My Tryst with Forbidden Youth Ch. 03

"Ughhh," the back of my hand on my forehead I can feel the sweat turned cold by the air, "it's 2 in the morning!" I say in despair and frustration with my eyes wide open.

"I need to do something." I think while squirming out of my white panties.

I lock myself in the washroom. A manic search, quick and unorganized search leaves me with my hairbrush in hand. Seconds pass and i'm banging myself with the handle. I usually adore my hairbrush handle; it's my go-to toy. I trust her to get me off. It's like she was made for my pussy. The handle is ribbed in just the right way to flick my clit when I pull it out and up. Often I don't even put her in. I just drag the pink, ribbed handle, back and forth over my clit. This is not one of those times. This time I need penetration and I need it hard.

"Nooo, no, no, noooo...I can't believe this is happening!"

No matter how hard I punish myself, pounding it in and out of my pussy, I feel nothing. The frustration is building rather than subsiding. I'm not ready to quit. With more determination I move on to different techniques, paces and positions.

"Nothing!" I weep in resignation. "Just one orgasm! All I need is only one little orgasm!"

One orgasm then maybe the need, the craving, would, just maybe, cool. My body isn't being fooled, I'm not responding to the substitute, I need him, I need my lover, the thought of doing it with anyone else in that moment, my fertile moment, repulses me.

Picking myself up off the cold tiles of the bathroom floor I can see a mess of towels rolled up in various shapes having long been dislodged by my frantic contortions. In the mirror, my hair is stuck to my forehead from sweat and my eyes look tired and red with strain. The bathroom fan seems louder than usual.

"I need to do something...I can't go on like this..." Half formed thoughts begin to resemble a plan in my head.

My head is pounding with brain fog. These sleepless, frustration filled nights have become all too common.

"I can't go to his place, my son has been there, he could show up unannounced, he has roommates. I can't do that...but I need to see him."

Frantically scanning my brain for answers, I keep returning to the same feeling, " I need to get away with him; away from any local eyes. We need to find a place to take our time; a place he can thrust this feeling out of me."

The rambling in my mind continued as I stared at my wide open, tired, eyes in the mirror. "I have lots of unused vacation time, I can use it. Getting away shouldn't be a problem. Where will I find the money? Where the fuck will I find the money?"

Frustratingly unresolved and unfulfilled I resign myself to insomnia agitated by horniness.

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When time and space allows an affair also costs money. You need money for hotels, money for little gifts, birth control and other little expenses. This sort of pocket change is easy to come by, but it's still worth being careful.

"Can I get $60 cash back?" I ask the cashier at the grocery store on a beautiful winter morning.

The cashier is, maybe, just past middle age. She is curt and polite but her eyes seem to be scanning me. There are thoughts behind her eyes.

"Of course dear." She patronizes me with, what I think, is a hint of a smirk.

"I'm not a dear to her. She's barely older than me." I think to myself; puzzled by her choice of words I finger my wedding band. I wonder if she suspects.

No matter how natural the lie become, when filling your weekly routine with lies, alternate realities and selective truths you tend to become suspicious of everyone else. Your brain is put on high alert for a sign, any sign, that someone may be on to you. When the smallest detail could get you caught this is the only way to be. She's not a real threat, but I still do a quick scan of my tone and body language which may have given something away. My planning has to be meticulous and my execution has to be natural. There is no room for ignoring details.

"That's how you get caught." I remind myself.

For what I am planning getting caught is simply not an option. Up to this point I had been hiding money by getting cash back at grocery stores, just to pay for hotel rooms or little gifts for Ash. The expenses just show up as groceries on the statement and therefore don't provoke suspicions. It works for sneaking around town to a cheap hotel. But if we are going to fall asleep in each other's arms, if we were going to hold each other in the morning, it's going to demand more attention to the money side of the money-time ledger. I need to find a significant amount, and there is no nickel and diming it.

Invention is often born from necessity. I felt this was nothing less than a necessity, so I came up with a scheme which made me smile in its deceptive cunning. The first step was to get a new credit card with a different billing address. I used my work for the billing address and used the same institution as the issued company cards. Nobody in the mailroom would think twice about delivering me the statements.

Paying off the large bill would be more complicated and was best done all at once. For that I thought about my taxes. My husband and I both make enough that filing separately is beneficial to stay under certain thresholds. I resolved to overpay my taxes and then pay off the card with the overpayment return. I could pay off the minimum interests with the odd cashback from the grocery store. If done carefully, none of it would leave a trace. It was elaborate, but not overly so to cause burden through complication.

"I need to reconsider all the details to make sure nothing was overlooked." I contemplate as if envisioning a spreadsheet in my mind.

The plan passes the test of simplicity. The moving parts are few and the loose ends rather easy to tie. The only problem is that it works only if I can inspire no suspicion through any other action. If he were to pull at any string the entire thing would unravel pretty quickly. I will have to tell Ash that we need to cool it until we have time to get away.

"All this thinking just to get my brains fucked out..." I laugh out loud at the lengths of my debauchery and deception.

"Honey, I want to do something during your reading break." The mid-day sun provides an after-glow on the white hotel sheets after a tender love making session.

"What are you going to do?" Snapping the condom off his still semi-hard, and impressive manhood, Ash seems to miss the point.

"I want us to do something." I said stressing, "us", for effect and importance and cuddling up next to him.

"Oh yeah, really?" He sounded dazed by the notion.

"Well if you don't want to then fine." I break the embrace and stand, naked, next to the bed at the less than enthusiastic response.

"No, no, no!...I didn't mean it like that...of course I want to!...I mean I didn't know...I mean I don't know how..." His scramble to find the right words is amusing and proof enough that he didn't mean to offend.

"Do you love me?"

"You know I love you." He responds without hesitation.

"I want you to say it."

"Michelle, I love you, I love you more than anything. I love you." He enforces the point by enunciating each word clearly.

"I love you to and I want us to have some real time together. Do you want that?"

"No...I mean of course I want that...I love you...I was supposed to go home for the break."

I stay silent and begin to wrap myself in the white sheet as if covering my nude body in a Roman robe.

"But I can cancel! I won't go...I mean I want to be with you...anything I'll do anything. I just want to be with you!" He's no match for my manipulation.

Dropping the sheets and jumping playfully on the bed I smile at him with excitement, "Can we go to a ski resort Ash?"

I feel it's important to ask him, to make him feel like the final decision is his; as to keep his manhood intact and the feeling that he retains the power in our relationship. Even if the feelings is a mirage, it's a lie we are both willing to accept.

"Do you ski?" He asks knowing that I've never indicated that I did over the past 8 months.

"No..." I laughed. "Can you take me?" I say with pleading eyes. "Teach me how to?"

I quietly retrieve hand him an envelope with healthy sum of cash. I know he's a student without the means of taking me anywhere on his own expense and I don't want him doing anything stupid to get the money. At the same time I want him to be the man. I want him to pay for things and make the arrangements, tip the waiters and be in control of our money. He takes the hint in stride, and without any obvious sign of shame for not having money of his own. Once I give him the money I have no way of getting it back. It is his decision to spend it on me or not. At the same time this feels nothing like a gamble, I know he's going to spend it on me.

I trust him not to disappoint me. I expect a resort with luxury and I don't expect to stay in the room the whole time. I want him to take me out on the hill, to pick me up when I fall and sometimes be there to catch me. As much as I enjoy shady meetings and trysts constrained by the timeframe of previous rendered excuses, I want a sense of security this time. Surprises, mystery, deep conversations, chocolate, red wine and satin sheets all sound completely divine in my day dreams for moments of bliss. We can finally kiss and hold hands in public, slyly aware of the judging eyes that from time to time catch sight of the couple more than 20 years apart in age.

With our understanding out of the way I jump on his hardening cock and celebrate with a quick fuck before going back to work for the afternoon. I'm impressed by how hard he can get for round two of the afternoon as I bounce up and down in the afternoon light. Neglecting to put a condom on he manages to pull it out and cum all over my back; all the way up to my shoulders; quite the distance for a second release. He gets a towel to wipe off my back.

"Honey, until we get away we need to take a break." I say looking at the floor without any particular focus.

"That's more than a month!" I can hear the despair in his voice that I would hope detect at such a proposition.

I roll over on my stomach as he wipes up his mess gently from my back. "I know, and I don't like it either, it's just that we really have to be careful."

"I can't go that long. I want you again right now."

"It's just until we get away. ok?"

"I can't promise."

"Neither can I. Neither can I."

We kiss deeply on the bed, expressing the agreement that we will still find a way to meet. The truth is that I can't go that long without him either. My attempt at prudence is one of vanity. He watches me in silence as I slowly dress for work. The serenity in his eyes show a deep affection for me.

Getting one last kiss I say, "I love you."

"I love you." He says upon its conclusion.

Andrew Ashton looks very much like he's somewhere between adulthood and youth, in some lights he looks even younger than his 22 years and in certain settings he can look older. His face maintains his boyish good looks with enough emerging masculine features to make him look rugged and strong. His jaw is clearly defined and pronounced with a hint of facial hair giving him a strong presence. His eyes, blue, wide and dreamy are enough to get lost in. There is a sense of innocence and mischief at the same time in his stare. When engaged in passion they are fierce, biting and intense. They take a piece of my soul each time we lock in unison in a moment of bliss. I had never been one to open my eyes during intercourse, but with Ash it's different, he silently demands that I engage him and I obey. His body, slender and sexy, makes beautiful scenery when naked. His abs ripple with definition; I feel every muscular bump when I run my fingers over his stomach.

I still wonder what he sees in me, the nagging feeling never leaves. I understand the initial conquest of an older woman, and a married woman at that, for a young man. I thought he would become bored with me over time, but he is more into me by the day. I expected him to find a girl, a young girl, with a tighter body, one not yet experiencing any effect of gravity. He could find a girl who has constantly perky tits and completely soft and smooth skin without a hint of wrinkling. I had all that at one time, but being in my 44th year I have some telltale signs of my age no matter how hard I work to hide them.

I'm 5'6 (and ½) and weigh about 155 accounting for fluctuations. I gave up keeping daily track years ago. I am in shape, I exercise, practice yoga and even play soccer. My legs still get plenty of looks when I'm out and about and I even enjoy them these days. Ash is in lust with my hips; he loves it when I wear tight clothes and loves it even more to peel them off. My breasts are not large, but at the same time they don't sag. All in all my, once tall and slender, body is a bit rounder in certain places but they all suit me.

My hair has a few creeping greys but you'd never know it. I'm careful to pluck or colour them as required. Otherwise my deep brown hair still has enough youthful volume to be kept long. I have little curls in my hair that most gravitate to my ends. I'm generally pretty conservative with my hair because I do really feel lucky to have it. I had once, rather funny, plunge into purple dye with my daughter but that has since grown out and I don't intend on going back. My eyes are unusual and grey.

I use creams, concoctions, coconut oil, olive oil, avocado, lime and most anything else you can think of to keep the wrinkles at bay but the only thing that really works is a subtle application of make-up in just the right spots. Over the years I've become an expert at the subtleties of make-up application. Necessity also breeds expertise.

I'm always careful to look my best for Ash. I want him to be proud of me and to desire me in the same way I desire him. To my delight he goes to lengths to prove that he does. His obsession, the obsession of a truly beautiful young man in the prime of his youth, feeds my ego shamefully. He is passionate about everything he does for me and to me. He burns when he kisses me and it sends shivers through my veins. My heart pulses in anticipation for each and every meeting.

Aside from all the physical magnetism between us, we also connect on a personal level. I can talk with him for hours and lose the ability to perceive time. It always feels too short; the instant it ends is the instant I wish it could continue. We talk about everything and anything. We share the secrets of our souls and the trivial happenings of our lives. Whenever we argue our feelings never waver. Our most heated arguments usually end with the most passionate slow burning love making.

He has a quiet intelligence, one that still has the naivety of youth blossoming with ability. He's not afraid to ask questions on topics he doesn't know much about and isn't embarrassed to admit when he's wrong. His strength of character and self-confidence preclude the need to make himself correct in all circumstances. Indeed there are a few things I can learn from him too. In our most tender moments he shows his fragility and allows my feminine touch to build back up his masculine resolve.

"I needed this to happen." I spoke to my lover in a clandestine phone call.

"I've taken care of everything. Don't worry."

"Did you rent the car?"

"Yes"

"At the airport?"

"Yes"

"Did you call the resort and confirm the room?"

"yes"

"Why are you whispering too?" I ask through muffled laughter.

"I don't know"

I can't afford to become complacent in the planning or leave anything to chance or a 22 year old's attention to detail. I have to make sure that everything seemed on the up and up; that any stone overturned would show no dirt. I can't let the excitement and anticipation cloud my judgement in making the necessary precautions. Consciously I try to not take a motherly tone with Ash.

"I'm his girlfriend, not his mother." I think to myself as I continue my line of questioning.

The most important thing at home is to not overplay my hand. I can't show too much enthusiasm for creating an alibi. I have been on many conferences before, I never had to give a full explanation of the event and I would make no concerted effort to do so for this either. Mentioning the conference is enough and letting him know the days I would be gone. I have to pack for a conference. I can't pack for a ski vacation openly. I snuck a few items secretly for Ash to bring and the rest will have to buy when we get there.

Picking through my underwear drawer I carefully decide which to take and which to leave. I want my underwear drawer to quiet any little voices that may have been trying to sound alarm bells. That means my sexiest pairs need to still be there when I leave. Ash tends to like white panties, usually with a bit of lace. Most of my sexy underwear is black so this suits my cause. I find my sexiest white pair to wear for the drive down knowing that he will want to tear them off upon arrival.

We haven't had sex in over two weeks; we have never gone two weeks without sex. I can hear the longing for it in his voice over the phone, I hope he can hear mine too. I know I will have to ask for a drive to the airport. This point is difficult for me. As heartless and cold as my behavior is toward my family, I do feel guilty, guilt not worth fully exploring in an erotic account of the affair as anything more than a note. Kissing good-bye before being picked up by my lover causes me a great deal of internal strife.

"You made it!" He says with a great sense of relief.

"We made it." I say with reassuring eyes as he pulls away from the departures with an extra passenger.

From Toronto to Quebec is an 8 hour drive to reach the resort. Ash is doing all the driving for this trip. In reflective mood I need a few hours to come to terms with my thoughts.

Soon the scenery changes from city streets and building to country side; everything looks so lovely. My thoughts are locked in the present and focused on the moving picture outside the passenger side window. It snowed the last night; it is as if the Earth is blanketed in a pristine, forgetful quilt that hides any hint of ugliness or imperfection. Everything looks new.

Ash offers me his hand. I get the sense that he can sense my desire for silent support in my indiscretion. Holding his hand feels as new as the first time. He is comfortable and relaxed. We share silence comfortably and communicate on a visceral level which requires no words.

"I love you." I say softly, breaking the silence, almost halfway there.

He squeezes my hand with meaning, "I love you too." He says in a whisper as he pulls the car off to the shoulder of the highway.

Our silence explodes in passionate kisses. I can't kiss fast enough. No thoughts of techniques, pacing or grace enter my mind. Tranquil feelings have been replaced with a rush of lust. We both attack each other like fighting animals that have been locked side by side in cages and finally released. His hands find my tits and maul desperately, squeezing and twisting to my complete delight.

"Honey, we can't." I come up for air before engaging my lover again in kisses.

"...uhhh not here...it's ahhhh day time...people can seeee..." I make my protests without giving way to my own warnings.

The cars zip by us, perhaps catching glimpses of the couple making out on the side of the road, a couple treating time like it's about to end. In this moment it doesn't matter what comes after.

"I want you..." The pace slows and become tender. "I want you." Ash repeats with a longing timbre in his voice.

"You got me baby, you got me baby." I tell him a number of times to reassure and remind both of us.