Old Guy Gets Lucky with Young ChickbySuperHeroRalph©
This is a Summer Lovin' contest story. Too many readers don't vote. I need your vote. Please vote.
Middle-aged man finally wins the heart of a beautiful woman half his age.
Better than 50 yard line seats at a football game, almost as good as watching two women stripping one another naked in a catfight, sitting front row center across from the net where all the mad action was, I watched eight bikini clad women playing volleyball on the beach. They were all oh, so young that they made me feel oh, so old. They were all oh, so hot that they made me feel oh, so horny. Afraid to miss something with the action so fast and so furious, sitting far enough back, so as to get all their asses, tits, and pussies in my line of sight without getting hit with the ball, I didn't know where to look.
Because they were all wearing brightly colored barely there bikinis, even more exciting than watching cheerleaders bending, stretching, and jumping in their skimpy uniforms, I was mesmerized watching young, sexy women running, jumping, screaming, and sweating. I stared hoping that some part of their bikini would fall off or some part of their body would fall out. There was one twenty-something-year-old, pretty blonde who looked over at me and smiled every time I cheered, clapped, or commented on her good play. Now that I had her attention, no longer interested in the other volleyball players, I watched her exclusively. Since she was the prettiest one and the one with the best body, I was her number one fan, while imagining her being my one and only lover.
Already interested and sexually aroused thinking about her naked and in bed with me, I imagined kissing her soft, full lips, while gently touching her cheek with my fingertips, before feeling her and squeezing her firm ass and making sweet love to her beautiful body. Feeling the end of my life drawing near, sometimes feeling so fatalistically depressed by the thought of the end of me, I felt better thinking about the beginning of us in a purely sexual relationship. I imagined her on her knees and paying homage to my cock, as if it was my hard as stone grave marker.
The curious thing is that when I imagined myself with her, I imagined myself as a younger man and not as the sexagenarian that I am. Boy, they picked a good name calling people 60-69 sexagenarians, especially men, because, once I hit sixty-years-old, all I think about is sex. Only, instead of thinking about sex with women my age, I've been thinking about sex with women half my age and younger. What is that about?
I haven't thought as much about sex, since I was a teenager. Sadly, not having had much sex as a teenager, I'm not having much sex as a sexagenarian either. I guess I had all the sex I'm going to have in my twenties, thirties, and forties. Sadly, sex is over for me. Then, with the sound of squishing sand waking me up from my daydream, my beautiful, blonde volleyball player surprised me by running over to where I was sitting.
"What did you think of that shot?" She asked me breathlessly and with a big smile, when she came running over to retrieve her ball that fell between my legs.
As if she was running towards me in an Irish Spring soap commercial, I watched her approaching with her tits bouncing and her hair flying. She made me wish I was her man, her one and only. Imagining her running to me every day, when I came home from work or while waiting for my arrival at the train station or the airport, I imagined her as flushed, as out of breath, and as excited seeing me and then having sex with me, as she was excited playing volleyball with her female friends and winning. After having four daughters, I imagined her holding the blonde baby boy that I gave her, Eric, the son that I never had.
Perhaps excited from playing her competitive volleyball game, her erect nipples made their appearance by pushing against the fabric of her thin bikini top and I couldn't help but notice, stare actually, how big they were. I imagined pounding her naked body, really giving her a good, hard fucking and, instead of returning my serve with her volley, she returned my action hump for hump. I imagined her asking me what I thought of that lay, instead of what I thought of that play.
"I think you're a great volleyball player. You should try out for the Olympics," I said returning her big smile, while wanting to pat her red Spandex clad ass, in the way they do with a baseball player, who just hit a homerun.
Even though I had visions of patting her round behind, before feeling and fucking her firm ass, I didn't dare touch her. It was one thing to think of groping her, but quite another thing to actually sexually assault her. With her strategically placed tattoos, one on her exposed ass cheek of the lips, teeth, and tongue of the Rolling Stone's logo and another of tiger paw prints that crawled across the top of her breasts, I wondered what other tattoos she had that were not as exposed and that were covered by her tiny bikini. Definitely looking the type who'd play, I couldn't help but wonder, if I were thirty years younger, how much I'd get away with her.
Hoping to get her attention with a sports related line, unfortunately, unable to hit a homerun in the way my line fell foully flat, I struck out with her with that Olympic line. In my defense, unprepared to seduce her with my words, hoping for another chance, she surprised me by unexpectedly running over to me like that. One second she was at the net and the next instant, she was reaching for the ball that fell between my legs. Oh, my God, so close and yet so far. If only she was reaching for my balls, instead of for her volleyball ball.
Who knew the ball would be hit right to me? Who knew she'd be the one to retrieve it? Who knew she'd acknowledge me with a question and a big smile? I should have been prepared with something witty and something that she could have made a reply to allow me to further engage her in conversation, but if I had a line ready, the ball never would have been hit my way.
"Thank you," she said walking away and catching me staring at her shapely, round ass, when she turned to give me another big smile, along with a sexy look.
Did she just give me the eye? Wow, wouldn't that be something if she gave me the eye? Nah, stuff like that never happens to me. Holy smokes, forever hopeful, it was fun to imagine that she did give me the eye. There was that young cashier in the supermarket that I thought had given me the eye and I thought was coming on to me, that is, until she called security.
It's been a long while, at least 30 years, when I was a twenty-something-year-old, since a pretty, blonde twenty-something-year-old gave me the eye. I looked behind me to see if there was a younger man sitting there, but there were just couples and single women sitting behind me. Maybe she gave one of the women the eye. Maybe she's lesbian. Boy, that would be such a waste for her to prefer licking pussy, instead of sucking cock.
Accustomed to the fat asses of the women I've recently dated, she had the best ass I've ever seen. Firmly rounded as if she stuck two ripe melon halves down her bikini bottoms, I'd do anything to tap that ass. Encouraged by the big smile and sexy look she just gave me, maybe I didn't strikeout after all. Maybe I'll get one more at bat and one more chance to hit one out of the park. This time, I'll be ready. This time, after taking my best shot, I won't mind striking out with her. At least, I'll go down swinging. Batter up!
Impatiently and excitedly waiting, thinking of what all to say to get her attention, I sat through all three volleyball games watching her play. It was hot out and the one beer that I had from my cooler was making me sleepy. I should know by now not to drink liquor on a hot beach. Had I not been so excited over watching these volleyball women play and had I not been as focused on that one pretty, young blonde's face and beautiful body, I would have taken a nap.
Only, with my luck, I'd have that reoccurring nightmare again, the one where I'm confined to a nursing home. Wondering if my dream was a bad premonition, I prayed to God that's not my soon to be reality. Drooling all over myself and peeing my diapers, I'd rather be dead than to be so confined. I was hoping my special, sexy volleyball player would visit me again, so that I could introduce myself, ask her name, and offer her a beer and hopefully more. Again not ready with a catchy line, probably missing my last opportunity and wasting another at bat by clamming up and not pitching her a homerun or even a foul ball, I was surprised, stunned, and mutely dumbfounded actually, when she returned for her own turn at bat.
"Whew. I'm sweating bullets," she said as if we knew one another. With her knee touching my knee, she sat down beside me on my blanket, as if we were already a couple. Old enough to be her older brother, okay, father, alright, grandfather, she looked over at me with a big smile and picked up my towel. "Do you mind?"
Do I mind? Would I mind if Katherine Heigl invited me as her escort to the Oscars? Would I mind if the Miss America Pageant asked me to be a judge? Would I mind if Playboy Magazine asked me to watch a photo session of one of their monthly playmates? Would I mind if J Lo wanted me to be her fourth husband?
I shook my head and watched her use my towel to wipe the perspiration from her sexy body. Watching her dry her hot body was a sexy side show in and of itself and, silently, I swore that I'd never wash that towel again. Instead of washing it, I'd sleep on it tonight, while pretending I was on top of her sweating, naked body and making love to her. It was then that I wondered what her name was. If only I knew her name, I'd call her by name in my sleep.
"Please, be my guest," I said holding back my tongue with all the inappropriate thoughts that I was thinking. Even I was embarrassed by some of the things I thought.
Seeing her up close, she was as hot on the outside, as she was on the inside. Thinking as the dirty old man that I am, let me do that for you, I wanted to say, but didn't. I may have said that to her and a lot more, if I was 30 years younger. The suggestive things that I thought now and said then, when I was younger and better looking, somehow were never inappropriate.
I imagined feeling every part of her body on the pretense of wiping away her perspiration. With me being so much older than she was, not wanting her to perceive me as the lecherous degenerate that I have become from lusting over women half my age, I tried not to leer. I looked at her as if she was a timid forest creature, a fawn, more appropriately a sexy mermaid that just emerged from the sea, if only she were topless.
She had nice tits, a smallish rack, and I stared at her cleavage, while wondering what her tits looked like. Having grown accustomed to feeling soft, sagging breasts with down turned nipples, I imagined her breasts being as high up as they were firm. I couldn't help but wonder if she played nude volleyball. Now, there's a game that I'd buy season tickets to watch.
Even though I wear my sexual intentions on my sleeve or, in my case, in my bathing suit by my quickly emerging erection, I didn't want to startle her by revealing my sexual intentions, just yet. Instead of her thinking of me as the elderly lecher that I am, I wanted her to think that I was a kindly, worldly, and interesting, albeit mature man. I watched her wipe her face and pat dry her short, blonde hair, before wiping the sweat from her arms, chest, and legs. Damn, she had such a hot, sexy body. Looking Scandinavian, I imagined her being Dutch, Swedish, or Norwegian. Damn, she was so very sexy fine.
Oh, my God, you're so beautiful, I somehow stopped myself from blurting, while watching her touch every part of her bikini clad body with my towel. After she left me and I knew she would soon, I couldn't wait to immerse my face in my towel to implant the smell and fragrant aroma of her sweaty body in my nostrils and in my brain, so that I could dream about her naked body in my bed tonight, while I masturbated over the sexy thoughts of her fucking me silly. Still, I wondered what her name was. Do I dare ask? Would that be too boldly forward? She did use my towel and she is sitting beside me and close enough that our legs are touching.
With her sexy bikini and tattoos on display, she looked excitingly exotic and erotically enticing. Maybe her name was Jessica or Erica. In the way she had the confident poise of a supermodel, her name could be Veronica or Heidi. Wow.
I couldn't help but imagine her in my apartment stepping from the shower naked and asking me to towel her dry, after we had sex. She was so wet with sweat that she was slippery and I watched her pick away at the specks of sand that had kicked up and collected on her shapely, sweaty legs. Looking so fit, so firm, and so healthy, she had such a beautiful body, especially with it glistening with sweat in the hot sun, as if she was sprinkled with diamond dust. Then, when she looked at me out the corner of her eye, I was bewitched. That's funny, always a bit psychic, maybe her name is the same as that witch on Bewitched, Samantha.
Samantha, oh, yeah, I could see that being her name. Someone as beautiful as she was needed a multi-syllable name. Too short and without imagination, Joan or Jane would never do for her.
In the way that she had a permanent tongue tattooed on her ass, I wanted to volunteer her my tongue to lick her clean. Let me lick you, I wanted to say but, somehow holding my tongue, I didn't dare say what I was thinking. Perhaps, some sand has found its way in your bikini top or bottom. I'd be happy to lick every grain off your beautiful body, but I didn't dare volunteer that either. Only in my dreams would I dare say those things to her. I may have said those things to her now, if only I were a younger man and a better looking man more her age.
"I didn't realize how hot it is out and how much I was sweating, until I stopped," she said smiling, looking down at her chest, and wiping her hand across the top of her breasts, before looking over at me staring at her bikini bra clad breasts.
When she gave me that smile it made me happy just to be sitting there with her. I wished it was my hand that traced her tiger paw tattoos that decorated her breasts, instead of her hand. For sure, if nothing else was to transpire from this chance meeting and quick exchange of innocent dialogue, when alone in my bedroom with my hand excitedly around my cock, I'll be dreaming about her tonight sweating all over me.
"Have some water," I said handing her a bottle from my cooler.
"Thanks," she said accepting the bottle with the same eagerness as I imagined her grabbing for a volleyball and/or taking my cock in her hot hand.
As if I had hired a prostitute to do something kinky, as if she was holding a banana, instead of a water bottle, I watched her twist open the water bottle and put it to her lips in the way that I imagined her taking my cock to her mouth. Flick out your tongue and lick it, I wanted to say. Let me watch your tongue circumnavigate the top of the bottle, while licking it. Suck it, I wanted to say. Take the bottle in your mouth and suck it, as if you're sucking my cock. Thinking of all those inappropriate things to say to her, instead of trying to come up with a line to win her heart, still stunned that she was sitting there beside me, I didn't say anything, but for my introduction.
"I'm Ralph," I said unable to think of anything else to say and unable to remove my stare from her beautiful face and sexy body, while watching her drink.
"Samantha," she said removing the bottle from her mouth to offer me her hand.
"Samantha? Pleased to meet you, Samantha," I said shaking her hot hand.
Her name is Samantha. I couldn't believe it. God is smiling down at me. I didn't dare tell her that I was psychic and had already guessed her name. I only wished I had blurted her name out before she told me her name. Perhaps that would have impressed her as much as if I was a wealthy older man but, just older, I wasn't rich.
Imagining it was my cum, while watching her drink the water, I watched the water that collected on her lip dribble down her chin and onto her chest. She had such a soft, warm hand that I couldn't help but imagine it holding my big, hard prick. Stroke my cock, Samantha. Make me good and hard, before sticking my cock in your mouth and sucking it and before sticking my cock in your warm, wet pussy.
"Sam. Everyone calls me Sam," she said with a smile, while nodding her head, as if I wouldn't have believed that everyone called her Sam, unless she nodded her head.
If Charlie Sheen was looking for a new, young, sexy girlfriend, he wouldn't have to look any further than Sam. Better looking than Denise Richards, she had big, blue eyes that flashed the color of the Mediterranean Sea with the sun. As if she was electrified, her smile and her eyes made her appear that she was plugged into life.
A visual and virtual fountain of youth, just as I wanted to be part of her life, too, and to feel the energy that she was exuding and feeling, I wanted to know her, experience her, and have sex with her. Alas, just as I was much too old for her, she was much too young for me. Then, just as I thought that, just as I imagined her naked breasts and her naked body getting ready to shower away the perspiration that still dotted her skin and dripped from her body to dot the hot sand with tiny mud puddles, she reached behind her back, unhooked her bra, and removed her bikini top.
Oh, my God! I was stunned by the surprise visit of her twin girls. Hello, I wanted to say, while staring at her tits. It's nice to meet you, both of you. And what are your names? May I greet you with a touch, a kiss, and a suckle?
Knowing full well that they'd never come true, there are things in my life that I routinely dream about, when wishing my life was somehow instantly better. I dream that I was younger, fitter, thinner, and better looking with more hair, of course. I dream about winning the lottery and being filthy rich. I dream about a job that pays me twice as much for half the hours. I dream about standing in a checkout line at a supermarket, buying gas at a gas station, and getting ready to write the check to pay for my prescription medication, when the cashiers tell me that it's all free.
Along with all my other dreams, had Samantha not removed her bikini top, had she not been sitting there beside me topless, I would have been dreaming about her tonight doing just that, no doubt. Now that she's sitting beside me topless, I'll have to suffice dreaming about her doing something else, perhaps, fucking me or blowing me. Only, a dream come true with her having done something so unexpected, she satisfied an old man's wish to instantly have a better life by showing me her tits, and what beautiful breasts they were.
Doing my best not to stare, even when looking over at her naked breasts, I couldn't believe this young, beautiful woman was sitting beside me topless. Charting new ground, taking a plunge over my head into deep water, thinking that my life had suddenly taken a turn for the better, thinking about running to the store later to buy a lottery ticket, I pondered my next move. What do I say? What do I do? Damn, I wish I were younger. If only I were more her age, would she allow me to kiss her, touch her, feel her, and fuck her? Would she take me home to meet her father, a man young enough to be my (gulp) son?
With my heart beating as if I had played three games of naked volleyball with this women, figuring I was about to die and go to Heaven, I imagined hearing the ambulance in the distance responding to my sudden heart attack. No not yet. Surely, I can't die now. Somehow coming alive and feeling younger, I was filled with a sudden surge of testosterone that I didn't know I even had. As if an imaginary doctor had given me an instant shot of adrenaline to the heart, I felt invigorated by the mere sight of her breasts.