tagErotic CouplingsEmily's Valentine

Emily's Valentine


This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.

All characters engaged in sexual acts in this story are at least eighteen years of age.

This is a submission in the Literotica Valentine's Day contest. If you like it, please be sure to give it lots of stars!

Many thanks to editor Lin Hall for his excellent suggestions.


Nice ass! He might be fun to fuck! Emily's pussy responded immediately by issuing a small amount of juice onto her panties.

She checked out the young man who had caught her attention. He was slightly taller than she—she was 5'10". Standing behind him at the stop light, she noted that indeed his ass did fit nicely into his jeans. He wore tennis shoes and a dark leather jacket. His brown hair was cut in a modern shaggy bob. Uh-oh--he looks young!

She casually moved to a position where she could see his face. As she glanced at him, he noticed her as well. He is young! Christ, Emily! Keep your pussy in your pants! They both looked away.

He is cute though, she couldn't help but thinking. Am I so horny that I'll fuck anything that has a chance of getting hard? Well—maybe. She suppressed a smile as she remembered the zucchini she had used that morning. She was up to masturbating twice a day and still her pheromones kicked up every time she was in the vicinity of any male between twelve and seventy. Christ! I need to fuck someone soon!

It had been seven months. Seven months since that dreadful call. Her chest constricted as it always did when she remembered it, but at least she wasn't blinking back tears. She still couldn't actually talk about him without crying though.

Her husband of fifteen years had died suddenly of a heart attack at 51. She still felt guilty, although she had told herself a million times she shouldn't. She had been on his case about working out. He had gained weight, although, on his big frame he could carry it well—but still—50 pounds? He liked to eat and drink too much, and he didn't work out. She had tried to encourage him to adopt healthier habits. He finally started riding his bike to work, a forty-five minute ride up and down the Seattle hills. It was on his second trip up the steep hill to their 100-year-old home on Queen Anne that he had collapsed on the side of the road.

He had died within the hour. He was alive when they called her, but by the time she got to the hospital, only fifteen minutes away, he was gone. And her world had changed entirely.

The first week had been a nightmare. Friends and relatives poured in from all over the country. Ben had had a million friends. Everyone wanted to console her. She just wanted to be left alone to console her children.

Lana, her twelve-year old, had taken it especially hard. She was daddy's girl. And poor Benjamin. Her ten year old would have to go through puberty without a father.

They had all cried so much that first week that she thought their eyes should run out of tears. They didn't. Now, seven months later, she was down to crying maybe only once a day. She smiled to herself. I'm masturbating more than I'm crying! Is that a good sign? She wasn't sure.

Since she had lost her virginity at the age of eighteen, three months was the longest she'd ever been without sex. Until now. After sex several times a week for seventeen years, suddenly going cold turkey was... maddening. Sometimes she thought she was going insane. Sex was almost constantly on her mind. No matter how many times she masturbated, she could not get relief.

The light changed and she crossed the street, weaving quickly through the Friday afternoon downtown crowd. The drizzle was becoming heavier, edging toward a cold rain. The sky was an even slate gray—typical for Seattle in February.

She had left work early to take both the kids to sleepovers. They were recovering well. Kids were amazingly resilient.

She wanted to do some shopping, to find out what was new for Spring—at least that's what she told herself. Really, she was trying to get her mind off Valentine's Day. Tomorrow would be her first Valentine's Day since Ben had died. They had always done something special for Valentine's Day. Usually they celebrated by going out to dinner on the 13th—much easier to get a table at a good restaurant that way—and often they'd spend the night in a hotel. It was sort of a mini-vacation to celebrate lover's day.

She was trying very hard to ignore the holiday this year.

Before starting to shop, she decided she would treat herself to a latte. She was at the corner of Fifth and Pine—there was a Starbuck's on the next corner. There always seems to be a Starbuck's on the next corner in Seattle.

She stepped into the warmth of the small café, unbuttoning her coat. Although it was chilly out, it had been a long, brisk walk from Queen Anne. Her hands and ears were cold, but her body was over-warm.

The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee greeted her like an old friend. In a few minutes, she had her double, tall, non-fat, caramel-sauce latte in hand. She wasn't quite ready to step back out into the cold, so she stood at the window and gazed out at the crowd on the street.

That's when she saw him.

He looked like he could have walked out of a fourteenth century painting—except for his clothes, of course. He would have been depicted as a pirate or a highwayman or some other dashing villain. His black hair was thick and wavy and fell to just below his shoulders. It was damp from the rain. His face wasn't classically handsome. It was broad, with a strong chin, a wide mouth and a flat nose. His large, brown eyes were beautiful. He himself was not beautiful. He was way too masculine to be beautiful. But his eyes were beautiful.

He oozed testosterone. It was in his stance. In the way he turned his head. In the width of his shoulders under his oversize sweat shirt. He was very male. Her pussy clenched and gushed.

She watched him chat with his friends. She gave them a cursory once-over: one was skinny with bad skin and very baggy jeans, the other had wild, curly, red hair and lots of piercings. They all looked very young—late teens, early twenties at the most.

Her attention went back to Mr. Testosterone. Whew! He is heart-stopping! Very different from any man I've ever been with. She had gotten married at the age of twenty-seven. She had fallen in love with a conservative man, ten years her senior. Even before she met Ben, the men she'd dated tended to be older and conservative. Ben had always kept his hair short, and in the last few years, it had turned salt and pepper. He was always clean-shaven. Mr. Testosterone, she noted, had a few day's growth of beard. Sexy!

She finished her latte, but continued to stand in the window, fascinated by the display of virile manhood before her. His friends said good-bye to him and sauntered off down the street. He glanced around and took a seat on the ledge almost directly below her.

He shivered slightly and pulled his hood over his head, hiding his gorgeous hair.

He's cold, she thought. I wonder if he has any money. Maybe he wants a cup of coffee.

She tossed her latte cup in the garbage on the way out the door. As she rounded the building toward him, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. What the hell am I doing? I'm thinking with my horn-dog pussy, that's what! He's not going to be interested in me—I'm old enough to be his mother. She didn't stop herself though.

Josh shifted. Damn it's cold! The brick wall he was sitting on sucked the heat right out of him. He shivered, pulling his hood over his head and stuffing his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. I should probably just go—but where? It was Friday night. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to meet girls. He took mental inventory. He had six dollars and forty-two cents. Where the hell can I go with six dollars—to meet girls—that's also warm?

Who am I kidding? With six dollars I can buy one latte, and I need the rest for the bus home. Even if I meet a cool chick, when she finds out I have no funds, she'll be gone. Shit, I need a job bad! Hopefully, tomorrow....

Someone stopped in front of him.

He looked up into dazzling gray-green eyes. The woman standing before him was stunning. Her blonde curls were caught at the nape of her neck, but several strands had pulled loose, small ringlets blowing free about her brow. She had a classically beautiful, nineteen-forties-starlet face. Her eye-makeup made her eyes look unreal—like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Small laugh lines at the corners of them gave her character. She was older than he, by ten or twelve years, he guessed. She was elegant. Sophisticated. Spectacular!

"Hi," she said.

She seems shy. What does she want from me?

She smiled at him and he immediately felt warmer. His cock responded automatically to the 'a beautiful female is near' stimulus. He tried to ignore it.

"You look cold. Can I buy you a coffee?" she asked. Her voice was low and sultry.

Huh? She wants to buy me coffee? Why? The first thought that occurred to him was that she was an undercover cop trying to bust drug sales that often took place on this corner. He dismissed that thought. Even if she is, she has nothing on me, and I'm not going to admit to nothin'.

"Sure," he said with an answering smile. The desire to be inside out of the cold and wet was reason enough to accept. As he stood up he caught a whiff of her perfume, spicy but subtle. An animal deep within him growled in approval.

His smile was like a heat wave washing over her. Her body responded with a sharp ache in her groin. Oh boy! Get a hold of yourself Emily! He stood and she was pleased to see that he was at least a few inches taller than she was. Standing at the window above him, she hadn't been able to tell.

He observed her silently as he followed her into Starbuck's. She was quite tall. He couldn't tell what her figure was like underneath her tweed peacoat, but she certainly wasn't fat. She moved with the grace of an athlete. She was wearing pencil jeans tucked into expensive-looking, tawny, leather boots. They had no heel, but they came up over her knees, and buttoned down the side. Sexy! He saw now that her loose tail of golden curls was held by a sparkling barrette and hung half-way down her back.

He took a deep breath and tried to subdue his raging libido. She doesn't want to fuck you, dude. She's just buying you a coffee—for some reason.

They took a place at the back of the queue.

"My name is Emily," she said, offering him a perfectly manicured hand.

"I'm Josh." He was embarrassed by his dirty fingernails, but he shook her hand firmly. Her skin was warm and smooth.

Emily flirted with her eyes. What the hell do I say now? "Do you want to find someplace to fuck?" God, what a hunk—so masculine!

The more he looked at her, the hornier he got. She seemed the ideal of femininity. He smiled at her uncertainly. What does she want? She certainly seems friendly.

They stood in uncomfortable silence. Luckily the line moved quickly. She ordered a tall, non-fat latte. He ordered a double, tall mocha and they moved on to the next queue to wait for their order.

Double, tall mocha. That's what Ben always drank. Quit thinking of Ben!

"So, what are you doing down here?" she asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Oh, I just came downtown to hang out with my friends. See what's up. But they had to go. I don't know if anyone else is going to show or not. What about you?"

"I thought I'd do some shopping."

"What are you going to buy?"

"I don't know," She shrugged and the movement caused a bounce under her jacket that suggested she had nice tits. He stopped the low rumble that threatened to come out of his throat. What is wrong with me? This woman is not flirting with me—she's not going to fuck me. I need to settle down.

"I thought I'd just look, see what's new. Maybe buy some lingerie." I can't believe I just said that! His eyes widened and she saw him swallow.

Mercifully, their lattes were ready. He picked them up and followed her to a small table in the corner. He set the lattes down quickly so he could pull her chair out for her. He waited while she shrugged out of her coat.

She was wearing a long, tight sweater in dark burgundy. It was quite low cut, but her cleavage was filled in with a creamy, lace undergarment. She was statuesque, like a Roman Goddess. As she sat in the proffered chair, he got a splendid view from above of some very nice breasts. C-cup—definitely. Blood raged into his cock. Luckily his cargo pants were not tight. He sat down quickly, but not before he noticed she was looking at his crotch. Some of the blood changed direction and flooded to his face.

As he leaned close, holding the chair for her, she'd caught his masculine scent under a veneer of cigarette smoke. The cigarette smoke was a disappointment, but not unexpected. What she smelled underneath it brought memories of male closeness and a yearning so powerful it took her breath away. She glanced automatically at his crotch and saw a rather noticeable bulge.

Damn! Fuck me right here, please! More juice gushed out of her pussy. Her panties were definitely wet. She would need to buy some new lingerie just to have something comfortable to wear for the evening.

They sat and looked at each other in silence.

Damn, Emily, say something! Something cool. She smiled. "It's supposed to get cold enough to snow tonight. It will probably stop by morning though." Weather. Weather is always safe. Safe, but not cool. Come on Emily. If you want this young, dangerous, masculine man, you need to be a bit bolder.

"I hadn't heard that. Doesn't surprise me. It feels really cold out there."

"You looked cold. I... I don't like being cold." That's real smooth, Emily. "Or hungry. I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" Am I asking him out?

"Yah, me too," he said before he could think about it. He was starving, actually. The mocha helped.

"Do you want to go to China Bistro for a snack?" China Bistro was the closest restaurant, only a few yards outside the door of the Starbuck's. "I'll buy, of course." OK, that's bold, Emily. Yikes!

"Um..." I'm starving. She's beautiful. She's buying. Why am I hesitating?

"I'm sorry. I've been too bold." She felt her face flush.

As he hesitated, he saw her become flustered. She apologized and blushed. Blushed! She was exquisite. Don't blow it, dude! Say yes!

"Okay. I mean, why?"

"I'm hungry. I hate to eat by myself. Please come with me. I don't mind paying for you at all."

There was an awkward silence.

"I think I would be a fool to say no. So, okay."

She smiled. So far, so good. This was beginning to seem like a real conquest. Fear fluttered in her heart. When it came right down to it, could she do it? Would she really have sex with a complete stranger? Her eyes traveled over his body. His sweatshirt was baggy, but his neck was thick and she could see hints of arm muscle under the damp fabric. And the way he moved! If I was going to have a one-night stand, it would be with someone like him.

Again there was silence, but this time it was not uncomfortable. They studied each other openly, both smiling.

Christ! I just want to jump your bones right now, you gorgeous young thing!

Fuck! How can I get into your pants? You are one sizzling hot chick!

Ahem. Slow down!

On the very short walk between Starbuck's and China Bistro, she asked him, "Are you old enough to go into the bar?"

"I have id for the bar," he answered.

Hmmm. Having id is not exactly the same as being old enough. I wonder how old he really is. Her guess was twenty.

The bar was crowded but their timing was good, and there were two seats just opening up at the bar.

He tried to look comfortable. He'd only been in a bar once before—last weekend. He was nineteen, but he'd had the brilliant idea of using his older brother's birth certificate and social security card to get himself a driver's license that said he was twenty-two. His brother didn't know, and of course, he had to use his brother's name on the id, but it had his picture on it. As long as he didn't do something stupid, like get himself arrested while using the id, he was golden.

"I'll have a glass of champagne," she said.

Classy! "I'll have a beer," he managed to say.

"Draft or bottle?"

He paused a second. "What kind of draft?"

The man listed off a bunch of beers he'd never heard of. He managed to latch on to one of them and repeat it back to the man. Then came the inevitable.

"Can I see your id, please?" He hadn't asked for her id, but now his expectant look encompassed both of them. They pulled out their driver's licenses and handed them, one at a time, to the bartender for the usual inspection.

Josh tried to look bored with whole id check to hide his nervousness. His id was foolproof, wasn't it? He didn't want her seeing it because it said David on it, not Josh. He quickly returned his id to his wallet and was conscious of her doing the same. What's she hiding?

"So, what do you do for fun?" she asked.

Hmmm! I'd love to demonstrate on you! "Just hang with my friends, mostly. In the summertime I like to water ski. I skateboard too. In the winter we usually just hang. I like to play guitar, but I'm not really good at it yet. What do you do?"

"Well, lately it's mostly just work."

"That doesn't sound like fun."

"It's not. I... oh, never mind." When Ben was alive they'd skied a lot in the winter. This year she hadn't done much at all for fun. I really should take the kids skiing, whether Lana wants to go or not.

She seems a million miles away. Why did she bring me along?

Their drinks arrived and they both sipped, glad for the diversion.

She absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair, brushing back the small ringlets. Her finger sparkled.

He suddenly paid attention. His subconscious mind was flashing a warning about something.

Her ring! She's married! He double-checked. Yes, that's the marriage finger. She had a huge diamond ring along with a band. Damn! I knew it was too good to be true. Why didn't I notice that earlier? He was not used to looking for a ring. At his age, it was rare that he met a girl who was married. His hopes for the evening evaporated.

He questioned again whether she could be an undercover cop. Maybe she's trying to bust me for underage drinking? No, she's not a cop. She's way too classy. Lady cops are only classy on TV--like Beckett on Castle. In real life they were usually closer to Roseanne Barr. She wasn't a cop.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked, pushing a menu toward him.

She's buying me a beer. She's buying me food. "I feel weird about you paying for everything," he said.

"Don't worry about it," I'll get it out of you in trade, I hope!

It was easy to look at him, he was so fine! It was not, however, easy to make conversation with him. I don't want to talk to you, I just want to fuck you. How do I get you in my bed tonight?

She took a deep, audible breath and let it out slowly.

Fuck, she is sexy! Do I care that she's married? Watch yourself, dude.

"Do you want to share something? Why don't you pick? I like everything." He pushed the menu back to her.

She studied the menu while he studied her curves and tried to calm his cock down.

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byallusive1© 22 comments/ 152601 views/ 32 favorites

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