Pam's Dichotomy

Pam Angelo's nipples ached with arousal and threatened to poke holes into her ebony turtleneck sweater, even as her stomach turned flip-flops with butterflies of anxiety. She smiled despite herself and remembered a line from the Arnie Becker character from LA Law. Pam was "overwrought with ambivalence".

People always say 'I've never done this before', Pam thought as she eased her white Lexus into the hotel parking lot, but she had really never done something quite like this before. Meeting a man who had seduced her on the Internet was, in fact, something that Pam never envisioned herself doing.

So, then, why was she already so wet? And why had she trimmed her pussy and fingered herself into a frenzied orgasm while showering for her first 'date' with this persuasive charmer?

His prose, his humor, yes, even his looks had intrigued her almost from the beginning. His initial correspondence described a romantic yet erotic story about what he would do to her in the coatroom of a restaurant. Normally, Pam would have hit delete in an instant. After all, she was used to being bombarded with sexual propositions on the dating site she had joined while in the throes of her recent separation from her long-time very possessive husband.

But there was something different about his words. It was as if he had an entry pass into her mind, her innermost thoughts and fantasies. She had masturbated herself almost nightly for months now, anticipating his e-mails, and sad when one did not arrive within a day or two. This electronic dance had gone on for months now, and when he had told her he would be coming to Columbus for business and had invited her to join her in his hotel room with one obvious intention, her mind said no time and time again.

But, for once, her pussy dictated her decision. She agreed.

If she were true to herself, Pam would realize that she really did not want a traditional dating relationship. That was too complicated, too time-consuming. No, for the first time in her life, at age fifty-one, what Pam really wanted was to get laid. However, the conundrum was that, as a good Italian Catholic girl, she wasn't supposed to think with her cunt.

Although the Bible didn't phrase it quite that bluntly, the intent was clear.

For his part, John had been divorced for four years now and had well utilized the last two or three years to pursue only a rare quality of woman. Oh, he had quantity over the last several years, but as soon as he saw Pam's photos on the dating profile, well, he just knew he had to have her.

And when he saw her climb out of the Lexus as he stood on the hotel curb waiting for her, his own heart skipped a beat. She was possibly the sexiest woman he had ever seen, much better than even her spectacular photos. He took her hand and was disappointed when she turned her cheek as he leaned to kiss her.

He knew intuitively to go slow, as slowly as necessary. Pam was like a skittish deer, vulnerable, and any sudden move would cause her to scurry back into the Westerville woods.

And that just wouldn't do.

As they walked through the hotel room corridor, John studied Pam's frame as he insisted that she walk ahead of him. Pam knew exactly why, she knew she was being examined. yet she complied. Though shy, especially given the circumstances this evening, Pam was justifiably proud of her body.

She was quite cognizant of the effect that she had on most men, yet she chose to ignore it for the most part, still shuttered emotionally from the pain of her separation, and the fact that her estranged husband had been insanely jealous of any advances from other men. That was a long story, Pam sighed to herself.

John was younger than her by a few years, yet he couldn't believe that Pam's body was that of a woman who had celebrated her fifty-first birthday only a day before. She wore black from head to toe. Black sweater, tight black denim jeans, black leather boots. Each item accentuated Pam's silky raven hair which cascaded down over her shoulders, and her jet black eyes. Only her lipstick was bright crimson, a shade which Pam herself referred to as "blowjob red".

Upon entering the elevator, John himself became nervous at the close quarters with this sensationally beautiful mature woman, the essence of a Mediterranean goddess. He told her softly, and the words were indeed sincere, "You are stunningly gorgeous." She blushed, in a mixture of embarrassment and desire. More dichotomy.

The impromptu couple reached the room and John eased the card into the slot. He gestured for Pam to enter first, and decided to continue small talk intended to distract her from her easily apparent discomfort. She looked straight ahead, as if to study the room and where she could hide. "Have you ever modeled?" Again, the interest was genuine.

She turned, smiling, appreciative of the question because she had a willing answer. "Yes", she responded simply. He made a motion for Pam to sit on the queen bed, and she did so, gingerly placing her luscious denim-clad ass on the edge of the mattress.

"What type of modeling?" He loosened his tie and sat on the bed next to her, but within arms' length, understanding it was not yet time to, for lack of a better word, pounce. When he had done this with other women, some would have already been voraciously sucking his dick by now, such was their excitement. In a strange way, Pam's reticence only heightened John's own attraction and arousal.

Pam looked him dead in the eye, her midnight pupils blazing. "Nudes." She wanted to gauge John's reaction. She was measuring him as much as her was taking inventory of her. Yet, again, her answer was a true one. The details weren't important enough to reveal to John, not yet, anyway. But secretly, Pam got off on displaying her body to men who she knew would not have her.

It was her one measure of revenge on her husband. The more he pressed Pam, accusing her of cheating, the more she visited her clandestine photographers for photo sessions. She never fucked them, despite their advances. It was the power that she held over men.

But now, she felt as if it was her time for release, for gratification. Her answer told John that she was willing tonight, and he did not miss the cue.

He leaned to kiss her, but again, she turned her cheek. This time, he continued the trail down her neck, and he felt the heat flush on her skin. She moved her head away after a few minutes, but she was breathing heavily. She smiled bashfully and glanced down to her chest, indicating with her eyes for his gaze to follow hers. Her nipples poked into the cotton material of the plush sweater.

"Titty hard-ons," she giggled, again telling him that she was nervous, but it was alright, she wanted this. She just couldn't blatantly act like she did.

"Are you cold?" John asked, his eyes darting from her own to what looked like the most perfect chest on the planet. "Not at all," she replied, again truthfully. Not a lie was spoken between them yet. He leaned over to bring his fingers to her tits, but she stopped him with a graceful yet firm grasp of his hand. "Let's talk, please," she urged, pushing him back gently. He reluctantly sat back.

"You've done this before, haven't you. Maybe many times, I'm guessing?" She truly wanted to know, as much to hear his answer to see if he would lie to her.

"Done what?" he asked, returning her question with one of his own. It was a fair inquiry, though, she had to admit. They hadn't actually done very much yet.

She smiled, willing to play the game, but she wanted to know. She didn't want to feel special and have him tell her that she was the first. In fact, in some way, she very much liked the idea of being another conquest to the confident man.

That was one of the many things that allured Pam about John. From his words, both written and spoken, it was clear that he knew his way around a woman's body. Pam was curious just how many expeditions he had embarked upon. Just as she figured that it would turn John on now that he knew that she posed nude, it would arouse Pam to know about his 'others'.

"Taken women you've never met, seduced them, traveled to another city, and expected them to just climb into bed with you?" Pam's question was not tendered with malice or an accusatory tone. It was purely a data-seeking mission, a woman's curiosity, perhaps attempting to validate her own actions. She was very wet by now.

He chuckled at the directness of the question, and remained true to the theme of the conversation. "Yes, I have, several times." That was a bit of a white lie, depending on what one's definition of 'several' was. But his next sentence was again unequivocally honest. "But not one as beautiful as you, Pam."

She liked hearing this, both that he answered truthfully about his history, and that she was somehow the pick of the litter, so to speak. She relaxed even more.

"Have you ever had one as nervous as me?"

He shrugged and returned her smile. "No, not really. Most would have already jumped my bones." She gasped just a bit at his revelation, and he noticed, but continued. "But I was already surprised that you even accepted my invitation to begin with. I perceived that you probably hadn't done this before. But then again, I wouldn't have figured you for modeling nude, either. So, still waters run deep."

He leaned over to kiss her, and this time, she returned her kiss. His breath was warm, hot, and his tongue gently parted her lips and twirled inside of her mouth. His hands fell to her chest and he rubbed her impossibly erect nipples through the sweater, ever so softly.

She broke the kiss just before it started to escalate to what Pam knew would be the point of no return. She was still playing the role of reluctant and bashful schoolgirl in the back seat of a car, but not as convincingly now. "What do you do to put a nervous woman at ease?"

John reached over and lightly lifted the sweater from the hemline of her jeans, pulling it up just an inch or so to expose her navel. Her stomach was washboard flat, and tanned from her time in salons. A gold ring was pierced into her navel, and John leaned down and kissed the ring, his tongue swirling around her belly button. He inhaled her scent. She had put perfume and lotion all over her body, but the aroma that permeated his nostrils was one of unmistakable female arousal. He looked up at her as he undid the button on her jeans.

"I eat them."

Pam's intuition told her that John was not the Jeffrey Dahmer cannibal type, so she gave the last cue he would need as she laid back on the mattress and lifted her hips to allow him to tug at her tight jeans. He left her boots on for now, bunching her jeans at the calves, and admired the exquisitely trimmed triangle of soft, coarse black pubic hairs. Thin, white milky foam had already begun to form on the outer walls of her labia.

He left her that way for the moment, softly panting, and returned his mouth to her belly button, and began a north-bound trail of express kisses, up her stomach. By the time his mouth reached her heaving tits, she was pulling his head to her chest with her hands, begging for her needy breasts to be sucked and licked and nibbled and gently bitten.

He first licked around each chocolate nipple teasingly, then began to more urgently kiss and suckle and grope each gorgeous globe, pulling them together and sticking his head in between her expansive cleavage.

He devoured her skin, her taste was clean, smooth, musky. He slid a hand down to just above her pubic mound and cupped her pussy without inserting a digit. Pam whimpered constantly now, not having enjoyed the pleasures of a man's tongue and hands for longer than she could remember, and certainly not one whose knowledge of a woman's body was as extensive as John's.

When he mercifully stuck his middle finger into her steaming slit, she came almost instantly, and he sucked on those 'titty hard-ons' so that they rose an inch off of her areolas.

For the next twenty minutes, Pam came as much as she had in the last twenty years.

His tongue reached places within her that she had never discovered herself. His fingers accompanied his mouth and lips on an explorative and comprehensive tour of the beautiful woman's velvety cunt. He lapped hungrily at the constant stream of juices that flowed from her deepest nether regions. His fingers drummed her spongy g-spot while his lips tickled her clit in an indescribable tag-team of oral and digital assault. But, oh such sweet assault, the sweetest.

She squealed and writhed and groaned and laughed and tugged at his hair and her own nipples and she came and came and came some more. It was the tonguing of her lifetime.

Semi-comatose, she barely noticed when John took off her boots and peeled the jeans from her ankles. Her sweater was still on, almost wrapped around her neck, well above her sensational tits, which had swelled pronouncedly. She was shocked back to consciousness when she felt the huge, thick invader pierce and spread her sopping pussy. She groaned loudly, and had only one thought.

"Big."

John kept her in the missionary position for the next fifteen minutes, but while doing so, maneuvered her legs in so many positions, with the dexterity and fluidity of a majorette twirling two batons. He kept her on her back solely so he could admire her spectacular body, and also to watch the bliss consume her face as he led her to a grand finale of an explosive orgasm.

She had never been fucked like this, and he had never fucked a woman like Pam. Though the sentiment remained unspoken, at least for tonight, it was the pinnacle of their sexual lives for both of them. He came with multiple, powerful blasts of hot, sticky cum deep inside of her womb, which resulted in her own explosion, her screams echoing down the halls of the hotel.

After a few moments while they hyperventilated with John's body still on top of her, Pam shot up and pushed him off of her, like a hunted deer who realized it was only skimmed by the buckshot. She rose off the bed and hurriedly fumbled for her clothes.

"What are you doing, Pam?" he asked, legitimately concerned. "Pam, what's wrong? Pam, can I help? Pam.....?"

Wordlessly, she got dressed in seconds, her clothed wrinkled, askew, her hair a mess, her make-up and mascara rolling down her cheeks now with the tears. She pushed past him, and ran down the hotel hall, crying, and he scurried into his own clothes and tried to catch her.

But it was too late. She went through a side fire exit, started her car in a flash, and the tires squealed on the asphalt as she gunned her car out of the parking lot. She saw him in her rear mirror, waving frantically, and she turned onto Taylor Road and within seconds she was doing eighty-five on Interstate 70.

The tears rolled down her face almost as fast as the fluids poured from her pussy. She was ashamed, yet never more turned on in her life.

She smiled ever so briefly through the tears, wiping her eyes as she gripped the steering wheel, musing with irony that she still hadn't even yet actually seen the cock that had battered her like none other.

When she arrived home to her sanctuary, she virtually ripped her clothes from her body, and climbed in the fetal position on her king bed, crying profusely from guilt once more.

And then she fingered herself frantically, wanting more. More of the tongue that had pleasured her so expertly. More of the strong, large cock that had so completely filled her stretched and swollen cunt. More, she thought. Soon.

She came for the final time that night, and then collapsed into slumber, with wet eyes and a very wet pussy.

Pam's dichotomy.