Jordan

It was another wedding reception like so many nowadays, too loud, too busy and too young. But when you are divorced with grown children, sometimes the only events you get invited to are your friends' children's weddings, so you take what you can get.

My good friend Helen had invited me, with guest, to her daughter's reception at a lovely old mansion which was now rented out for special occasions. No expense was spared. The wedding party alone was sixteen people.

Unfortunately, my friend Jerry, who was supposed to attend with me, had to cancel suddenly due to a family illness, and it was too short of a notice to try to find a replacement for him, so I went myself.

Helen had a table made up of just her friends, mostly people she worked with, so I knew virtually no one. The other couples tried to include me in their conversations, but it was awkward on both sides, so I spent my time wandering around the grounds, enjoying the pleasant spring afternoon, sipping my Gin & Tonics and people-watching.

The young people crowded the dance floor as the music pulsed from the DJ's huge speakers, dancing to a mixture of rap, hip hop, and old school Rock and Roll as I stood by a window overlooking the garden.

"Feel like dancing?" a deep male voice startled me. I turned to face one of the ushers, a tall kid with dark, wavy hair who I had noticed earlier because of his bright blue eyes.

"Me?" I replied with a laugh. "This isn't exactly the music I grew up with." Being fifty-four years old, with a son probably older than this guy, I was clearly out of my element and the young man was just trying to be polite to the old lady.

He smiled through white teeth. "Age has nothing to do with it. You just get out there and let the beat take you."

"I'm sure," I told him, "the beat will take me right to my chiropractor. Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass."

He smiled again, paused as if to say something, then was off to the dance floor.

What a sweet young man, I thought, taking pity on the poor, lonely, old lady. And handsome! In my younger days, he's just what I considered "my type." I went back to sipping my drink, seeing him dancing around, energy pulsing from every inch of him.

I glanced at myself in one of the ceiling-to-floor mirrors and thought that it was too bad Jerry hadn't come. He was good for a few laughs and I had picked out this red dress with matching heels because I knew red was his favorite. My hair was freshly high-lighted, and cut, and the make-up was done just right to not look trampy, and Jerry would've made sure to give me a well-needed night of mad sex afterwards, but now I was just a made-up fifty-something, sucking on a G&T, getting my jollies from watching men thirty years my junior.

I turned slightly to check out my profile in the mirror, satisfied that while I would never be thin again, my curves were proportionate, with my hips equaling my 38C chest. I could still turn some heads, even though they'd have to be much older than this crowd.

I noticed a slight beat-change, and I think it may have even been a different song, when I noticed my new friend was back, carrying two drinks. "Hi, remember me?" he asked.

"Of course! Age doesn't mean anything, right?"

He blushed. "That's me. Anyway, I thought maybe you could use a fresh one." He held up a glass with a lime. "I asked the bartender what you were drinking. Hope you don't mind?"

How could I mind? A handsome young man delivering fresh alcohol? I was in Heaven. I took the glass. "Thank you very much. Is this part of your Boy Scout 'Be Kind to Old Ladies' merit badge?"

He let out a deep, hearty laugh. "More like, 'Why is this gorgeous creature alone tonight?' kind of badge."

I looked over both my shoulders, as if expecting to see an SI model behind me, and said, "Well, thanks for the drink and try not to bump into any of the furniture until you get your glasses replaced."

He held up his glass and we clinked. "I like you. You're funny and self-deprecating. My name is Jordan."

I was impressed with his vocabulary on top of everything else. "Hi Jordan, I'm Lynn, I'm a friend of the bride's mom."

"Well, as you can tell from the outfit, I'm one of the million members of the wedding party, which means I happen to be somebody who knows the groom, I guess. So basically, we're just extras in this extravaganza."

"That's funny because it's true. Aren't you here with someone?"

He shrugged. "My date fell through. To be honest, she dumped me two weeks ago. I'm better off without her, I know, but it was too short of a notice to find another girl."

"Well, it's her loss," I replied with a wink.

"Thanks, and what's your story?"

"My date had to go out of town at the last minute."

"His loss is my gain," Jordan answered smoothly. "Now I get to have an enjoyable conversation with a very attractive woman."

I chuckled as I put my hand on his chest. "Honey, you're very sweet, but look at all these young girls out here, just waiting to be plucked. It's very nice of you but don't waste your time over here. Thanks again for the drink."

I turned to move away but his hand held mine to his chest. When I looked back, he wasn't smiling any more.

"Don't sell yourself short, Lynn. I meant it when I said 'Age doesn't mean anything.' I understand if I'm not your type, but don't close yourself off to all the options. There may be someone else here for you. Good luck." With that, he was gone.

I thought about our conversation as I strolled around, thinking what a sweet kid he was. And, I know from some of the looks and comments I hear from younger guys, there are some who prefer a more mature partner, just as so many older men strive to meet younger girls. I was sorry that he seemed rejected, especially by me. I definitely had no intention to hurt his feelings. After all, he was the only person who at least noticed all the effort I put into looking my best tonight.

The sun was setting when I strolled up to the bar. The event was beginning to wrap up and I had time for one more before I called Uber for a ride home.

"Our drinking must be synchronized," a familiar voice came from behind me.

I turned and smiled, not totally unhappy to see he was still on his own. "And, it's my turn to get you a drink. Bartender, a G&T and whatever Jordan is having."

"Just a beer," he told the man. To me, he continued, "I have to drive. And thanks for remembering my name, Lynn."

We chatted as people stopped by to tell him what joint they were meeting at after the reception, and he just nodded and waved to them.

"I'm sorry if I came across as rude or snippy before," I told him. "You were just being nice to me, and you deserved better treatment than I gave you."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm a big boy."

"Yes you are. And, by the way, if truth be known, you are exactly my type... if I was thirty years younger!"

"I'm actually much older than I look," I smiled.

We clinked glasses again. "Well, I'd better be calling my ride," I explained after a bit.

"Someone is picking you up?" he asked.

"Yes, my friendly Uber driver. I knew I would have a few drinks and didn't want to chance the drive home."

"Well, my car's got plenty of room and I'd love the company."

"Jordan, you don't even know where I live."

"No, but all the dancing kept me sober and I don't have any plans."

"What about all your friends?"

"The ones I didn't want to hang around with all day, I want to spend more time with? Where do you live?"

Reluctantly, I told him. He swore it was pretty much on his way. "Really, it's no trouble. I'd really like to talk more; you really are nice and fun to be with."

His car turned out to be an SUV and I had to climb up to get in. I felt like a kid again, riding in the front seat of a mini-van. The ride flew by, with us getting acquainted. He worked in a bank, some sort of stock analyst. He had graduated with a Masters a few years ago so I guessed his age at 27 or so. When we arrived at my house, I was disappointed the ride was over. So too, apparently, was he.

"Maybe we can stop somewhere, for coffee or something?" he asked.

"There's no place close by. If you're interested, I have coffee..."

Jordan's eyes lit up. "That'd be great!"

I led the way inside. "I have coffee, beer, liquor. I had thought my date would be coming over afterwards."

"Well, if you'll join me, I could have a beer."

I shrugged. "I have no place to go and that's what I was planning was another G&T."

I poured our drinks as he stood at the kitchen counter. We clinked again. "To age not meaning a thing," Jordan said, his eyes bright and his smile warm.

"Sounds good to me!" I answered light-heartedly. I felt like a giddy school girl but knew nothing could ever become of this. After all, I was assuming that Jordan was actually being more than polite.

His eyes stayed on me as he drank and I didn't look away, feeling butterflies fluttering down deep in my womanhood. "So, I hope you don't have too far to drive from here."

"No," he replied, still watching me closely. "I could always crash in my car, anyway."

"Don't say, 'crash."

He laughed. "No, I meant I could sleep in the car, not crash." He got serious again. "Or I could just crash here?"

"You don't give up, do you? I know you're just being sweet, but watch it: You may run into an old lady who takes you seriously."

"You really think I'm just flattering you? Come on, Lynn. You're a good-looking woman, and I'm more than a little tired of all the drama that dating a young girl entails. I would truly like to see you again. Maybe dinner? Drinks? Whatever you want, I'd like to pursue it."

Those butterflies were at it again. The gin was going straight to my head and those blue eyes were looking right through me. "If you're serious..."

He moved around to my side of the counter and stood inches from me as I looked up at his smooth, handsome face. My breath was shallow and I felt my lip quiver as I struggled to speak. I felt his hands on my hips and he slid me closer to him. In some sort of slow-motion, his head began to bend and I felt myself rising to meet him. When our lips met, I was dizzy, so dizzy that if he wasn't holding me, I fear I would have collapsed.

It began as a soft kiss, almost tentative, and then became so much more. The heat was engulfing as our lips parted and our tongues danced.

There was no rush, no urgency. The kiss lingered, and he stared down at me, looking for my reaction. I looked up with similar concern, but we blended into a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Somehow we moved to the couch, where our arms intertwined and I felt him reach up to my breast. I exhaled as he fondled me, kissing my neck, my cheek, my lips. I resigned myself to him, and was impressed by his maturity, no boyish rushes. I felt his hand at the top of my dress, feeling for the zipper and was relieved when he found it and slid it down my back.

When it was down, he looked into my eyes as he slid the dress off my shoulders, exposing a red lace bra which heaved flesh over the top as I breathed. He buried his head in my flesh, kissing and probing as his hand worked the clasp in the back. It gave, and my breasts were free. He lifted the bra away and I felt them sag against me. I prayed that old age would not deter him.

He went for one nipple with his lips, sucking, biting, as his hand tweaked my other nip. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

After a while, his hand slid down the front of my pantie hose, and I inhaled to give him room. His fingers slid past my trimmed bush and into my wet hole as I spread my legs to accommodate him. One, then another finger, entered me, slowly sliding in and out, sending waves of excitement through me.

He laid me back and I arched my hips as he tugged the dress and pantie hose down, pulling them off my feet. He had removed his jacket and tie when he entered, and now I began unsnapping his tuxedo shirt, ripping it off him. He slid the tee shirt over his head as he looked me over, staring at my spread legs. He knelt on the floor and bent, kissing my thighs, starting out by the calves, and slowly working his way up to my crotch, finally spreading the hair and licking my clit. My groan seemed to spur him on, and he licked and sucked greedily at my swollen member.

He was quite expert at this, and my head swiveled as I moaned and sobbed, feeling my body shudder as I came again and again. I was almost giddy when I grasped his head and pulled him away. "Enough," I said, breathlessly. "Come here." I pulled him up to me and we kissed deeply. When I finally caught my breath, I shifted from under him and tugged at his pants, finally getting the zipper down. I could see the outline of his penis and it was large, so I dug into the pants, fishing out his snake. I gasped. It was 8 or 9 inches long, thick and cut. I looked up at him and smiled, then knelt and kissed the head. My tongue flicked the slit and he twitched. I slowly opened my mouth, taking the head in, swirling my tongue around it as I did. He moaned and laid his head back as my hand stroked his shaft as my saliva covered the head and ran down the shaft as I stroked.

There was no way I could take him all the way so after a few inches, I began increasing my pace on him, feeling his hips begin to move against me. My hand kept pace with my head, trying to give his full length all of my attention and his thrusts continued, picking up steam, harder into my hungry mouth. I was gagging, spittle running down his shaft as he panted. I wanted him to cum the way he made me cum and I stayed with it, forcing myself to hold on and finally was rewarded by the first spurt, and then he gave one final thrust, holding it deep in my mouth as he shot a full load, which I rapidly swallowed to keep from coughing it all over him. His body slumped as the last of his sperm oozed from the tip and I hungrily cleaned him up.

I stayed down, slowly milking him, although he was quite spent. My breathing became more regular, and I slowly slid back, amazed at what I had done with this man my son's age.

Jordan stirred, sitting up, and reached for me. I felt I looked a mess from his huge spear, makeup smeared and eyes damp from the gagging. As he pulled me toward him, I whispered, "Little girl's room," and grabbed for my red dress to use as cover as I slipped away from him.

Alone, looking in the mirror, my suspicions were confirmed: blood-shot eyes, running mascara, and rosy cheeks from the excitement. I fixed myself up as much as possible, brushing my hair and grabbing a robe. At this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if I returned to an empty couch. Many men can't wait to leave, and the realization for Jordan that the woman he had just been with could have been his mother, could understandably cause regret and panic.

I moved back into the living area and tentatively said, "Hello?"

"In here," he called from the kitchen. He had a can of beer in his hand and a smile on his face. "Sorry for not asking, but I seem to have worked up quite a thirst."

He was still naked, his member semi-hard and bobbing as he talked. "Can I get you something?" he asked.

I shook my head, still feeling heady from our mutual experience, but he was smiling, confident, and anything but shy.

He came around the counter, looking at my robe. "I hope this doesn't mean it's time for me to leave."

"I'd understand if you did; no hard feelings."

He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him, lifting my chin to face his smile. "But, you've got me ready for the main event."

He bent and we kissed, and I felt his penis pressed against me. Another kiss and I knew how much I wanted him to stay. His hand had slid from my shoulder and was undoing my robe, and we let that slip to the floor, the two of us naked, his rod fully erect now. He maneuvered me back to the couch and lay me back again, this time staying above me and guiding his penis between my thighs, and I grabbed it to help. I rubbed it up my clit and felt another wave, knowing I would need the lubrication to accommodate him.

Once he felt his tip dip into my wetness, he leaned in, slowly. I was sure he'd had to be gentle on every woman he'd ever been with, and it was appreciated but also frustrating: I wanted him in me. He entered further as I slowly inhaled.

Once settled, he shifted sideways, letting me stretch and adjust. Then satisfied that I was ready, he began the slow ins and outs, with each of us breathing deeply and me occasionally gasping.

He nuzzled into my neck, his hips bucking and mine arching to stay with him. He increased the pace, then slowed again, but he wasn't fully in me.

"Let me be on top," I whispered, and he withdrew and I slid from under him. He laid back and I mounted him, holding his cock to teasing it, lightly dipping into me as he moaned.

"Hey, no teasing," he groaned with a smile and I obeyed, spreading as wide as possible and lowering myself, finally able to take him all the way. I began to rise and fall, sitting upright on my stallion, feeling him buck beneath me.

The pace slowly increased, with him holding my hips as if afraid I'd fall off.

The pounding and our breathing increased and our eyes were locked as we gasped and thrust. His bucking lost its rhythm and I sensed the end was near. I leaned closer and let him pound his way to orgasm, hearing those guttural grunts and then the last push, holding me high as he released. We clung together as he spasmed and I felt another wave of excitement flow through me.

We kissed at last and sat up, with me still feeling the glow. "It's getting late," I said. "If you'd prefer not to drive, you're welcome to stay."

He smiled and winked. "I was hoping you'd say that. I make a mean omelet."