Life in the Fast Lane

She chuckled to herself at the realization that she had never before fucked anyone younger than she was, let alone her own age or close to her own age.What the fuck, it wasn't as if she was an old lady. He was certainly mature for his age. Like most eighteen-year-old males, he could fuck at the drop of a hat, cum and fuck again without a break.

There was something about a young cock that stood up so proudly at an almost vertical angle. His lack of experience would not prove to be an issue; she had more than enough experience for both of them. The day would come when he would want something more and understand that she would never be able to be anything more. He'd move on and probably fall in love. Enjoy it while it lasts, she mused.

He would look back and marvel at how open and candid their dialogues involving sex had always been. While she had been that way from day one, he would quickly learn to avoid miscommunication. How many men engage in all sorts of ploys and lame subterfuge in order to get their partner to suck their cock? How many women respond intentionally obtusely perhaps to avoid appearing either too experienced or too slutty?

How many wives after many years of marriage state unequivocally: "Don't go spending a lot of money on a birthday present for me. I have everything I need." Or, "Valentine's Day is just an excuse for Hallmark ™ to make money." Or, "After twenty years, I think we can dispense with anniversary celebrations." Or, "I love fresh flowers but they wilt too quickly and we should save the money for something we really need." Of course, if men buy this crap they are royally fucked.

Be prepared for the ubiquitous, "You shouldn't have, I thought we discussed this." If you get defensive at that point, you are sure to be royally fucked, or not fucked. Might I suggest: "Money is just money but what you brought to my life the day you said yes has been beyond anything I ever could have dreamed of. You've given me so much more than I could ever give you in return." Or, "Every day is Valentine's Day with you in my life." Or maybe, "From my perspective every day is a special anniversary of the day we met." Or even, "The way your eyes light up and that amazing smile of yours when you have a bunch of fresh cut flowers in your hands reminds me that I'm the luckiest man in the world." Later, when you suggest that she wear the diamond choker and nothing else, well, insert your own picture here.

He had suggested dinner. She agreed with some reservations, making it clear that they weren't really dating. She'd pay half. What the hell, it was just dinner and he seemed easy to be with. She wouldn't let it become a habit and would ensure that it didn't becomenormal, too dangerous or too much of a chance for things to get messy and complicated. That next evening as she prepared to open the front door she grinned as she considered the scenario that she had chosen. She intended to remind him very clearly what she was and what their relationship was all about.

The door swung open quickly and there she was, alarmingly beautiful in a crisp, white button down shirt and nothing more. His eyes uncontrollably fell to her pussy, that soft, naturally blonde pussy, already puffy and glistening with arousal. He was instantly erect and having gotten in the habit of not wearing underwear, the effect wasn't lost on her.

He moved to her and slowly unbuttoned the gleaming white shirt with deft fingers, gently removing it from her shoulders, looking around quickly and placing it carefully over a chair nearby.

She started to speak, "what's on your mind?"

He silenced her with his mouth as his strong hands roamed freely over her strong young body, exploring her glistening cunt and sliding along the tight crease of her perfect rump. His touch sent delightful shivers through her body. He broke the kiss and spoke.

"Two things. First, it would be a real shame if we messed up that shirt and you had to iron it again."

"Very thoughtful. And the other thing?"

"Don't ever meet me at the door with that adorable little pussy of yours hanging out unless you want to get fucked almost instantly with no preliminaries or foreplay."

"Point taken," she replied with a grin.

"You are a very bad little girl."

"Does that mean I need a spanking?" she replied, as she deftly unfastened his chinos and pushed them down to his knees. He kicked them off without looking down. Her soft hands worked their way under his shirt and pushed it over his head as her lips worked their way up his muscular chest.

"Now we're even," she said.

He grabbed her, spun her around and pushed his engorged organ against the cleft of her ass as both of his strong hands cupped her breasts and caressed her turgid nipples as his lips nuzzled her neck. He was taking the lead, moving her toward the arm of the overstuffed sofa. She was quite sure what he had in mind and the vision excited her.

Pushing her down over the arm of the sofa he grabbed her arms and held them tightly as her head rested on the seat of the sofa and her feet left the floor. Releasing one of her arms, he spanked her several times, more than love taps, delightfully stinging but certainly not hard enough to leave a bruise. She responded with appropriate squeals. Then, as promised and with no preliminaries, he was inside her in a single thrust to the hilt.

Using one hand to hold her wrists together and the other to grip her fine young hips, he fucked her hard and deep, unrelenting, remorseless and with no thought of tenderness, exactly as she had hoped he would. To her surprise he lasted longer than any eighteen year old should have, all things considered, more than long enough for her to cum and then cum again.

He came with a growl, like an animal of the forest planting his seed in a chosen mate in a desperate attempt to perpetuate its species. The passion, the pure unbridled lust of two exceptionally fit and handsome members of the human species tossing away thousands of years of evolution and sexual repression as if instinct had taken over, as if civilization had ceased to exist ... beasts rutting ... a bitch in heat ... a male, needing to fuck or die.

Her eyes moistened as a fleeting thought flashed cross her consciousness, the sad realization that she had just enjoyed perhaps the most perfect and sublime pure fuck she had ever experienced. She smiled, deciding that if it was this good after less than twenty-four hours it had every probability of getting even better. He was playful, just like she could be. He was more than a great fuck he was a fun fuck. There was a brief sadness as she accepted the fact that it wouldn't and couldn't last. Then a smile again when she pledged to enjoy it to the hilt while it did and not do anything to fuck it up. He was holding her now and somehow she had ended up on his lap.

"You are dangerous! You knew damn well what was going to happen, planned it in detail." His finger ran over her stomach as her spoke.

"Guilty as charged."

"We're all about honesty, right?"

"Always."

"I didn't know what to expect, but I knew we'd fuck before dinner. I jerked off before I left my place because I knew I'd cum too fast if I didn't and I wanted to fuck you like that with no foreplay, just a hard, nasty fuck."

"It was good, all good. Just what I wanted and needed," she admitted with a grin.

"You know I've never ever known anyone like you before. Never knew what it could be like. I ..."

"You're a natural baby. Don't fight it or agonize over it. You're what I need. You're good for me. Let's just keep it fun and playful, not let it get complicated and fucked up. Promise?"

"Sure, I promise."

He meant it. He was as honest as the day is long but she new that at the core of every genuinely decent guy was a romantic, a man who needed to be in love and love always screwed things up. She wouldn't hurt him — couldn't — but she knew she'd have to keep his head in the game. She wanted the comfort he could provide; she wanted to be fucked. She was quite sure if she kept it slutty enough she could keep him on track.

Over the next few months, the sex did get even better as they explored the very limits of human sexuality. Three months after their first fuck, they had become very good friends, discovering many surprising similarities in worldviews and family influences. They remained playful and uncomplicated in and out of bed. They went to dinner and cooked together. They did things that normal couples did but there was an odd difference in their relationship compared to others.

In public, they were like very good friends or buddies. They didn't hold hands or gaze adoringly in each other's eyes. Their public persona gave no hint of their no-holds-barred sexual activities. It was a charade kept intact by the obvious: the age difference coupled with the shared belief that even if age had not been a factor, the entire foundation of their relationship was based on nasty, slutty, even kinky, sex, albeit between evolving friends.

Perhaps for the best, providence struck at the six-month mark, for while they never discussed it, their genuine affection for each other grew and tender moments between them became alarmingly frequent. Each knew it would end, sooner rather than later, and when it happened both rationalized that it was for the best. Both had known there was no future. Both seemed almost relieved that the decision had been made for them. Time seldom stands still for long and all delightful fantasies end too soon as the realities of life force their way in.

He had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, a two-year fellowship at one of the most prestigious universities on the planet, far, far away. In his field, it would mark him as one of the chosen, one of the elites. She in turn had recently come to the notice of a true giant in her field and been offered the kind of mentoring opportunity which would ensure her quick assent to the top echelons in her discipline. She would stay. He would go. What they had enjoyed together would end.

The tenderness of their love making their last night together said it all. As she hugged him that last morning at the airport, both rationalized that it was for the best but the pain of their parting was excruciating.

They wouldn't write and wouldn't call. It would be a clean break, executed with maturity. It was for the best. They weren't in love and never could be. Friends? The sex had evolved from good to great to perfect, always playful, uninhibited and satisfying to both, but just sex, nothing more.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Williams Shakespeare's mischievous fairy, Puck observed in the third act of "A Midsummer Night's Dream". The Bard was not the first nor would he be the last to observe that love is closer to madness than we might want to admit.

Unlike Shakespeare's lovers, these two had not created a romantic fantasy in their minds, but had actually lived a satisfying one for some number of months. In the years that followed both would come to realize that they had also become good friends, always playfully honest and true. In their own youthful maturity and seriousness, they had both concluded that fantasy was irrational and thus, it would be irrational to continue or pine over its termination. Love was never on the table and couldn't possibly be.

So, two people who, looking back, realized that they had never fought over anything more important than how much salt to add to a jointly prepared dinner. They genuinely liked each other and enjoyed each other's company. Both grew and achieved significant healing from their time together and were perfect sex partners. They each walked away from the fantasy unaware of or unwilling to accept how real it had all been.

While those amazing few months together slipped from the forefront of their minds over the ensuing months and years, they were never really that far below the surface. Both dated and fucked over the ensuing decade and came dangerously close to marriage. They each used work to cloud the pain and subconscious regret that neither could accept on the surface. Both over-achieved and became beacons in their chosen fields at relative young ages.

She had reconnected with her mother after many years of estrangement and as that relationship grew in intimacy, she shared glimpses with her only living parent.

"He always made me smile, laugh, think, feel special and safe and he made me cum. Oh my God did he make me cum!"

"That's not something you walk away from, dear," her mother remarked.

"Issues, mother, like our age difference and my abject sluttiness with him. Not any basis for anything more than what it was."

"Here you are at thirty-five and you miss him. It's written all over your face."

"Sure, I miss him. I know I miss the sex but more, even. It's his friendship, honesty and tenderness. He was good for me and helped me heal."

"Go find him. You'll never rest until you do."

"Can't do that mom, I don't want to shatter the fantasy or memories. I guess I don't want to know if it was real or could have been even. It's all moot. He's probably happily married with babies and white picket fences, all that real stuff."

He did not share intimate feelings of the same type with a close friend or family member, men seldom do, although he did spend a few sessions with a professional, spilling his guts and begging for answers that weren't provided. At the ten-year mark, he had achieved as much resolution as he ever would. At twenty-eight, it was time to move on with his personal life and certainly his love life.

He was dating and fucking an assistant professor. She was the first woman he had dated seriously in ten years and certainly the first one who didn't remind him of her. It wasn't terribly serious yet but he had just that morning decided to kick it up a notch.

As he sat in his academic office contemplating a significant new level of commitment in his budding relationship, the dean's head appeared at his door. He liked the dean who had hired him and offered him everything a young academic could have asked for. In return, the dean secured a "name" young scholar who had achieved more before his thirtieth birthday than all but a handful in his field had accomplished in a lifetime.

"Got a minute?" the affable senior academic and administrator inquired.

"Absolutely!" he replied, bounding out of his chair to greet the man at least a couple of decades his senior not simply because of his rank but because he genuine enjoyed the gentleman's company and conversation. After a brief interlude of academic small talk, the dean got right to the point.

"I need a favor. I know you're not particularly excited about 'official' social activities and I can't say I blame you. This is different, special. I'm planning a very small reception offsite for a select group of potential new hires, hosted by an equally select group of existing faculty. This is hush-hush; no engraved invitation will be forthcoming. I plan to limit it to a handful of, how to say this tactfully, the more engaging 'stars' of our university?"

"Uh, oh, I guess that means our Nobel laureates don't get an invite?"

"Exactly!"

"I wasn't aware that our department, or my area, was looking for new talent?"

"We're not. You pretty much took care of that when you chose us. There's a waiting list."

"Let's not sell our department's esteemed Nobel recipient short as a draw."

"In spite of the fact that you seem to have had a remarkably positive impact on him he can still be ..."

"An insufferable, priggish bore?"

"Less so recently but still, your words, not mine."

"He's a work in progress and I'm not talking out of school. I've told him so to his face."

"You two actually seem to get along, even like each other. How do you do that?"

"For some reason he doesn't view me as his intellectual inferior like he sees everyone else on the planet. Once that hurdle was out of the way, I decided to be playful with him and even tease him about his foibles. At first, it infuriated him. He told me off in no uncertain terms on several occasions. He's a man who at just shy of fifty has really never had the kind of friend who would kid around with him. One day he actually made a joke at my expense, not terribly effective, but it was a breakthrough. The intellectual respect was there, the barbs and jibes evolved and I think we've reached the point wherein working together has become fun, not to mention enormously productive."

"He does seem to have a new sense of excitement about his research."

"He's the most brilliant man I've ever encountered but lacking a collaborator. Since he'd chased away every decent mind who had ever tried to work with him, he'd gone stale. It's a win-win. I'm light years ahead in my thinking thanks to him."

"There is a rumor that he is actually dating another member of the faculty?"

"They are both very discreet and can be equally irritating but remarkably they've developed a real fondness for each other. It's far from idyllic in a traditional sense but they seem to be good for each other."

"Something about the vision of two of the most irritating people I've ever met, with all due respect to their respective Nobel's ..."

"All sweaty and naked doing the nasty?"

"Oh thanks a lot! It will take at least a week for me to blot that picture out of my mind. Anyway, back to business. As I indicated, I'm inviting a select group of our more affable staff and faculty including as many of our young superstars as possible — like you — to meet with a very select group of potential new hires in several departments outside of yours. The goal is simple. Assuming the money, perks and existing academic reputation of the departments in question all measure up to the competition and recognizing that this part of the country has a superb quality of life, I want to show them that our people are special. They may enjoy knowing, becoming friends with and who knows, maybe more than friends our colleagues.

"A generous donor has given us the use of a delightful venue in the mountains, small and intimate with five-star accommodations which is just over an hour from campus by car. The guest list is small, a dozen or so. No big speeches or long sessions, lots of one on one time, perhaps some informal town hall encounters, very low key. There will be no hard selling, just people meeting people, optional planned activities for those interested and very laid back. I need you to attend and be the charming, engaging guy I've always found you to be. You are, if truth be told, the most enjoyable academic of your accomplishments — nominated for or awarded virtually every major accolade there is in your field — with whom I've ever had the pleasure of working.

"Anyway, it's to be a weekend affair — first weekend of next month — with folks arriving Friday afternoon and departing on Sunday. I'm planning to have some of our graduate assistants meet the candidates at the airport and drive them to the site. I'd appreciate it if you could serve as a greeter on Friday as they arrive at the venue. Don't feel as if you have to be a social butterfly, far from it. If you sense some chemistry with one of them, spend time with them, get to know them and let them get to know you.

"On another note, this is a two-edged sword. We have enough difficult people to deal with in the higher echelons of academia. If you get the clear sense that a particular candidate has the potential to be ... what was your phrase? Ah, yes. An 'insufferable priggish bore', well, we already have our share of those and I'll trust your judgment."

"Sounds like fun!"

"Oh you are entirely too easy! In fact, I hope and expect that it will be fun. Thank you. I knew I could count on you. I'll let you get back to work. The details will follow."