I woke up refreshed and suddenly realized I hadn't done my expected 'check-in' with my husband. A nightly ritual we try to stick to when apart, though I'm always the one at home and he's the one away, waiting for him to text or call. This is the first time with me away and him at home, for that 'important' work he had to stay home to take care of. I guess I could use that as my excuse for not contacting him. There was a text awaiting me when I turned on my phone after waking up.
**Didn't hear from u last night. Busy evening, or just tired?**
I wasn't sure how to answer. I wasn't about to admit I had been too distracted from my arousing elevator ride to remember to text him. And definitely too wiped out after pleasuring myself to bother with the task.
**Sorry, babe. Just kind of wiped out last night after all the travel and went right to sleep**
**no sweat darling. What's the plan for today?**
Avoid getting laid by an intriguing, single, handsome, and possibly well-endowed stranger I just met, I thought to myself.
**See my sister and the nephews. Then maybe a museum.**
**Sounds good, hope u enjoy the day. Did u meet anyone to go to the museum with?**
**yes, an art historian in fact**
**Wow. What a break. She'll be pretty knowledgeable**
**definitely**
No need to mention SHE is actually a HE of course, I'm not crazy after all. I decided to wear something marginally less provocative for the day, and comfortable for walking around town, some tight-fitting high-rise jeans with a sheer blouse over a lacy camisole underneath, no bra, and a pendant necklace to draw the attention where it belongs.
There was a text from John almost immediately. I had totally forgotten that we had exchanged phone numbers last night before our ill-advised elevator excursion. The exchange was supposedly to coordinate a visit to a museum sometime this week. I dreaded what his text might say.
**Good morning. First off, I just want to apologize for anything I may have done last night that may have caused you ANY discomfort or embarrassment. I blame the wine and your charming nature for any unwanted attention I directed your way**
Well, that was unexpected. He sounded genuinely sincere and apologetic. I definitely felt somewhat relieved at his comments. Perhaps I won't have to be in avoidance mode after all. We did enjoy each other’s company and share an interest in the art museums while here and I could definitely do a lot worse for company, that's for sure. I quickly tapped out a reply.
**Think nothing of it. I was probably feeling the wine a bit myself last night. And I enjoyed your company and our conversation. And you made me feel less anxious about being on my own this week. That's important for me. Thanks**
**Care to join me for breakfast at The Smith around the corner?**
Mmm. He doesn't waste any time, I thought. And I do love their Eggs Benedict. Obviously a regular stop for him over the years, as it has been for me and David. I wasn't sure if he was angling for more time with me after breakfast, so I made sure he knew I had other plans.
**Yes, I'd like that. I'll have to head out right after we eat. I need to pick up a gift for my grandson at the Lego store by Madison Park and then I'm off to see my sister and nephews.**
**Are u kidding me? You're a grandmother?**
Oops. Blurting out too much information again apparently. Nothing like being a grandmother to throw a bucket of ice water on someone's libido. In this case, it's a good thing I thought to myself. That should dampen any further prospect of physical intimacy in even the most crowded elevator, or anywhere else for that matter.
**It's not like I get a say when my son and daughter-in-law decide to have kids**
**Sorry. Just didn't picture u as a grandmother. Definitely the hottest grandmother I've ever met!**
**I'll take that as a compliment. See u downstairs in 30? **
He gave a thumbs-up to that. I hurriedly showered, did my hair and make-up and dressed. (Yes, normally it's a one hour task but I can do it in 30 if I push it). I couldn't tell if I was hurrying for him or myself so I could get to my sister's place sooner. Did it matter?
We met in the lobby. He did another double-take seeing me in today's attire. He didn't say anything, but I could tell the sheer blouse over the camisole caught his eye. That’s ok, even grandmas appreciate having their breasts admired, even if they're mostly covered up. But there was no hint of 'over familiarity' like last night, thankfully.
We walked the few minutes to The Smith and ordered breakfast. He held my chair for me, a perfect gentleman. We ended up ordering the same: their Eggs Benedict and a large orange juice. Odd coincidence: neither of us likes coffee, or much else with caffeine, except tea. The similarity of our taste in simple things was slightly unnerving and reassuring. Like two people who have known each other for a long time, not a couple that met less than 24 hours ago. That tingling feeling arose in a gentle, comfortable way.
When our knees bumped under the small table, neither of us felt a need to pull away. I felt comfort with this gentle, physical contact. My knees parted and allowed him to place one knee between mine and I gently left it there. Like I did a thousand times with my husband. And he likely did with his wife all those years ago. I didn't feel like my space was being intruded on by this mutual gesture. Simply two people not overthinking where we were or who we were for a few quiet moments. And this time I savored that warming sensation that had alarmed and unnerved me so much last night. I didn't imagine or care if he was aroused in some way, I just enjoyed my own minor pleasure without worrying about it.
John paid the for our breakfast as it had been his invitation, with a generous tip. He asked if he could go with me to the Lego store to see what I would pick out for our grandson. The eye of an artist wouldn't hurt in that department, I readily agreed. As we walked he mentioned that he and his colleagues were going to see the "Sargent and Paris" exhibit at the Met from about 3 pm, then drinks afterward at a nearby brasserie. I didn't dare admit it, but I was planning to see that very exhibit this week, no matter what, simply because Sargent is my favorite American Artist and I never miss a chance to view his work. I'd be going with or without him, so why not?
"I'd be delighted, where shall I meet you?" We agreed to meet on the steps outside at 3 and meet his colleagues inside. As we walked to the store he mentioned that he and his colleagues were members of the CAA, as if I knew what that was.
"College Art Association. The professional Association for Art History professionals around the country".
I didn’t want to say anything, but that sounded like a real snoozefest to me. A group of guys in tweed jackets with those elbow patches, bow ties, thick glasses and smoking pipes as they discussed obscure topics like brush strokes, paint thickness, shadow and light, etc.
"Sounds like an interesting group. I'd love to meet them," I lied. "What should I wear?"
"Oh, what you have on will be fine, I'm sure." Oh great, clueless, just like my husband. Just before we show up someplace and the women are all in dresses, and I'm in jeans. I'm not going to the Met in this attire, no matter what he says. Especially after he added that the group included women colleagues who I was certain would NOT be wearing jeans to the Met. I'm already reading him like a book in less than a day. Is that a bad sign or a good thing?
We went into the store and started looking at some of the sets on sale. John immediately found one depicting the nearby Flat Iron building, and easy enough for our grandson to build. He is a genius! After buying it we went outside, and he used my phone to take a picture of me holding the box with the Flat Iron in the background so I could send it to him. He'd get a kick out of that. I had to take a deep breath for a moment as I thought about what a charming and thoughtful man he actually is. Definitely not a well-practiced seducer of women of a certain age. Just a thoughtful man who has no idea how attractive he actually is to women of a certain age. I began to wonder if he's even been out on a single date since his wife passed away. I allowed myself an inaudible sigh of regret that I no longer had to fend off unwanted advances from my art historian.
I walked to my sister's place at Peter-Cooper Village, an easy walk from the store, and had a great time with her and our nephews. I got back to the hotel in plenty of time to change into my snug-fitting gray sweater minidress. I went to the bathroom, got out my special solo traveling supplies, took out my diaphragm, added the spermicide, put one foot up on the toilet, folded and inserted it and made sure it was properly seated over my cervix. I put the applicator with more spermicide in my clutch purse, finished dressing, and headed out the door. Don't ask me why. I was just being sensible, maybe overcautious; that’s all. I definitely wasn't trying to plan anything. But I knew I would feel more relaxed in John's presence if I knew I was protected.
Since the spermicide is only highly effective for a few hours, bringing the applicator and extra spermicide would give me the opportunity to quickly reapply a new dose easily before any encounter without 'interrupting the flow' of an intimate moment. My husband may get a laugh out of seeing me jab the applicator up my vagina, but I'm sure as hell not going to do that in front of someone I just met!
I took an Uber to the Met and John was there to greet me. He was surprised I had changed into the dress, but was obviously pleased with what he saw. When we went in I was glad I had changed. In the group of a dozen colleagues waiting, there were 4 women, all wearing nice dresses and I would have been vastly underdressed in my jeans and blouse. Also, my appearance at John's side caused a definite stir. Seeing him in the company of a woman was apparently out of character for him on these exhibition excursions. And the four women professors seemed to look upon me as an interloper. The group all appeared to be in their 40's and 50's, good looking and well-dressed. Not the stereotyped image I had conjured up hours earlier. Plus the men looked approvingly at my body in the snug minidress. Which did not go unnoticed by their possessive female colleagues. They looked good, but definitely not sexy. One of John's male friends insisted on taking took a picture of us together, so he could send if off to mutual acquaintances in order to prove that John had actually been seen in the company of a woman. John blushed visibly. Oh my God. This man really hasn't been getting out much in recent years if my presence warrants documentation. That tingling sensation was coming back with a vengeance.
John introduced me as a fellow art lover he had met last night and invited to join the group for the afternoon and evening. The men were very pleased. The women, less so. This could turn out a bit strained I thought. The women suggested we go straight to the Singer Sargent gallery, which was certainly my preference. As we made our way there, I remaked how much I admired his work, especially the "Madame X" portrait of the beautiful American socialite Virginie Gautreau. I mentioned I definitely enjoyed her backstory of scandalous extramarital affairs as well as her choice of gown for her portrait: black with the notorious fallen strap off one shoulder.
There seemed to be a momentary silence after my comments. As if a talking horse had just entered their midst. John looked at me with some fascination, as if seeing me for the first time again.
He placed a hand on my lower back and whispered in my ear, "You're more amazing than I thought."
The hand on my back and the unabashed compliment only served to ramp up my warmth and tingling sensations. I felt better about putting that diaphragm in place, even if the likelihood of needing it was still pretty low. The women seemed grudgingly less doubtful of my art knowledge. The men seemed very pleased that a potential Madame X had entered their midst.
We enjoyed a couple hours more strolling a few more galleries. John's occasional hand on my lower back never failed to give me that little charge. And more than once, his hand drifted down to my ass momentarily when no one was looking, which gave me a few more electric charges. We walked to the brasserie a couple blocks away to have some appetizers and wine. I was seated next to John, thigh to thigh. The wine and the warmth of our thighs next to each other was working on me. I wasn't so sure about him until his hand rested on my thigh under the table. It was very tentative, just below the hem of my dress, on my hose. I wasted no time placing my hand over his before he had a chance to retreat. I opened my legs slightly and guided his hand inside my thigh, where it belonged. We kept up our conversation with the rest of the group who were totally oblivious to our silent foreplay under the table. It reminded me of our elevator ride last night, the other people around us unaware of our growing, mutual arousal. I had to work on controlling my breathing, it was getting a bit ragged from John's attention. I just needed to avoid climaxing in front of everyone as John's hand did a bit of exploring further up under my dress.
Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from my David, of all people.
**Hi babe. Hate to bug u, but where did u put the leftover chicken curry? I didn't see it in the kitchen fridge or freezer or in the basement freezer. I'm really craving that tonight**
Are you fucking kidding me? No need to worry about an inopportune orgasm now, that's for sure. John's hand retreated from my warm sanctuary like a rocket. He saw it was a text from my husband.
"I'm sorry, I have to take this for a moment," I explained to the group as much as to John. I got up from the table, grabbed my clutch and headed to the ladies' room, while switching from text to call. He picked up immediately. "It's in the kitchen fridge, in the CLEAR Tupperware container with the label CHICKEN CURRY on it!" I practically shouted.
"Oh, thanks. "I found it," he answered sheepishly. I ended the call abruptly before he could apologize further for rudely interrupting our foreplay. In a moment I was in an empty stall, the spermicide applicator shoved up my pussy and my new dose of spermicide oozing into place. Great, now I'm good for a few more hours at least. A heroin addict mainlining their latest fix could not have been more relieved.
I got back to the group just as some were getting ready to head back to their hotels and John had already called an Uber for the two of us. Good timing. He made no mention of our interrupted foreplay, or any interest in resuming the escapade. The interruption had really thrown a bucket of cold water on John's enthusiasm. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.
We got into the backseat of the Uber for the drive back to the hotel and I was about to offer some lame comment about the exhibits when John leaned in without a word, cupped my breast with one hand, shoved the otherbup my dress and planted a passionate kiss on my lips that lasted as long as we both wanted. I put my arms around to pull him in closer and squeezed my thighs to clamp his hand in place. I'm sure the driver was getting an eyeful, I didn’t care.
We got to our hotel and went straight to the elevator. No other people waiting to enter, unlike last night. Once we were in, I punched the button for my floor. Neither of us bothered to hit the button for his floor, one above mine. Neither if us said a word. He grabbed me from behind like last night, but more firmly. I settled back against him and could unmistakably feel his fully erect cock against my lower back. He reached one hand up, cupping my breast, the other lifting up the front of my dress.
"You do realize there's a security camera watching us", I pointed at the blinking red eye in the upper corner of the elevator
"That's not a no", he responded as he kissed the back of my neck and inserted his hand down the waistband of my soaked panties, making contact with my throbbing clit. The sensation forced me to bend forward in a sudden, ecstatic burst of pleasure, my ass firmly against his stiff cock and me laughing in delight. I imagined how many times the lonely security guard gazing at the monitors late at night jerked off to the images of couples like us.
The elevator dinged for my floor and we quickly resumed a natural pose as the doors opened to reveal another couple getting ready to go down to the lobby. I don't know if my flushed appearance betrayed our status or not. We walked briskly to my room and I kicked off my shoes as soon as we entered. He pushed me back on the bed before I could say a word. As he shed his clothes, I quickly slid my panties off and managed the much trickier task of yanking my hosiery off just before he spread my legs apart with both hands and put his mouth firmly against my thoroughly ready pussy. No time to get my dress off, he was going to take me before I could be fully undressed. Nothing like being taken by a man who can't wait one more second.
And I knew instantly my clitoris was being stimulated by an expert. Not too hard, not too gentle, not too fast, not too slow. I always enjoyed oral sex with my husband, but this was another dimension altogether. I was heading for an embarrassingly rapid and intense orgasm and he knew it. As I reached down and grasped his head with both hands, he placed his own hands under my ass, lifting my lower body off the bed slightly as if to prevent any escape from his darting, flicking, swirling and lightly sucking tongue as my clit felt ready to explode. And it was one of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. He had the awareness to back off once my orgasm subsided. My clit feels so raw and sensitive after an orgasm like that, it's actually painful to be touched there. His wife must have been the greatest oral tutor on the planet!
I could only lie motionless, catching my breath, legs splayed apart, dress shoved up, sweating profusely. The digital clock by the bed told me we had been in the room for 5 minutes. My thighs and bedspread was soaked from my juices.
"Good God, John. Where on earth did learn that how to do that?" I managed to gasp out.
"Let's just say I had one of the best tutors on the planet for quite a few years". Could our brains be anymore in synch? I was transfixed by the sight of his very erect cock as he knelt on the bed between my legs. As long as my husband's cock, but way bigger in girth. It would be like inserting a zucchini squash in my vagina.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but in my mind I hadn't really been unfaithful to my husband, yet. I counted oral sex as only one step above kissing a boyfriend with 'heavy petting' as we used to refer to it. We hadn't actually engaged in full-on intercourse yet. And that was exactly the rationale David relied on when we were in college--we we weren't actually fucking, just 'fooling around' and avoiding 'real sex' and being safe from pregnancy or STD's. So, totally responsible and guilt free, right?
And that was my mindset as John rolled over onto his back and I grasped his cock, took him into my mouth and began to simultaneously stroke him slowly and suck his cock. His moans were like music to my ears and I loved how the foreskin of his uncircumcised cock could be pulled up to almost cover his cock and then pulled back like unsheathing a potent weapon, which it clearly was. In the dim light of my bedroom it glistened, every vein bulging and throbbing and the fingers of my hand gripping it, unable to fully meet around it. I could easily enclose my hand around my husband's fully erect cock!
John was nearing his climax, I stopped stroking and began sucking for all I was worth even though I could only take in half his bulging shaft, and as he suddenly went rigid, his hips lunged upward involuntarily and his cock rammed into the back of my throat. I could feel the full force of his ejaculation into my mouth--several long pulses of warm semen that shot into and down my throat, even out my nostrils as I gasped and choked for several moments to take it all in. I collapsed on top of him, still holding his rapidly shrinking cock, as we both caught our breath. A glance at the bedside clock revealed we had taken a whole 5 minutes more for that explosion. Crazy.
"So do you want me to stay, or go back to my room?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? You're staying right here with me for the night. That is if you want to."
"Definitely." He pulled me to him for another lingering kiss, his semen all over my lips and in my mouth, my juices all over his face. How wicked is that?
Just then my phone buzzed, an incoming call from David. Jesus, my nightly check in, I totally forgot. I climbed over John and grabbed the phone and answered, pulling my dress back down and turning on my side facing away from John to answer.
"Hi babe, I was just about to call you. I just got back to my room. Did you find the chicken curry ok?" I tried to be as calm and natural as I could with the warm body of my lover next to me as I wiped his cum off my face with the bedsheet.
"Oh yeah, thanks. It really hit the spot. Your cooking really does it for me, even as leftovers".
John moved closer to me, snuggling into the spoon position behind me, his revived cock fully erect and pressing against my ass, still covered by my dress, fortunately.
"So how was the museum trip today? I bet it went well if you had an expert with you for some enlightening conversation." John pulled up my dress, slowly, his cock resting against my naked ass, moist and hot.
"It was great. I actually got to meet a group of art historians here in town to see some exhibits at the Met. John reached around with one hand up under my dress and firmly grasped my breast, my rock-hard nipple protruding between his fingers.
"Wow, that sounds great. Sounds like you had an eye-opening experience today. John slowly inserted his cock into me from behind. I had to stifle a gasp when the full length of his shaft was finally in me.
"Are you ok, babe? You sound like you're not feeling well." John slowly pulled out almost the full length of his cock, tantalizing and teasing me to the edge. My pussy was in full flood. I could feel my wetness running out and down onto the bed.
"Oh, nothing, just had to stifle a sneeze, that’s all." John fully entered me again, harder and deeper. He definitely hit my G-spot this time, always a sure thing when I get fucked from behind! And my clit was making full contact with his thick cock with each penetration. With my sensitive nipple in his grasp, I was going to be in full sensory overload in no time!
"Well, make sure you get a good night's sleep. I wouldn't want you coming down with something when you're barely into your trip". John was starting to pick up the pace now. I crammed a fistful of the sheet between my teeth to keep from screaming.
"Mmm. Yeah. Mmm, good idea. Goodnight. Love you," I barely gasped out the final words and ended the call before David could offer a reply.
That was John's cue to unleash the full power of his cock. The bed creaked, the headboard banged against the wall, I released the sheet from my teeth and cried out, "Oh my God, John, oh my God!"
He was thrusting into me like a jackhammer, his huge testicles slapping audibly against my ass and each thrust was hitting my G-spot like an electric cattle prod! I imagined my husband in the room watching this spectacle which totally sent me over the edge with a wave of successive orgasms until John finally came with a sensation inside me like a firehose. One, two, three pulsating jets of his warm sticky cum filling me up until it overflowed out of me, down my ass and onto the bed. Another round of mutual gasping for air as we uncoupled.
What's left for me to explore for the rest of the week, I wondered. But I'm sure I was going to find out.
