New York Nights

"So, are you ready for New York?" I asked, as he threw his bag into the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Hell, yes!" he said, big stupid grin on his face. Even though it was six a.m., he still looked fantastic, and smelled even better.

You see, I'd had a crush on Dameon since he'd joined my theatre department the year before. At first, it was just his looks—tall, olive skin, thick brown hair, deep brown eyes, chiseled body. It was simply my thirty-eight year old mind allowing itself free reign—when I was in high school, boys didn't look like him, and even in college, there were only a few. The crush got worse when I realized he could act, too. Talent and looks. What was a woman to do? I thought it would go away when he graduated, but no—we spent the summer working on a show together, and then he decided to go to acting school, and of course, I volunteered to be his coach. Now, here we were, and I was about to spend four days alone with him in New York. It was my fantasy—but . . .

The eight hour car ride there was uneventful. We talked, we laughed, we sang really loudly to all the 80's songs we knew. At one point, almost four hours into the trip, he said, "Man, I am so excited! This is better than sex!"

I laughed out loud. "Really? Well, then you must not be doing it right." That began a very involved conversation about experiences, positions and fantasies. There was a part of me that wanted to say something cheesy like, "Why don't you let a real woman show you," but I held my tongue. But all the while, I had to keep shifting in my seat, as my panties got wetter and wetter, imagining what he and I could be doing together.

We got to New York and checked into the hotel. In order to save money, we were sharing a room. It had two beds, and as he flung himself down on one and stretched, I caught a glimpse of his rock hard abs, and I thought back to our earlier conversation. I realized how hard the next few days would be, and how little sleep I would probably be getting.

We decided to have an early night because his audition was in the morning. I went to sleep that night imagining his hands running all over my naked body. My dreams were unsettling, to say the least.

The next morning, we were up bright and early. As he got dressed, I tried not to stare. He kept changing his shirt and every time he took one off, I had to control my breathing and resist the urge to run my fingers across his smooth chest. When he finally picked an outfit—tight black slacks—tight enough to emphasize his toned ass and other attributes, but not too tight as to be obscene—and a red button shirt, the first few buttons open, showing his smooth chest and the definition of his biceps and six-pack. He turned to me and said, "So, how do I look?"

He smiled and what I wanted to say was "Fuckable." What I actually said was, "Perfect. Now turn around." He turned his back to me and I smoothed the shoulders of his shirt, picking off a few bits of lint. Just like they always did, my fingers tingled when they touched him, and my stomach did a flip-flop. How much I wanted to turn him around and ravage him right then and there, but it just wasn't right. We headed out the door and off to his audition.

When we got to midtown, I could tell his nerves were getting the better of him. He couldn't stop fidgeting the whole way up, and he was inordinately loud. He kept checking his hair and kept asking me if he looked okay. He was mouthing his monologues under his breath, and I could see the sweaty handprints he was leaving on his print portfolio. I finally wrenched it out of his hands and rubbed his back, trying to relax him. My own urges were pushed down as I tried to get him focused on the audition and the door to his future. They finally called his name and he stood and headed towards the door. As he got to the door, he stopped, turned, and came back to me.

"What is it? It's your turn."

"I don't know if I can do this. I have never been so nervous in my life. What if I don't get this? This is all I've ever wanted."

"Dameon, relax. Perform them the way you have for the last two months, and you'll get in. I promise you."

He didn't speak, and just looked at me. I not sure why I did it, but I pulled him to me and kissed him lightly on the lips. My stomach leaped into my throat, and I had to fight with all my being not to press myself against him. As we parted, I said, "For luck." He turned and entered the room.

As I waited, I worried that I had so creeped him out with the kiss that he flubbed his audition. I knew that I would have to explain myself, and that our relationship would never be the same again. I just hoped that I hadn't lost his friendship—as much as I wanted to consummate our relationship, I valued our friendship more than any one-night stand that would happen between us. The doors finally opened once more and he came out, smiling ear to ear. He rushed to me and picked me up in a bear hug, spinning me.

"I guess it went well."

"It was awesome. The directors seemed totally into me. One even ignored their cellphone when it beeped at them during second monologue."

"Did they give you any ideas as to when you'd know."

"Well, they said within the next two weeks, but it could be as soon as tomorrow."

We walked out onto the streets of midtown, and I was relieved that he said nothing about the kiss. We spent the rest of the day in the city, checking out all the tourist sites. We headed back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner and the show that night. As we got dressed for a night on the town, I noticed he became very thoughtful and didn't say much. He didn't seem unhappy, just lost in his own world. I was too, trying to control my emotions as I looked at him, dressed in a suit and tie, and just wishing that things were different between us—that after our evening out we'd have a long night of passion waiting for us, a night where our only goal was to taste every inch of the other person.

We decided to splurge on a cab to take us to 42nd Street, and as he held the door for me, he whispered in my ear, "You look fantastic." I blushed, totally caught by surprise. All throughout dinner I noticed him looking at me strangely, but when I caught him staring, he'd start being goofy, so I assumed it was just him thinking of the day past. As we watched the show, I noticed him sitting closer to me then he had to, and he seemed to accidently brush my arm quite a few times. Each time he did I was distracted from the show, and my stomach flipped over and over. I barely even remember the show we saw.

We headed back to the hotel and I decided that I really could use a glass of wine. I ordered a bottle from room service and even though he was only eighteen, I offered him some anyway. He shook his head "No," and kicked off his shoes and took of his jacket and tie. I kicked off my shoes as well and went out onto the balcony, glass in hand and drank slowly, enjoying the lights of the city. As I drank, I sensed he was behind me—I could feel his hot breath on my neck, and it sent shivers up and down my spine, hardening my nipples and making my pussy twitch.

"I need to ask you something," he said from behind, his voice slightly lower than normal. "Why did you kiss me today?"

I didn't want to look in his eyes, so I didn't turn around. "I told you, it was for luck. You seemed so frantic, I thought it might calm you."

"Well, it did. And thank you. But . . ."

"But, what . . ."

"It felt different somehow. Like it was more than what you said."

I was silent for a while, because he had obviously figured out my secret.

"It was a spur of the moment thing. No big deal."

He grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face him. "C'mon. You always talk about being honest. I've always been honest with you. So be honest with me. What was it about?"

I took several swallows of wine not really wanting to share, but at the same time, needing to. Finally, I blurted out: "I've had a crush on you for the last year. I thought it would go away, but it hasn't, it's just gotten worse. I think about you every day, and I imagine us together all the time. And I cry when I think about you leaving, but I know you need to. I know I'm old enough to be your mother, and that you used to be my student, and I know this probably really creeps you out, but, it's the way I feel."

As I spoke, I could feel my cheeks getting hotter and hotter; I wasn't sure if it was from the wine or embarrassment. I had never been this vulnerable before, I'd never felt so out of control. "You wanted me to be honest, and there it is. I know you probably want to get far away from me now, so I'll pay for a separate hotel room for tonight, and we'll leave in the morning. I hope we can still be friends, but probably not, so I understand if you never want to speak to me again."

I turned away, tears in my eyes, and finished off my wine. My hands were shaking and I kept hoping for a hole to open up in the balcony so that I could disappear. I wanted to turn at look at him, to see his facial expression, but at the same time, I was afraid of it. What was he thinking? I had had many crushes before, but I had never admitted them to them, and I had always regretted it. "At least," I thought to myself, "he'll know the truth. Maybe the reality of it will make my fantasies disappear."

"Look at me," he whispered, in a much deeper voice than I was used to. "Please."

I turned and he stood, staring at me in a much different way than I had ever seen before. His eyes moved over me from top to bottom, lingering on my lips, my breasts, my pussy. I didn't know what he wanted, so I simply stood, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. He stepped towards me and pulled me to him, wrapping me in his arms, hugging me close to his chest. I relaxed into him, relieved that he hadn't run screaming from the room, and I put my arms around him as well. I felt his smooth back muscles beneath his shirt and my mind went immediately to my dreams of the night before. I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine. At first, I thought it was in my mind, but then when I felt his hands slide down my back and cup my ass, I realized that my fantasy was becoming a reality. I tensed at first, "This is wrong," my conscience screamed at me, "you're old enough to be his mother. Stop it now!" but my body betrayed me, and I relaxed myself into him even further. He parted my lips with his tongue and our kiss became deeper, more passionate, more urgent. As we kissed I pressed myself against him, sliding my hands down to his ass, and grabbed it firmly. It was just as firm as I had imagined, and my pussy got wet almost instantly from the sheer joy of it. As I pulled him to me, I felt his cock press against me, and I got even wetter, my nipples hardened and my breath quickened. Our kiss continued for a long while—it was as if we were tasting every inch of each other's mouths again and again, as if it was a fine wine or a gourmet chocolate.

He finally broke the kiss and stepped back. I had only seen him truly serious once before this night, and I realized that he had every intention of making love to me, hard and long, until we collapsed from exhaustion. He kissed my neck lightly, caressing me with his lips as he unzipped my dress, letting it fall around me feet. I returned the favor and kissed his chest as I unbuttoned his shirt, then his pants, running my hand along his rock hard cock as I let them fall from his hips.

He led me to the bed and proceeded to kiss, lick and touch every inch of my body. He deftly slid my bra off, taking my nipples into his mouth and swirling them around with his tongue. I almost came from the sheer pleasure of it, and I moaned and flexed my hips on the bed. In answer, he slid his hands down my stomach and slid his hand into my soaked panties, sliding a finger deep inside me, then two. I bucked my hips against his hand, wanting it so bad, embarrassed at my eagerness. In response, he moved back up to my mouth and pressed me down with his deep kisses once again. He continued kissing me, finger fucking me and caressing my nipples until I came, covering his hand in my pussy juices. I bucked and writhed on the bed, the waves of ecstasy rippling through me. He didn't stop until I came down from my high, then slowly slid his fingers out of me. I gasped at the emptiness. He slid them into my mouth and I licked and sucked them, thrilled at the taste of my own juices on his fingers.

He slid my panties off and then stood quickly to remove his boxer briefs. His young, rock hard cock sprung free, all eight inches of it. I couldn't help but smile, my months of fantasies were coming true, and it was even better than in my wet dreams. He pressed himself down on me once again and parted my legs—he clearly was ready. "Wait," I gasped. As much as I wanted him inside me, I wanted to take some time to pleasure him—he'd already pleasured me. "No, I don't want to," he said, almost painfully, it seemed, "I need you!" He tried again, distracting me with a deep kiss, and I felt his cock press against the opening of my sopping pussy. With all my strength, I pushed him off me and kneeled at his cock. "Trust me."

I took his cock in my mouth—I had never had one that long, so it took a few thrusts to get used to it in my mouth—and began to bathe it all over. I licked it up and down and swirled the head in my mouth, following my mouth with my hand, gently squeezing the shaft. He moaned deeply, and I increased my speed and strength. He moved his hips to meet my mouth, and his guttural moans were music to my ears. I would occasionally remove his cock from my mouth and run my tongue up and down the shaft, nibbling at the skin, then plunge it back in, as deep as I could, and he would cheer my efforts with a larger moan. I could sense him getting to ready to cum, and even though I had never been a big fan of drinking it, tonight, I didn't mind. I began to pump him harder, wanting him to climax, knowing our lovemaking after would be so much slower and sweeter, because our urgency was gone. Just as I could feel him about to explode, he gasped, "Please, stop. I don't want to cum!"

It surprised me, so I stopped. I actually was a little hurt—maybe he wasn't enjoying it as much as I thought. I looked at him quizzically. He pulled me up to him and kissed me again, holding my face in his hands. He was shaking from his passion and his control. He looked deeply into my eyes and said, "I want to cum, just inside you. I want to feel you inside. I want to look in your eyes." Although I had just cum a few minutes before, I could feel my pussy quivering and getting wet, and I knew I would cum again once he was inside me. No one had ever seemed to want me so much, and no one had ever made me feel this way before. We kissed for several minutes, our naked bodies pressed together, as he regained his control.

After what seemed an eternity, he parted my legs again and I once again felt his cock press against me. I spread my legs for him and pulled him into me; he thrust his cock deep inside me. The heat of it took my breathe away, as did the size, and I wrapped my legs around his smooth back to allow him as deep an access as possible. He began to move slowly, kissing my neck and my lips, taking my hands in his and pushing them down over my head, controlling me. I met each thrust with my hips and used my legs to bring him back into me as deeply as he could. As he pumped, between kisses, he looked deeply into my eyes, and the sensation of our lovemaking swept through my whole body. He began to thrust deeper and faster, and I met each thrust equally. I've have always read in romance novels how lovemaking was such an emotional experience, and how it could make you cry—I had never believed it, and although I had a lot of great sex before, this was the first time I felt completely at one with my partner. We thrust together as one, and I although I had never been multi-orgasmic, I knew it was going to happen. "I'm gonna cum! Please, Dameon, make me cum for you!" At that, he quickened his pace even more, and suddenly I felt the rush of his hot seed deep inside me, and my pussy exploded with a wave of pleasure, spasming out of control around his pulsating cock. I could barely breathe as our orgasms ended. He slipped out of me gently and laid next to me. He pulled the blankets up around us—I was shivering, although the room was far from cold. As we both came down from our climaxes, he caressed me gently with his fingers.

When I woke, it was several hours later. I realized I had dozed off. I stared at him for some time, completely in awe of what had happened. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. As I shifted against him, his cock sprang back into life and he woke, pulling me on top of him, pushing me down onto his cock once again. As I rode him, I thought, "I love New York!"