He Stared at all that I Showed Ch. 04

Ron wants to take me parking and have sex in the backseat of his classic car.

Revised, rewritten, and continued from Chapter 03:

As if already prejudging him based on some of the other, older men in my life, and as if having memorized all they've said in the past, I already knew the questions that Ron would ask me as we got to know one another better. Having heard it all before, I readied myself to hear it all again. Unfortunately, to his detriment, he was no different from any other older man that I played. They were all the horny and sexually frustrated same. I've lost count of how many older men I've sexually teased, sexually accommodated, and had to put up with to earn my living. I imagined our sexually inappropriate conversation.

'You have such, big, beautiful breasts, Kim,' I imagined him saying while staring at my fully clothe tits. 'I love your big tits, Kim. What size bra do you wear?'

Having done all this many times before, I imagined myself looking down to where he was staring at all that I was showing of my long, line of sexy cleavage before looking back up at him with a naughty look.

'I'm a 34 C, Daddy,' I imagined saying while flashing my pearly white smile and giving him a cheesecake pose.

As if I had just removed my breasts from my bra and blouse and exposed my naked tits to him, I imagined him looking at me with sexual excitement while continuing to stare at my fully clothe breasts.

'Tell me and be honest. Just between us,' I imagined him saying. 'There's no need to feel embarrassed by your answer, but have you been with a lot of men?'

As I've done many times before, I imagined myself smiling at his rude question, even though it was none of his business how many men I've had sex with in my past.

'I've had sex with a few men. I'm no virgin, if that's what you mean,' I imagined responding.

If he knew how many men I teased, flashed myself to, and played, he'd be surprised. Yet, I didn't have sex with all the man that I teased, flashed, and played. Sex was a selective process and something that depended upon the type of mood I was in that day. As if practicing and rehearsing our soon to be had conversation, I continued.

'Tell me and be honest. Just between us,' I imagined him asking. 'There's no need to feel embarrassed by your answer, have you been with anyone like me, a much older gentleman,' he said as if questioning why I was interested in him.

I smiled again while imagining my response.

'No, I haven't been with anyone as nice, as kind, and as good looking as you,' I said lying. "Yet, I have befriended many much older men."

He gushed with my compliment and looked as if he had just won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. No doubt, what I said to him gave him the courage to ask his next question.

'Tell me and be honest. This is just between us. There's no need to feel embarrassed by your answer,' I imagined him saying with a pause while he stared at my red, full lips as if I already had his hard, hairy cock in my mouth. 'Do you suck cock?'

Such a sexually inappropriate question but obviously, me giving him a blowjob was what he was most interested in receiving. I smiled while sliding a slow and deliberate tongue across my lips.

'Do I suck cock? Do I suck cock? Is the Pope Catholic? Seriously? Do you really need to ask someone who looks like me such a sexually inappropriate question?'

I imagined myself laughing while making a sexually excited face over the thought of sucking his cock.

'Of course, I suck cock,' I imagined saying while continuing to smile at him. 'I love sucking cock. I love giving blowjobs. Sucking cock is one of my favorite, sexual things to do.'

I imagined raising my hand to my mouth and moving it back and forth as if I was already giving him a blowjob. I pushed the side of my cheek out with my tongue to make it look as if I was sucking his cock. Obviously sexually aroused, he started breathing through his mouth instead of his nose. Just as I had experienced inappropriate, sexual conduct with all the others, I imagined experiencing inappropriate, sexual conduct with him.

As if he was rethinking the question he just asked and/or was about to ask next, he was the one who looked uncomfortably embarrassed, not me. For him to ask such a personal and sexually inappropriate question, my answer was a big deal to him but not a big deal to me. Discussing blowjobs with him was as easy as it was sexy.

"Do you swallow?"

I imagined him wiping his brow from the perspiration that started to form at his hairline. I imagined him putting a finger to his collar and tugging in forward and more open for some air. He looked at me with hopefulness while I made a sour face that obviously made him believe that I didn't swallow, even though I did. It was so very much fun teasing him over something as simple as giving him head.

'Do I swallow?' I imagined saying. 'You mean do I allow a man to cum in my mouth? You mean do I swallow cum? More specifically, would I not only suck your cock but also allow you to cum in my mouth and swallow your cum? Is that what you're asking me?'

I imagined laughing at his nervousness and uncomfortableness. Obviously, with neither of his ex-wives giving him a blowjob, these were questions that he should have asked his first two wives before marrying them. Instead of looking at me with delighted hopefulness, he looked at me as if he had just ruined our relationship before it even started.

'Oh, my God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you such an invasive and sexually inappropriate question. That was wrong of me,' I imagined him saying. 'Please forgive me.'

I imagined flashing him my smile again. It was such fun teasing him while making him so nervous.

'Of course, I swallow and of course I'd swallow your cum, Daddy. It wouldn't be much of a blowjob if I didn't swallow,' I imagined saying to him with a sexy laugh and a shrug. 'I love swallowing cum, especially your cum, Daddy.'

I imagined him leering at my hands before leering at my jean and panty covered pussy.

'Tell me, Kim, if you don't mind me asking,' I imagined him saying, 'how many times a week do you masturbate?'

I imagined smiling again before letting out a little laugh.

'No doubt, I don't masturbate as much as you do, Daddy, but I can remedy that for you,' I imagined saying with a dirty laugh. 'When I'm done with you, you won't have a reason to masturbate yourself anymore.'

I imagined him looking at me as if his pacemaker had just skipped a beat. I imagined him taking a big breath before gulping out his next question.

'Do you ever think of me while you're masturbating yourself?'

I imagined leaning forward in my chair while giving him my sexiest smile along with my naughtiest look. God, I was such a wicked slut.

'Oh, my God, Daddy, all the time,' I imagined lying. 'I always think of you when rubbing my clit with my vibrator, fucking my pussy with my dildo, and feeling my tits while fingering, pulling, turning, and twisting my nipples,' I imagined saying. 'When I'm masturbating myself, I suck on my dildo while imagining sucking your cock.'

As if he was in a trance, I imagined him leaning forward in his chair to ask me his next question.

'May I watch you masturbate yourself sometime? I'd really like to see that, Kim,' I imagined him saying. 'My wife never allowed me to watch her masturbate. She even told me that she doesn't masturbate but everyone masturbates, right?'

I removed my jeans and pulled down my panties to show him my black, bushy pussy.

"Yes, Daddy. Everyone masturbates, even the priests and the nuns, especially the nuns,' I imagined saying. 'If you'd like, you may watch me masturbate myself right now,' I imagined saying.

I imagined rubbing my clit with my finger. I imagined sticking my other hand inside of my blouse and bra to finger my nipples. Giving him what he wanted to see, I imagined that I was masturbating myself right there in front of him for his sexual pleasure.

Eager to join the masturbation party, I imagined him unzipping himself, pulling out his cock, and stroking himself while I continued masturbating myself. The deeper I fucked myself with my finger and the more sexual sounds that I made, the faster he stroked his cock. Obviously, just as all the other men did, I imagined that he enjoyed hearing me becoming sexually excited.

'Oh, my God, Daddy,' I imagined saying. 'I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum. Cum with me, Daddy. Cum.'

Alas and unfortunately, just as so very many other older man have trouble getting themselves off, he continued stroking himself to no avail. I imagined his cock flaccidly drooping in his hand. I imagined him looking at me with as much sexual frustration as he looked at me with embarrassment.

'Even though I'm sometimes impotent, Kim,' I imagined him saying and asking me. 'Do you think you could take me in your hand and stroke me and then take me in your mouth to suck me?'

As if I was directing traffic, I imagined waving him over.

'Come over here, Daddy. Stick your cock in my mouth, Ron,' I imagined saying to him. 'Let Kimberly suck you and stroke you until I make you hard and until you cum in my mouth and watch me swallow your cum.'

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

Instead of calling him Ron, if I dared called him Daddy, as I've called so many other of my older boyfriends, I'd have him eating out of my hand. Yet, not just a one-way street, just as he was obviously sexually attracted to me, and with me having Daddy issues, I was sexually attracted to him, too. With me never knowing my father, I was always looking for my Daddy. With me never knowing my grandfather, I was always looking for my grandfather too. With Ron looking young enough to be my Daddy, he was old enough to be my grandfather too. Ron was my Daddy and my grandfather combined in one man.

Without a doubt, no ands, buts, or maybes, I'd give the right, older man sex, especially if he responded in kind by giving me money. Money for sex and sex for money. Money was my sexual lubricant. Money was what made me horny and sexually excited enough to fuck and suck an older man.

Besides, with them having already lived much of their lives, older men were much more experienced in the ways of the world and more interesting than younger men. Compared to an older man who always knew what he wanted and what he was doing, younger men were indecisively, immature and boring. I'd take an older man over a younger man every day of the week.

Yet, don't judge me because I need to make a living. I need to live too. My body, my brain, and my beauty is all that I have to make a living in an economy where there are no jobs but for part-time service jobs with low pay and no benefits. Why should I be leered at by my co-workers and sexually harassed by my bosses when I can have older men do that while paying me money to play?

Money for sex and sex for money seemed like a fair exchange to me. Just as I had what older, lonely, and forgotten men wanted, they had what I wanted, too. Besides what was transacted between two consenting adults behind closed bedroom doors is none of anyone's business.

In my line of work as an opportunist, sometimes a kind word, a bit of comfort, some flashing, and a little sex goes a long way to earn me a lot of money. Even though I called myself an opportunist, which I was, other women would more define me as a materialistic whore and what I do as what a prostitute does. Other women would never wear the clothes that I wear and that I was wearing now while stooping, bending, stretching, leaning, and flashing my new neighbor my nearly naked, young body. Other modestly moral woman would never show any man flashes of her panties, her bra, her cleavage, her ass crack, her ass, her tits, and/or her pussy, but I would for money.

Other women would never use her God given gifts for sex. Other women would rather work long hours at a low paying job while being sexually abused by her co-workers and sexually harassed and pressured by management. Only, I'm not other women. I'm me. I'm Kim. I do what I must do to live, to survive, and to thrive. Don't judge me, just enjoy the fact that I love being a sexy, young, exhibitionistic woman.

Furthermore, going beyond just flashing older men, I'd give them sex for money too. I'd rub my naked body all over their naked body. While they felt and fondled my naked tits, fingered, pulled, turned, and twisted my naked nipples, squeezed, slapped, and spanked my naked ass, and fingered my clit and masturbated my naked pussy, I'd stroke their naked cocks. While stroking their cocks, I'd suck their cocks for the right price. I'd even fuck their cocks if they could still get and maintain erections.

Without out a doubt, as I've done this plenty of times before for admiring and appreciative, older men, for the right price, I was willing to show Ron everything he obviously wanted to see. For the right price, I'd fondle his cock and stroke his cock. For the right price, I'd allow him to ejaculate his cum all over my hand and all over my naked breasts. For the right price, while fondling his cock with my manicured fingertips, I'd take his flaccid prick in my mouth and suck his cock. For the right price, I'd allow him to cum in my mouth and I'd swallow his cum. As long as he could maintain an erection long enough, for the right price, as long as he wore a condom, I'd fuck him.

"Fuck me, Ron. Fuck me, Daddy. Make me your young, sexy bitch," I imagined saying to my new Daddy.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

On the flipside of the coin, too many women are obesely out of shape, especially older woman. Too many women would rather eat than have sex. Too many women would rather eat a double cheeseburger than to make a man happy by sucking his cock and allowing him to cum in her mouth. Too many women have given up on men and are no longer interested in sex. From the way that I see it, it's not the men. It's the women.

'What the fuck? Seriously? Are you kidding me? They've already given up on men? They're no longer interested in sex? What the Hell is wrong with you women? Fix your hair and your makeup, put on your sexiest outfit, and get back out there. Go! Now! Do it! Just do it! Go fuck and go suck. You're not dead yet.'

Too many women aren't very sexy. Too many women no longer want sex. Admittedly, too many women aren't as young and as pretty as I am. Immodestly, too many women don't have my body, my confidence, and my intelligence. Immorally, too many women don't have the balls to flash men their panties, their bras, their cleavages, their ass cracks, their asses, their tits, and their pussies but I do. I love flashing unsuspecting men what they hope to see while making my flashes appear accidental and making them believe that they're at the right place at the right time.

'Men, especially older man, are so easy.'

My only way to earn a living was to flash men like Ron all that they wanted, hoped, and needed to see of me. While I still had it, I needed to flaunt it. While I still had it, I needed to make money with it.

'Sex for money and money for sex was my mantra. Flashing much older men my sexy body for money sounded like a fair exchange to me. Sex for money and money for sex, Ron was my next victim who needed to pay me to play. As long as he paid me to see it, whatever he wanted to see, I'd show him. Again, if he paid me to do it, whatever he wanted me to sexually do, I'd do it.'

"I love you, Daddy."

Chapter 04:

With us already having an interesting and revealing conversation, maybe by him telling me that he was a widower, he wanted me to know that he was available and back on the prowl. Regrettably, he'd have to have a lot of money to interest me but I did love the car that he had parked in his driveway. A real, rare classic and a true conversation piece, I hadn't seen one of those beauties in years. Instead of the cheap, unibody construction, front-wheel drive, econo-boxes that they manufacture now, this was one of the last of the true luxury cars.

For him to have such a fine, old car, a real gem, one-of-a-kind of an automobile, I figured he had a few dollars. Just finding the parts to keep that baby running must cost him a pretty penny. Maybe when his wife died, she left him a substantial, life insurance policy. Maybe having worked all his life, he had a nice retirement to compliment his Social Security. Something that my generation would never receive now that all the higher paying manufacturing jobs are shipped overseas, most of the unions are busted, and Social Security is nearly broke.

At the very least, by the time it's my time to retire and collect Social Security in forty-years, they'll probably raise the minimum age to collect from 62 to 65 and then from 65 to 67. It pisses me off that our so called public servants refer to those hardworking people who dare collect Social Security, unemployment benefits, and food assistance as entitled. How dare they?

With our elected officials having the best healthcare in the world for free, they have free meals at the government cafeteria at our expense. They even have their own bloated budgets to hire their staff as favors to contributors and hire relatives as nepotism. Our elected officials are the entitled ones, not us.

We must work forty-years and not expect retirement benefits, other than Social Security. All they need do is to serve one term in public office to receive not only free healthcare for life but also retirement benefits. Are you kidding me? How dare they? Why can't we get that deal? What midnight session did they rubber stamp that through Congress?

If they wanted to fix Social Security, they should only pay the people who need the money. It's ridiculous to allow millionaires to collect Social Security and Medicare benefits. If they wanted to fix the economy, they'd tax the rich as much as they tax the middle class and the poor. It's ridiculous that a billionaire hasn't paid a dollar in federal taxes in 20-years. Are you kidding? How does that happen? That's not right and that's not fair.

These elected officials go into public office wealthy and leave their elected office filthy rich, powerful, and influential. It's an insult to all of us for them to call themselves public servants. They don't serve anyone other than themselves, lobbyists, and the other superrich. It's time we had a revolution. It's time we made our country great again by squeezing the wealth down from the top instead of squeezing all our money up to the top 1%. I'm sick and tired of seeing these superrich, Plutonians on TV.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

I immediately recognized the car as a true, supercar classic. How could I not? Too big not to notice, compared to the small cars of today, it was such a huge car. In its day, it was right up there in quality, value, and luxury with Cadillac, Lincoln, the Mercedes-Benz 300 Adenauer, the Mercedes-Benz 600, and the Rolls Royce Silver Cloud.

In its day, it had a real following of loyal fans and devoted followers who absolutely loved this supersized car. Besides, instead of being made in Germany, Japan, Korea, or in Italy, this classic car was made in the good, old USA, in Detroit, Michigan. Rich with luxury, technological innovation, craftsmanship, and power, the car was as fine of an automobile as could be made at the time of its manufacture.

Ron had a car that no one else has but that one of my foster care father's had and that he primarily used for parades. Only, his car wasn't in the pristine condition that Ron's car was. As if it just rolled off the assembly line, Ron's car was so very shiny and not missing any chrome pieces. The car looked brand new. Not allowed to eat or drink when sitting in his car, I remember sitting in the backseat of my foster care Dad's car when I was a kid. The car was so wide that we could comfortably seat six children or four adults in the backseat.