He was a doctor, a Medical Oncologist. I was a Registered Nurse. We worked at the same Cancer Center at University Hospital in the large city we lived in. He was widowed, I was single. When he asked me out, I was surprised, to say the least. I had always found him incredibly handsome. He was a man that had been devoted to his wife, and when she died with breast cancer, he was devastated that he could do nothing to help her.
It was Friday, and I had worked with him, closely all week, having been assigned to his patient load. We shared many laughs that week, and when he asked me out for dinner that Friday evening, I said yes, without hesitation. I was surprised at my quick response. I normally didn't date men I worked with, but we had had such a fantastic week at work that it seemed a natural thing to do. We agreed to go home and change (I don't like going out in my scrubs) and he would pick me up at 7 PM.
I got off duty and went home. I showered and washed my hair, and was thankful that it was short, as it dries so quickly. I put on fresh makeup and put on the new summer dress I had purchase on a whim. I was just finished when the buzzer to my apartment sounded, and I let him up through the security system.
By the time he knocked on my door, my stomach was aflutter, and I was almost breathless when I opened the door to his knock.
"Wow!", was his simple greeting to me.
I smiled, "Scrubs leave a lot to be desired, don't they?"
He smiled back at me, and asked if I was ready to go. I grabbed my keys and handbag and we left, locking the door behind us.
He was a gentleman, and I have always appreciated that in a man. I like having doors opened for me, and my chair pulled out for me, and my coat held for me. Those small gentlemanly considerations go such a long way for me. I shouldn't have really been impressed by his manners, we were, after all, not teenagers, but in our early 50's.
He had chosen one of the city's finest dining rooms, and I was glad I had chosen to get dressed up. We walked in, his hand at the small of my back and I was glad to be out with him. I love a man who is comfortable enough to be able to touch. Not all men are, I think they are afraid that it will imply something that they are not ready to give.
We had a lovely meal, of prime rib, and a lovely white wine, with our meal, and dessert that we shared as we lingered over coffee, talking about every thing under the sun.
We discovered that we had a great deal in common. We loved the same kinds of music, as eclectic as it is, from John Denver to The Eagles, to Anne Murray, to a bit of opera. We both had seasons tickets to the city's symphony, and we also cheered for the football team that won the national championship title last fall.
When we left the dining room, he asked me if I would like to go for a walk. It was a lovely spring evening, and it seemed like a good idea. We decided we would walk along the river bank, a popular stroll for many who want to enjoy the evening. The grass was a rich, lush green, and the newly leafed trees were a beautiful contrast. He held my hand as we walked, and we watched the geese and ducks on the water, and the few stray geese that would waddle along the walking paths with us. The pelicans were back for the summer, and we watched them bob in the water by the weir.
We talked as we walked, about many things, about life, and death, and losing a loved one, and how to cope with that, and learning to move on. He mentioned that his adult children had "been after" him to start dating again. I commiserated with him about how hard it was to get back into that scene, when a good relationship ends, and even more so when your partner has died. I hadn't lost a spouse, but had recently ended a relationship that seemed to be going no where fast.
So, here we were, now sitting on a park bench, with his arm about me, and my head resting on his shoulder, my hand on his chest so that I could feel the pounding of this heart. The beats matched mine in perfect rhythm, as I could hear my own pounding pulse in my ears. I was flushed, as our conversation took a more personal turn. He asked me if I was seeing any one special, and I told him no, I wasn't and had ended a three year long distance relationship. I confessed he was my first date since that had happened. He laughed nervously, as he confessed, I was his first date since his wife died.
He cupped my chin in his hand and tilted my face to his, and kissed me tenderly on the lips, his tongue brushing my lower lip to gently pry my lips apart, to dart inside my mouth. I let him kiss me thoroughly, and was breathless when he finished, and lifted his head to look at me in the eyes. I felt a passion I hadn't felt in years, and I saw that reflected in his eyes, as he gazed down at me. He smiled at me, and leaned in and kissed me again, just as thoroughly, his tongue daring mine to dance with his.
When the kiss broke apart, we were both breathless, and sat there, foreheads touching, as we realized that the attraction was growing by leaps and bounds. We had known each other for years, but never noticed that each other until recently.
"Do you feel the attraction too?", he asked me when he found his voice.
"Yes.", was my whispered reply.
It was getting chilly out, the sun having set, so we decided to go back to my apartment for some decaf coffee and a nightcap. It was a nice drive, back to my place, and he held my hand as he drove.
We got to my apartment, and he took the keys out of my hand, and unlocked the door to my home. I entered, and he followed me, and as the door closed, he took me in his arms, and once again kissed me. My arms wound their way around his neck, for my knees were weak from his kisses.
"I should apologize for that," he said to me, when he finished kissing me, "but I'm not going to!"
"Good, I don't want your apology," I said with a smile, "just kiss me again."
I made the decaf coffee, and brought out the only liqueur I keep on hand, an Irish creme liqueur, that is great with coffee. We sat on the sofa, and drank our coffee, sipped our liqueur and necked like a couple of horny teenagers, instead of the mature couple we were.
I watched him as he undid the top buttons of my dress, his gaze found by breasts clad in a white lacy bra. I gasped as he cupped my breast, and over the lace fabric, ran his thumb over the nipple, causing a rush of heated emotion and triggering a dampened reaction in my lace panties. A moan escapes my lips, and I am surprised to hear such a sound come from me.
He proceeds to undo another button, and kisses my breast, just above the lacy cup of my bra. My eyes drift closed, as he nuzzles my cleavage, which thanks to a good under wire bra, isn't too bad for a 50 year old woman with smallish breasts.
He groans, and shivers as he whispers, "God you smell terrific", and I think to myself I must write Es tee Lauder to thank them for making my favorite perfume.
He lifts his head, and once again smiles at me, and I watch his fingers as they undo yet another button on my dress, and then another. Soon he has opened my dress to my waist and has encountered my half slip, and my white lace panties.
My hands go to his tie, and start to undo the knot. One that is undone, I pull the tie out from the collar of his white dress shirt. My fingers nervously toy with the buttons at the collar of his shirt. I am having trouble getting them open. One pops off, and lands on the coffee table, pinging the crystal bowl sitting in the center. "Damn, sorry 'bout that", I stammer, "I'll sew that back on if you like."
"That would be great, but you aren't going to do it now are you?", and we chuckle together, at the fact that we are both getting wound up.
"No, perhaps not right now, how does after breakfast suit you?", I ask coyly.
"Well, that kind of depends...on what is for breakfast?"
The rest of our clothing was dispensed with in a bit of a flurry of activity. I led him into my bedroom, and was thankful that the sheets were clean and there wasn't a cat or town on the bed. I pull back the down duvet, and got in and scooted over to the other side of the bed, he crawled in beside me, and took me in his arms.
"Are you alright with this, uh, unexpected turn of events?", he asks me.
"If I wasn't alright with it, George, you would have been out the door by now, or likely never made it in, in the first place. I do want you to know, I don't do this on the first date. I don't know what has come over me!"
We cuddle and touch and talk, learning what pleases the other. It is not long, until I am feeling the need for some kind of a release, the sexual tension has been building all evening. I look at him, and see the smoky look of desire cloud his handsome face, and I take his face in my hands, and bring it toward mine. "Make love to me George, please." and he leans in the rest of the way to kiss me, before he settles himself between my legs, that have spread, in silent invitation, open to him alone.
He parts the outer fleshy lips to find the petals within, swollen with desire, the hub of my excitement, also swollen and peeking out of its protective hood. He touches me there, and my back arches, so hungry for his hand. I feel one finger, gently probe my canal, and make a gentle thrusting movement in and out, soon to be two fingers, as he prepares me for his entrance. Three fingers, and my deep, inner muscles clamp down on his hand.
"Oh, God, George, I need you in me NOW!" my plea is urgent.
He takes his cock, a nice size, about eight inches now, fully erect, and positions it at the entry to my canal. A gentle, steady, forward motion, and he glides into me. I am warm, wet and wanting. He stills when he is in to the hilt, and watches me for a reaction. "Mmm," I murmur, as he begins to gently thrust out and in, out and in, repeatedly.
He sets the pace, a nice slow, gentle rhythm, that has been known to lovers since the beginning of time. I love long, slow, sweet lovemaking, and I marvel that he seemed to instinctively know that. He glides in and out of me, and slowly picks up the pace, and we both begin to focus on the sensations that are beginning to overtake us.
I can feel our pubic mounds come together, and in doing so, my nubbin, that is now swollen with desire, is stimulated, with just the right touch, just the right angle, just the right speed. I can feel my body's mounting excitement, and a warm rush of fluid washes over his member, and my vaginal muscles are spasming wildly. I let myself go with the rush of emotion that is washing over me.
"OH GOD, GEORGE, HURRY!", I call out, hoping he will come soon as well.
Hearing me call his name, must have done it for him, for he too yells, "OH YEAH, I'M CUMMING!", and he shoots forth white hot lava, deep into my silky folds, again and again. He collapses on top of me, and lies there.
I savor his weight, and we are both gasping for air, and our hearts are pounding in perfect time with one another. He goes to roll off of me, and I hold him close to me, "No, not yet," and we lay like that for a while, kissing butterfly kisses over each other's face and neck and where ever our mouths can reach.
Finally, his now limp member slides out of me, and we curl up like two spoons in a drawer. He whispers a good night, as his left arm drapes lazily across my body, and we drift off to a deep, restful sleep, content in the beginnings of a new found relationship.
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