Ageless Sex & Eternal Love Ch. 04

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A terrible liar, with the truth written all over the guilty look that always appeared on her face, she was never good at lying. She didn't need to decompress as she told Tommy she did when first meeting him in the bar. She didn't have a terrible day and/or a worse week. The truth of the matter was that she was that she had a very good day and a good week and was there at the bar hoping to meet a man.

The truth of the matter was that she was there hoping for and looking for sex. Having been a while since she felt a man on top of her and inside of her, she just needed to get laid. Only, not just any man and any cock would do. She needed a special man and it was as if God intervened by giving her a sign when he delivered her a man who resembled her beloved Brad Pitt.

Seemingly, all of her girlfriends and co-workers were getting more sexual action than she was. Seemingly all of her girlfriends and co-workers always had a story to tell about a man they had just met, connected with, and had sex. Her girlfriends couldn't wait to call her Sunday to tell her about the man they met Saturday night. Her co-workers would routinely return to work from having hot sex over the weekend with some guy they just met. Filling her in with all of the sexual details, she always left her friends and her co-workers feeling envious, horny, and sexually frustrated.

Normally not shy, normally confidently self-assured, she suddenly turned into a wallflower whenever in the company of men, especially tall, good looking men, and men for whom she felt a sexual attraction. Shy and modestly moral, she was a good girl. She wasn't a slut or a whore, although she could be a slut and a whore for the right man but not for any man and every man in the way her girlfriends were. If only men knew what she was thinking, they'd think her a slut. If only men knew she was checking out their bulges as much as they were checking out her big breasts and round, shapely ass, they'd think her a whore.

"What's your name?"

As if he had done this hundreds of times before, picking up a woman in a bar, he gave her a confident smile. As if she had done this a hundred times before, allowing a man to pick her up in a bar, she went through the fruitless exercise of conversation when all she wanted was sex.

"Susan," she said making eye contact with him for a second before breaking away when she realized again how much he looked like Brad Pitt and how much she was staring at him.

Not making his glance furtive but his look obvious, he stared down at the cleavage that showed above her low cut blouse. She had big, natural breasts that were D cups in size. She knew that if she wanted sex, all she needed to do was to flash her sexy cleavage. She knew that if she wanted sex, all she had to do was to act interested in the man while smiling. In the way that a hypnotist sways something shiny in front of a subjects eyes, she only needed to show some tit to get the undivided attention of most men. Only, however, whether she was smiling or not, most men stared down at her breasts instead of staring up at her face and her big, beautiful, blue eyes.

"What do you do...for work?"

As if her breasts were nakedly exposed, he talked to her breasts. He stared at the impressions her big nipples suddenly made through her bra and in her blouse. In was a bit chilly in the bar and she was a lot horny. She was already wet with the thoughts that this man may take her back to his place and fuck her brains out of her blonde, pretty head. She was already ready to have sex with her look-a-like Brad Pitt.

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'Did you hear what happened to Susan Jill Parker?'

Susan imagined one man talking about her to another.

'No, what happened to her?'

'She fucked some guy, a bald, Brad Pitt look-a-like, so long and so hard that she fucked his brains out of his head.'

'Wow! That's how I'd like to go,' she imagined him saying. 'I'd do anything for Susan to fuck my brains out of my head too.'

'Yeah, well,' she imagined him saying to his friend, 'you'd have to have a brain first for that to happen.'

* * * * *

"I'm a writer," she said with more disappointment than pride. "When not writing copy, I write blurbs and phony product reviews. I'm not proud of what I write when writing that shit but it pays the bills while allowing me to write my novels and short stories to post online and to sell as e-Books," she said.

As if she was a horse giving him a go ahead nod, she gave him the eye while tossing back her long, blonde, lush, beautiful hair with a practiced nod of her pretty head. She knew guys liked it when she tossed back her hair like that. As if they were imagining her tossing back her hair before, during and/or after sucking their cocks, she always got their attention by making that one, simple move with her head and with her hair.

As if her long, blonde hair were her angel wings, her hair cascaded down behind her head and down her back as if her hair was a golden, shimmering waterfall or the strings of a harp being strummed. It even amazed her how her hair returned to the way she wanted it without even brushing it or smoothing it down with her hand. An unnecessary habit, she fluffed her hair down with her hand nonetheless. Involuntary body language and a telltale sign, she always touched her hair, played with her hair, curled her hair with her finger, or stroked her hair when interested in a man.

"A writer? Wow," he said already showing his disinterest in what she does for a living with his patronizing, plastic smile.

No doubt, he would have been more impressed had she said she was a stripper. No doubt, he would have been more impressed had she said that she worked as a paid escort, a prostitute, or a call girl. No doubt, he would have been more interested with her if she had said she was a nudist trying to summon the courage to remove her clothes in this bar.

Revealing to her that he was a player, it was easy to tell in the way he walked, talked, and carried himself. Obviously, full of himself, he thought a lot of himself. Besides, he was already looking around the room for someone better, perhaps someone not as intelligent.

Girlfriend material and a good woman to have as a wife, a lover, and a mother, she was sexy, smart, witty, and beautiful. She showed him that she had a brain in her head by telling him that she was a writer instead of a stripper, a paid escort, a prostitute, or a call girl. Not that all strippers, paid escorts, prostitutes, or call girls are dumb but many of them do what they do because they don't have an education.

Obviously, by him looking around the room for someone else, he was perhaps looking for someone who'd be less work cerebrally and easier to get in bed. Only, sizing up the talent, something she had a habit of doing when first walking in a room, she already looked around the room when she first walked in the bar. But for a couple of cute, dyed blondes with fake tits, there was no one who looked better and/or hotter than she looked.

Yet, even though she was tall, blonde, busty, sexy, and beautiful, as if afraid to make a move on a beautiful woman, most guys just stared. Most guys became paralyzed and shy to approach a beautiful woman instead of having the confidence to go and talk to a beautiful woman. If only they knew that no matter what they looked like, as long as they weren't monstrous looking, angry, mentally deranged, or married, women more cared about what was inside of a man instead of what he looked like on the outside.

Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule. If he looked like Brad Pitt, then all bets were off. If he had an eight inch cock and an extra-long and wide tongue and was skilled at using both during sex, it wouldn't matter if he was an asshole. Women were willing to put up with any man for a night or for a weekend if he was good and was a generous lover in bed.

"What about you? What do you do?"

She knew as soon as he broke eye contact and delayed answering her by looking away from her to look down at the floor, that he didn't have a job. Whatever was his profession before, he didn't seem proud about how he earned a living now. She figured he was unemployed. She figured he couldn't hold down a job. She figured he was a bum. She pegged him for a loser.

In the way he spoke, not as articulate as the men she was normally sexually attracted to, she figured he didn't even attend college, never mind graduate from college. In the way he spoke and the rudeness he showed in the brief conversation they had with him already acting disinterested and bored, she figured that he hadn't even finished high school. Only, for what she needed a man for, she didn't care if he had a job, couldn't hold down a job, was unemployed, didn't have a college education, or if he even dropped out of high school.

He didn't need to be educated to lick her pussy and fuck her cunt. As long as he was sexually experienced and anyone who looked like Brad Pitt, even a bald Brad Pitt, had to be sexually experienced, she looked at him as a potential lover. As long as he had a hard cock, she was interested in having him sexually service her. As long as he could fuck her brains out and give her an orgasm with his fingers, his mouth, and his cock, she was good to go home with him.

"Oh, you know," he said looking around her, behind her, and down at the floor. "I, um, do this and that, anything for a buck," he said.

'This and that? What does that even mean? That's something she'd tell her girlfriends was the reason why she wanted to go to a flea market in the hopes of finding this or that.'

"So you don't have a real job with benefits and retirement," she said with a snide, little laugh while baiting him to tell her more.

As soon as she said it, she was sorry she said what she did. As soon as she said that, he looked uncomfortable and fell back on his heels as if ready to leave. As if interviewing him for potential husband material, she needed to be less invasively critical of him. All she wanted was a sexy man for the night. All she wanted was to get laid. All she wanted was her horniness and sexual frustration sated by an orgasm.

What did it really matter what he did or didn't do for a living. Who cares? With her already suspecting that he was a player, she wasn't looking to have a long term relationship with bald, Brad Pitt. She just wanted to have some sexy fun to keep the cobwebs clear from her pussy drying up from lack of use.

"I haven't had a real job since the economy crashed," he said. With all of the higher paying manufacturing jobs going to China, employers busting unions, and jobs going overseas to countries I never even heard of, seemingly everyone was unemployed or underemployed these days. Instead of having half a dozen people vying for the same job, there were dozens applying for the same job. People with advanced college degrees were being chosen over people like me who had barely graduated high school."

He had the same sad story that so many men his age had. The recession had hit the white collar, middle management workers the hardest. Only, most men didn't look like him. Most men weren't able to fall back on their good looks to earn a dollar. Now she wondered if he worked as a paid escort. Curious about how a paid escort would be in bed, she never had sex with a gigolo before. In the way she was feeling so horny and needed to get laid, she'd have sex with Don Juan or Danny De Vito, as long as he could make her cum.

"Sorry," she said feigning her interest in his problems as much as he feigned his interest in her chosen career.

Besides, she was more interested in the size of his cock than the size of his checkbook. The only reference she wanted to know was if he was good in bed. With some men more attracted to women with big asses and/or women with smaller breasts, she wondered if he liked big tits. She suddenly imagined sitting on his cock and hanging her big breasts in her face while he reached up to finger her nipples and suck her tits.

"Now it's every man for himself. There are no more jobs in the way they used to be. All the jobs available today are low paying and part-time jobs without benefits. I'm better off doing what I do, hang out on the corner and see what comes my way," he said. "Every day is different. No day is the same. Some days I make nothing, other days I make a score, and once in a blue moon, I make a killing."

A killing? She wondered if he meant by making a killing. She wondered if he meant that figuratively or literally. Now she understood the meaning of this and that. Obviously, he was a petty thief, a con man, and/or a criminal of some sort. She just hoped, with her thinking about going home with him that he wasn't a serial killer or a paid assassin. She didn't want to be found murdered and dumped in a dumpster missing her head and hands or dumped in the ocean while swimming with the fishes.

"I haven't hung out on the corner since I was riding my bike," she said with a laugh. "So, what are you then? Are you a criminal, gangster, a hitman, or a Mafia person? Is that it? If not that, what then?"

He gave her a smile that told her that what he did and who he was, was none of her business. He gave her a smile that gave her an image of him looking up at her with a mouthful of her pussy.

"Let's just say that I'm in business for myself," he said with a shrug.

Yet, no matter what he did or didn't do for a living, she looked at him with the thoughts of going home with him, having him strip her naked, and having sex with this bald, Brad Pitt, look-a-like. Knowing better, she knew he was a bum, a player, and a bad boy. She knew she'd regret her decision of getting involved with such a man but she was horny and he looked interested and interesting enough to scratch her itch and sexually satisfy her for the night, just one night. She only hoped he had a skilled tongue and a big cock. Unless he had a pair of gym socks in his pants, he had a bulge big enough to satisfy her sexual needs.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Brad Pitt...but without hair," she said with a laugh.

He ran a hand over his shaved head.

"I get that all the time," he said.

He took a step back to look at her.

"My turn," he said looking at her as if she was standing before him naked. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Jennifer Nettles from the country western singing duo, Sugarland, but with tits," he said using that comment to stare down at her big tits.

She laughed.

"No, you're the first," she said with another laugh. "Normally men tell me that I look more like Taylor Swift but with tits, but I don't think I look anything like Taylor Swift. Maybe because I'm so tall and blonde men used to tell me that I looked like Faith Hill. I think I look more like Faith Hill than I do Taylor Swift or Jennifer Nettles."

He took a step back as if he was looking at a portrait in an art gallery.

"Now that you mention her, you do look like Faith Hill," he said. "Actually, you could be her better looking and sexier sister."

When he didn't invite her back to his place, she figured he was married. Yet, what did it matter if he was married or not. He was hot. She just wanted to borrow him and his cock for the night. Not really caring who he was or what he does, even if he was married or single, she only wanted him for one night. Besides, if he was married, she'd probably never see him again and that was fine with her. From that brief, first encounter, she made her move.

"Would you like to go someplace quieter? We can go back to my place," she said.

She invited him back to her place and ended up in bed with him.

To be continued...

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