Oh, I Love the Mature Woman

Today I rise to sing praise to older women. I want to raise my glass and extend a bow to the wonderful, wise, and experienced sirens who have given me such pleasure over the years.

There are many ways that people understand and define mature sexual women. There are the MILFs, whose maternal warmth and softness translates into inviting, warm sex that feels like you're fucking on your favorite memories of home. Hot sex, mind you, but with familiar and traditional comforts.

One step deeper into the taboo is you mother. Fucking your mom is the pursuit of the ultimate MILF. The topic's vast popularity is quietly hidden behind the dark secret.

But I'm not thinking along those spine tingling fetishes and fantasies. I'm talking about the seemingly vanilla encounters with sexually mature beauty. I'm talking about having sex with beautiful women who were born very lovely from the start and only improved with age. Simple beauty that has shone through four or five decades and still lights up a room with its brilliance. Fine women with smiles that radiate their beauty, that only serves to highlight a physique that often defies laws of nature and gravity. Rounder than tight, bigger than small, but still well within a horn-dog's notion of feminine beauty.

The mature woman who has developed her prowess into that of a sexual artist has come to understand sex and the human body through years of careful, thoughtful research. More than just quick reads of a smattering of Cosmo articles, she's learned from men and women she's known, with whom she has deeply explored the art of passion. She brings physical and emotional intelligence to her craft.

Years of practice build on her knowledge, and have shown her what constitutes great sex and how it differs from, but benefits from raw sexual energy and blind passion. She's spread her legs and spread her lips enough times to know exactly how to deep throat a long, fat cock, or the positions that actually do work for a 69. More importantly, she knows what she likes, and what brings her intense pleasure. She's travelled that path and led others with her. Each new journey to bliss is foundationally familiar and yet wide-open for innovation and improvisation.

She's found a way to define her own sexuality, to be more than a receptacle for someone else's climactic moment. She's a Ginger Rodger's in bed, rocking her own style even as she follows someone's leading dance steps, but often upside down and backwards.

I'm speaking about someone like Jill.

Jill and I recently connected, and I'm motivated to capture a chapter we shared together - a blissful weekend that joyfully reminds me why I love beautiful mature women. Spending three days fulfilling so many wonderful sexual desires and fantasies was just plain fine.

Jill and I connected recently after many years of near acquaintance. Last spring we sat together in Denver at a common friend's party drinking Mint Juleps and melding our barely-shared knowledge of horse racing and the Derby. We both learned we had recently left long-term relationships, and despite their friendly departures, we were both happy to be single. We clearly took notice of each other over the course of our flirtatious fun. For me, I was left with a big, fat hard-on and mental note with an asterisk: Jill is fun.

Then last week Jill sent me an email - in classic old-school communication style - that said she needed to be in Seattle for some business meetings. She expected to be here for about a week, and would love to get together for dinner, perhaps on Wednesday night. I opened my calendar and quickly accepted, and we made arrangements to get together at my favorite oyster bar for early dinner and drinks.

We spent three hours in a delicate dance of shared seduction. It was casual, comfortable, amiable, and fun. But there was a growing intensity to every part of the conversation, verbal and nonverbal. By the end, we were dripping with innuendo and entendre, and we both were aligned for something even more fun. But we both let our mutual admiration simmer a bit longer, and agreed to connect again, perhaps toward the end of her engagement in town early the following week. That worked well for me - I had a big project staring me in the face, and this weekend was the perfect time to clear the plate.

Then mid-morning Friday I got an unexpected text from Jill. "I just finished and won big. I need to play. Hard. Now."

I looked at the message for a long moment. This was not quite what I was expecting. I was hoping to hear something early next week. But this, now.

I had a fairly open afternoon, but some pretty heavy expectations for getting this project out the door by Monday. I had to assess what this commitment might mean.

After a few minutes of careful thought, I returned the message. "Define play hard. Define now."

Instantly her replay came. "Well . . . play is the intentional pursuit of fun. All kinds of fun. Hard depends on the degree of your participation."

And then a moment later I got a final ping. "As for now. . . now is beginning anytime in the next 30 minutes. And let me tell you, when this ship sails, you want to be on board!"

I sent back an immediate reply. "I'm in." I added a second message to heat things up. "All the way in."

"I hoped you'd say that."

"Am I driving or do you have a plan?" I thumbed my reply.

A moment later she sent the reply that defined my next 72 hours. "Baby, you can drive my car." A simple Beatles reference, and a perfect entrée to the beginning of the party. My reply was swift. "Yes, you're gonna be a star."

She replied a moment later. "Did I tell you I won?"

"Big" I texted.

"Big," she said.

I went to work, calling in all my chits and thinking my nastiest possibilities.

Twenty minutes later she was in my office, hair swept back and drunk with success. She had just negotiated a big project, one that was certain to further illuminate her already bright star power. She was instantly richer and more famous. And she was ready to party.

After she's excitedly recounted the details of her recent victory, she looked me square in the eyes and asked me, "So, what do you think you can drum up for us? I just finished my week-long obligation in two days. I'm ready for trouble."

"Well, I had a feeling this party might start early and go late, so I just made some arrangements." I looked her in the eyes. She was sparkling with dare, ready to pounce at something, anything that triggered her finely tuned instincts.

"I just pissed off my best client and told him his report was going to be delayed a week. He'll get over it," I smiled. Her returned smile seemed to grow more delicious with every moment I looked at it. "I expect I won't miss him as a client, after this weekend."

"We have unbelievable fun ahead of us, all in celebration of you," I continued. "The Puget Sound will be its Summer Best for you. It seems the entire planet is conspiring to celebrate your big success. I'm just here to chauffeur."

"Oh no." She said menacingly, wagging her finger at me. "Baby you can drive, but there's a lot more than that I'll be expecting from you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it. Now, a few logistics. I'm going to give you one hour to plan for three days of maximum flexibility. Beyond a few initial ideas, I have no idea where we're going, so you'd better bring everything you need in the smallest possible package." I was skeptical. I still had the Mars vs. Venus prejudice of men's superior ability to pack fast-and-small. Once again, my male stupidity became evident. ("That's right, the women are smarter.")

"Oh, I'm way ahead of you, baby." She smiled at me and hoisted a medium-sized bag. "I have everything I must have right here." Then she reached her hand into her purse and pulled out a black credit card. "And right here."

"The question," she taunted me, "is how long will it take YOU to get ready?"

I picked up my phone and punched in three numbers. "Hey, Deborah. Yeah, it's on, all the way on. So, everything is up to you now." I paused for a moment and smiled.

"Well, yes, I'm glad you can return the favor as well, and believe me . . ." I looked into Jill's eyes, "You're doing me a very, big favor. No calls. Text only if you have to. Expect I'll be out of contact for . . . a while."

I paused and listened to my outstanding executive assistant. I remained locked with Jill's eyes in what was growing into a shared leer. "I know that's vague, but you're good with vague. Have a great weekend," I said to Deborah. Pause. Smile. "Oh yes, I expect I will."

I embraced Jill in a big, but-still-relatively-chaste hug. "Congratulations. Now, get ready to party."

"Baby, I've been ready for this party for a long time," she said. "Let's do this."

Fifteen minutes later we were in my car, driving with the top down and bright warmth blowing through our hair. It's really stupid to own a convertible in Seattle. Especially an old one. It's like throwing good money after bad. But at this moment, I looked over at Jill, with dark glasses covering her lightly closed eyes, a contented grin on her face, and relaxation penetrating every part of her body. The wide leather seat of the old Cadillac was a plush couch on wheels, and Jill was settling in nicely. Right now, the folly of owing a '56 Eldorado was completely lost on me.

We didn't even talk for the better part of an hour, listening to a slight upgrade to the Caddy's original audio equipment. My phone streamed soulful audio wallpaper that included a blend of Marvin and Steevie with Bruce and Bonnie in an enticing, driving mix. We parked and quickly grabbed our bags - her day bag and my workout bag - turned toward the Bell Harbor Marina.

She looked at me expectantly. "I want to see the wind in your hair again," I said. "It's absolutely beautiful."

She beamed at me. And she then slowly walked up to give me another big - and this time not chaste at all - squeeze. Her large breasts pushed hard against my chest. Her knee slid sensuously between my legs. And she whispered, "You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I will make this so worth your while."

I whispered back, "When you see how much fun we're about to have, you are going to have to make good big time on that promise," I emphasized.

She reached around and grabbed my hand and placed it firmly on her ass, a large, toned-but-not-taught cheek that brought extra blood to my quickly engorging cock. "When can I begin to make good on that promise?"

I kissed her deeply and slowly. Sexual maturity shows itself first, perhaps, in the gentle and delicious way that a woman kisses. It's both insistent and patient, soft and assertive. It's wet, but never completely quenching, leaving you hungry for more. It is a meal unto itself, but always ends up an appetizer.

I took her hand and we walked out to my boat. Yet another fiscal disaster, a ridiculous Baby Boomer mid-life crisis, the old Chris Craft never looked more beautiful. A finely crafted piece of mariner art, this wooden boat was perhaps my favorite of all my toys.

"Oh Baby! Are you kidding me?" she asked in wonder.

"Care to go for a spin?"

In response, she tossed her bag into the boat and begin to attend to the lines. I stepped in and started to prepare for launch, and appreciated the quiet competence Jill demonstrated in getting the boat ready. She clearly knew her way around a boat and clearly appreciated what a wonderful boat looked like. Like a well-trained team, we had cast off quickly and were soon under weigh.

After an initial, required slow troll, we were again flying in the breeze and Jill's hair was trailing behind her sensuously. I closed my eyes to the pressures that but a few hours ago I was gearing up to tackle. One-by-one, I replaced those simmering professional thoughts with instant fantasies of what the day was becoming. Jill was a beautiful, mature, experienced woman who was undoubtedly about to rock my world. I was completely ready.

I refocused my eyes to see the smiling face now inches from my own. Jill was now filling my face-screen and I instantly responded with warmth and growing hardness.

"I'm not one who likes to be indebted for too long. I'd like to begin showing my appreciation for launching this celebration of my wonderful moment. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

With that she smiled, and sat on my lap, a knee on either side of my hips as she wedged herself between me and the classic steering wheel of the old wooden boat. She placed a tight, hand-rolled joint to my lips and flipped open a vintage Scripto lighter and invited my own launch. As I took the first, deep toke, she said, "Captain, I think prudence and maritime law suggest you find a nice cove to set anchor. Perhaps soon."

As I held the joint and held my breath, I felt Jill reach down and slide my zipper open. My cock was nearly fully erect, with just enough flex to be carefully manipulated out into the open air. I was instantly amazed with her deft touch, and the way she lovingly and precisely exposed my now hardening cock.

She gave a strong groan of appreciation for my cock. It's a beauty, a thick, moderately long shaft capped with a big, soft purple plum. The very large ridge of my cock head transitioned the steely pole to a soft, fat head. A single cum drop appeared at the tip.

I then watched in wonder as she reached below the hem of her dress and slowly pulled it up, then obviously, slowly slid the crotch of her bright purple panties aside.

Looking me straight into the eyes, she said sensuously, "I'm not sure you're in any condition to be piloting this vessel right now, Captain." And she then lowered her pussy down onto my cock. Her wet heat slowly opened to envelop my cock. She slowly, gently bounced down my cock, and slowly opened up her cunt to take me. Her pussy grabbed my rigid cock tight, let go, and grabbed again. She was just showing off.

I immediately cut the engine and pulled into the lee of forested point of the shore. It was, as luck would have it, dense forested land. Out of the channel and away from immediate view, we abandoned our marine perspective and focused all of our attention at the intersection of our thoughts.

Jill looked me straight in the eye and began to speak to me in a beautiful, melodious tone, sliding up and down my cock as she hypnotically spoke to me.

"This pussy, this wet, tight, hungry pussy . . . this is your pussy." With her emphasis, she grabbed my cock again. "You hereby have permission to do whatever becomes your fantasy with this pussy. I trust your judgement will be adequately offset by your desire, and you will do as you truly please."

She slammed down hard on my cock, burying my cock deep in sex.

"This cunt, this nasty, insatiable cunt, is your cunt. To plunder. To take as you please. To make spasm and to spasm inside. Are you ready to own this cunt?"

Slam, again, burying my cock.

"This cunt is yours. This ass is yours. This mouth is yours. All of me is yours. What do you want me to do now?" Her eyes burned a hole through mine as she had my complete attention.

Slam. Grip. Slam. Grip.

I looked her in the eyes, and said, "I want you to bury my cock in the back of your throat and milk it dry. I want you to worship my cock, my thick, powerful cock. Because this cock, this hard cock, is your cock. Yours to ride, to swallow, to fill you up until you can't take any more."

I looked her in the eyes, and said very slowly and deeply, "I want you suck my dick like a fucking whore. I want you to slobber all over my balls , take me deep, and swallow every bit of my cum at the deepest part of your throat."

"Oh, is that all you ask?" She smiled and milked my cock with her cunt, squeezing and releasing as she stared me down, through my eyes to the back of my consciousness. Then slowly pulling up, she squeezed all the way up, and soon I could feel the fat head pop free, and the cool air like menthol on my cock.

Our boat was relatively safe, and we had priorities before us. Jill climbed off of my cock and slid back to the space behind the seats, pulling my hand to join her. She pushed me down to the side bench of the boat, and then slowly knelt before me. "You mean this big, fat beauty? This is mine?"

Never losing eye contact, she opened her mouth and took in the head of my cock. Swirling her tongue around the tip a couple of times, she then lowered her mouth to swallow the entire seven inches of thick meat in one, practiced move. As the cock filled her mouth and slowly slid past the opening to her throat, she leaned forward, breaking eye contact.

For a long moment she paused, and I immediately felt the sensation of her tongue massaging my balls. Her throat was tightening and relaxing as she otherwise held perfectly still.

I took a deep drag of the joint, and immediately felt the sensations of relaxation and enhanced physical sensation. The blowjob was melding into a moment of performance art, and I was both the recipient and audience to this event.

Jill raised up and took a huge, gasping breath, exhaling, "Oh, we taste good, you and me." She then dropped back down and buried my cock into the depth of her throat, once again, just as requested.

Over several minutes, Jill and I shared the joint as she sucked my cock. She'd suck me for a few minutes while I took a hit or two, and then she would come up for air, take a deep hit from the aromatic spliff, and then go back down deep, exhaling through her nose as she descended on my cock. It was an incredible performance.

After a few minutes her efforts intensified. She went deep and held my cock there. Then, with the slightest motion, she began to bounce. Up an inch, and then back to the root. Up and inch and down. After about 20 strong bounces, she slowly pulled up and looked me in the eye.

"I'm going to make you cum right now. I'm going to get this adventure off to a good start. Give it to me. Right now!"

Then she went hard, deep and fast, taking me to the root and resuming her bouncing on my cock. Her other hand gently massaged my balls, and tickled my t'aint. I'm usually good for most of an hour, even with the best blowjob. But this moment was a ripe one, and so was I. She had purpose, and I was not about to deny her. She rose and fell on that last inch of my hard dick, many thick inches buried in her throat, her eyes wide open, spit flowing out of her mouth and down my cock and balls - she was at that moment a remarkable, beautiful, and capable slut, a wanton beauty out for her creamy goal.

Moments later I delivered. As with everything else, she took my load and handled the moment of orgasm perfectly, with talent colored by extraordinary experience guiding her efforts. Too often the inexperienced or under-committed fellatrix flinches and balks at the moment of truth. With the perfect blowjob, where the climax is likely to be shattering, the precise handling of the 10-20 critical seconds - that cannon-booming moment of truth - is so very important. It can make or break the entire experience.

Jill handed me the perfect moment.

Grabbing my ass insistently with her left hand, and keeping my cock deep in her throat, her right hand gently tugged and tickled my balls, while her tongue worked the entire underside of my stiff dick. I felt like I was getting swallowed, sucked, massaged, and kissed all at the same time.

My entire body exploded. Jill held tight to my rumbling orgasm throughout the ride, until she looked up at me and smiled. A thick column of my cum spilled slowly out of her mouth and down my cock. In what was, without a doubt, the most overwhelmingly sexual moment I've ever known, she moved her mouth carefully down the length of my cock, allowing my cum to drip slowly out the sides of her mouth and down my cock as she deepthroated me one last time. As her mouth went down my cock, cum pushed past her lips, ran down and dripped off my cock.