Okay, that last bit never actually happened, but it was sure exciting to fantasize about as my hand reached down to feel the stiff hardness growing between my legs.
I got out of bed suddenly, went to the chair I had draped my blazer over, and plucked her panties from the pocket. I climbed quickly back into bed, wearing the panties on my face. The crotch was positioned directly over my nose. I inhaled deeply and, even though they were clean, I smelled the rich, exotic aroma of her womanly scent. “Ahhhh!” I cried out. My cock stiffened. I stroked myself as I drew the crotch of her panties into my mouth. My god, I can taste her! My head grew light. My hand stroked faster. I stretched out my legs and let my other hand roam over my chest. My hips began to thrust rhythmically, unthinkingly, upward into the cool night air as I relentlessly stroked my dick. Suddenly, it was her hand, not mine, on my chest. It was her fingers finding my hardened nipple and giving it a playful pinch. I moaned out in response. I have such sensitive nipples. I love to have them teased and played with!
Before long, it was her hand that was stroking my cock. Her soft fingers curled around the girth of me, rising up and down the length of my shaft. She felt me pulse within her grip. She ran her fingertips along the veins and ridges of my manhood. She squeezed my tip and gave it a wicked little twist with her fingers. I moaned out in pleasure. Instinctively, she knew every button to press to drive me wild with pleasure and make my whole body sing. Electricity zinged throughout my entire body. I could feel it all the way down to my toes. “Oh god, Kim, yes!” I panted as she stroked me. “That’s it, yessss!”
Her nails dug into the tight patch of skin between the base of my balls and my anus and I nearly lost it. I bucked wildly, my hips rising up off the bed. I felt the tingling of pre-cum ooze its way out of my tip. Kim’s eyes went wide when she saw it glistening like a pearl on the head of my cock. She bent her head down and greedily licked it from my tip. Now she was moaning, savoring my sweetness. “I want more!” she said lustily. “Mmmmm! You taste so good, Ben. I’ve got to have more! ”
She took my cock in her mouth and swallowed me whole. Then she began bobbing her head furiously up and down on my shaft, sucking me. Her hair bounced and tickled my balls as she moved her head. Her hand gripped and stroked my shaft as she sucked me. Faster. Furiously. Her tongue rolled in circles around the head of my cock, she dug the flicking tip of it into my pee-hole, sending waves of pleasure crashing throughout my entire body. My leg muscles tensed. My ball sac drew tight as a drum. She tugged and squeezed it, twisting, digging those luscious nails into it. I cried out into the night. Hot jets of cum erupted from my cock, spurting and spattering on her face and on her tits as her unstopping, stroking fist milked me for all I was worth. She stretched out her tongue to catch my hot, fresh dew. I shot ropes of cum onto her tongue, into her mouth, and on her cheeks. She squealed with delight and swallowed my load greedily. Then she stuck out her tongue for more. And I just kept on cumming. “Oh Kim!” I cried out breathlessly, thrashing in the throes of an orgasm that just wouldn’t quit. “Oh god, Kim!”
I woke up the next morning and her panties were still on my face. There was a whitish, crusty dried glaze on my belly and on my thighs. The bedsheets were coated with it. I felt drained, but in a good way — in a way so good I could sing. Then, to my surpise, I did!
* * * * *
After I showered and shaved and changed the bedsheets I got on the phone. All I wanted to do was call her number and hear her voice. But I didn’t do that. I didn’t want to seem desperate. Instead, I made a quick search of the internet, found the number I was looking for and dialed the number. I wondered idly whether there would be anyone there to answer the phone on a Sunday. A moment later a woman’s voice came on the line.
“This is the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. How may I direct your call?”
Well, well. She hadn’t lied about her job. That was promising.
“I’d like the office of Kim Davis, please.” I was thankful I had thought to ask her last name when we exchanged phone numbers last night.
“Just a moment. I’ll connect you…”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “I just want to know the building and office number. I want to surprise her and send her flowers.”
There was a pause. It was against security protocol to give out office addresses or telephone numbers. But Jenna Robinson was a die hard romantic, and I had just said the magic words. The thought of someone sending flowers melted her mechanical, corporate heart.
“Building 132, office number 28,” she almost whispered it into the phone. “And you didn’t get that from me!”
“Thank you,” I said and quickly hung up the phone. I entered the building and office numbers into Kim Davis’s contact record in my phone. Then I made another call.
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