Potent Paul White

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imhapless
imhapless
3,572 Followers

My response of "You mean besides marrying your mother?" didn't sit well with them. They both left crying, and ran out the door to Cheryl's car where she was waiting for them.

The divorce went through on as favorable of financial terms as I could possibly have gotten, including no alimony. However, in our state children 14 and older can refuse shared custody and choose to live and interact with only one parent, and that is what Amanda and Zach (as soon as he turned 14) did ostensibly because I was so heartless in refusing to reconcile with their mother. It also relieved me of any expenses for their education, however.

I was saddened, but that's life.

Beth chose to live with me, although she normally stays at my former house with her mother and siblings two nights a week. She and I are simpatico. I only hear about her mother and siblings through her or my parents, who still apparently have a relationship with Amanda and Zach. One of the advantages for Beth of living with me is that she will have her education paid for by me at any college and graduate school that she chooses to attend. On the other hand, Amanda and Zach will have to hope that there mother is careful in handling her divorce proceeds, or can get a good paying job, otherwise they'll have lots of student loan debt.

************

I was now 40, Beth was in her first year at Stanford despite only being seventeen (she is really smart), and I wasn't enjoying life that much because I was restricted to my old habits of trying to scrounge up single pregnant or past-child-bearing age women to fulfill my carnal desires, and it was harder than when I was 19-21. There was no promising relationship on the horizon. Then providence intervened.

As the most unusual business "trip" of my life on a Friday shortly after noon I met with a client who was in a local hospital. I needed his signature to finalize an urgent patent application. On my way out I came across someone I knew sitting in a wheelchair, demanding to be released. Despite the fact that her nose was bandaged – obviously having been broken somehow – I recognized her. It was Gail Preston, the wife of an acquaintance (not a friend) of mine by the name of Vernon Branson. Over the previous four years I had met Gail three times, including one time when I had a pleasant though nervous (on my part) one-on-one conversation with her for about five minutes.

How could I remember that so precisely?

Because despite the fact that she was 40 Gail Preston was hotter than 99.999% of 25 year olds and she could make a dead man cum just by looking at her.

It is impossible to accurately describe Gail with words because although she has a beautiful face, spectacular legs that seem impossibly long for a five foot three inch woman, a slim though muscular body, a pleasantly large and shapely butt, a vivacious personality, and a regal bearing, reciting those characteristics can't begin to illuminate her real demeanor or the effect that she has on men. I think that the only good expression that I ever heard to describe her is what one of my friends (who is as enamored with Gail as I am) said about her: "She's like a sultry tropical breeze on a cold winter day."

Vernon, who I think is an ass, also complains that she's high maintenance – maintenance that almost any other man would be happy to assume.

She's also a fairly well known multi-media artist who according to the local newspaper sold her last large-size mural for $100,000.

I wasn't about to just walk past her.

"Hi Gail – Paul White here – we've met several times," I said, standing next to her and gently touching her shoulder.

With a pained smile on her face, as she uncomfortably repositioned herself in her wheelchair, she said "Hi Paul – of course I remember you well. I'm surprised that you recognized me in my present condition. It looks like you're doing a lot better than I am."

"What's the problem – something that I can do to help?"

"I was in a car accident. My entire body is beaten up, with bruises all over including internally, and as you can see a broken nose and a fractured cheekbone; but as I'm trying to explain to the hospital administrator here that since I'm not in a life threatening condition – ow...ugh...ow – as I was saying since my condition isn't life threatening I'm going home."

The administrator tried to say something but Gail shut her down.

"Is Vernon picking you up?"

"Hell no; he's too busy playing golf out of town," she snarled.

"How are you getting home?"

"I'll get a cab."

"No way...I'll drive you after I get from Ann, here," I said, reading the administrator's name plate, "your treatment details and schedule."

"You don't have to do that...but I gladly accept," Gail responded, slumping down in the wheelchair with a renewed pained expression.

Out of Gail's hearing I apologized to Ann, got all of the necessary information including a list of doctors that Gail should contact and prescriptions that she should get filled, and then got my car and brought it up to the Emergency Room Entrance as an orderly wheeled Gail out there.

I helped Gail into my car, fluffed a couple of small pillows that I had gotten from Ann (which were added to Gail's bill) around her, made sure that she was comfortable, and took off.

As we drove toward her house, trying as hard as I could not to stare at her exposed thighs, I realized something that I hadn't noticed at the hospital. Gail was obviously on pain medication – which was also indicated on the sheets that Ann had given me. As a result her conversation was uninhibited. After my quick dishonest response to her question about how my kids were doing she unloaded on me something that I doubt she ever would have if not in a mentally altered state.

Gail had badly wanted to be a mother, but tests that she and Vernon had done two years after they started trying to have kids, now about ten years ago, showed that he had a normal sperm count but that she was infertile. Something about what she said didn't ring true with me – I was a pseudo-expert on conception in view of my background, condition, and continuous study over the years – but I couldn't be sure if it was just that she was imprecise in describing things in view of the pain medication, or if there really was something bogus going on.

I actually had to open the door to Gail's house with her key, and then carefully carry her up the stairs, she was so immobile. I gently placed her on her bed in the master bedroom. After establishing that she had no family nearby that could help, and that Winston had no intention of cutting his out-of-state golf outing short and returning before Monday, I decided to be proactive. I explained to Gail that I would take her house key, go get her prescriptions filled, finish the patent application that I had met with the client about at the hospital and file it electronically using my laptop which was in my car, and then return to stay with her and feed her dinner when she woke up.

"You don't have to do that, but thanks..." was her tailing off reply as she lay her head on a pillow. I covered her with a blanket, took her keys, and left.

**************

Over the next few months, I was Gail's servant, companion, confidant, and best friend all at the same time. I arranged for a female practical nurse to help her a few hours a day until she could undress and dress herself properly, I brought in groceries, made her some dinners and took her out for lunches and dinners, and I took her to doctor's appointments. Once she could start rehabilitation I joined her health club and we worked out together four days a week. I accompanied her to two exhibits of her artwork and one day actually watched her paint a small commissioned work from start to finish. She actually joined me on a day business trip (NOT overnight) to see what my work involved (after that my client kept asking when I'd bring my "lovely assistant" by again). I took her to dinner with Beth once when Beth was home from college, and was pleased to see that they got along great.

Our conversations ranged from flippant to serious. I had told few people about my "potency condition," but in a discussion of conception and children – she really did long for a child – I told her that I was "Potent Paul White." She had a thousand questions. She concluded the discussion with "I guess you have the opposite problem that I do."

"I'm not really sure that you have a problem," I countered, "but I can't stick my nose in your business more than I have already." She said nothing in reply.

We were only able to spend the time together that we did – usually at least two hours a day five days a week – because we both had completely freelance schedules and could work, or not work, whenever we wanted to as long as we got the job done. After spending the day with Gail many times I worked until 2 a. m. writing patent applications. Things also worked because Vernon was the least attentive, most absentee husband in history. I only saw him twice during a four month period.

At one point, as we were eating lunch on her patio after I had performed a few manly menial tasks around her exceptionally stylish house she asked "Why are you so nice to me. I've never seen anyone so helpful and friendly."

"Do you want a pat answer or a direct but embarrassing one," I asked between chews of my turkey club. Why I felt so brave that day I don't know.

"Well let's try the direct one," she chuckled her eyes dancing before she took a bite of her Reuben.

"Because given how inattentive a husband Vernon is, I'm sure that at some point you'll dump him, and I want to have a lot of good will built up at that time so that I can take advantage of it."

She spit out her bite of sandwich she was so flabbergasted; and then she chuckled. That was followed by "OK that was TMI; how about the pat answer instead?"

"Because I'm a modern day paladin and like to help ladies in distress, with no ulterior motive whatsoever," I deadpanned.

She chuckled again, but this time didn't spit out a mouthful of lunch.

******************

Exactly five months to the day after Gail's accident, her beautiful face having healed and all of the trauma from the accident having dissipated, there was a seminal event. That Wednesday at Gail's urging her trainer Trudy called me over to witness her completion of her circuit training. Gail and Trudy were all smiles, and let out a cross between a yelp and a howl as Gail exceeded every single one of her fitness levels from before her accident.

My loud clapping and cheering got me a tight sweaty hug from Gail, and a kiss on the cheek, as I lifted her off the floor and spun her around as she laughed effervescently.

After our showers in the men's and women's locker rooms respectively we met in the lobby for the drive home. I got another hug from Gail – who now had a tear in one eye – just before we entered the car.

"I couldn't have done this without you, Paul White," she gushed, obviously trying hard to quell a waterworks building within her.

"It was my honor to help out the sultriest woman in North America," I blurted out before I could catch myself. I didn't really want to expose my true feelings for her if she didn't already recognize them; at least not yet. My outburst did get me a big smile from the object of my affection, however.

On the drive home Gail was a chatty dynamo for the first five minutes, then after an uncharacteristic pause she asked "So Paul; do you have any significant plans for Saturday night? Vince is on another golf outing and for some time I've wanted to show you my appreciation for your companionship and encouragement."

"No significant plans," I choked out without looking directly at her because I was afraid that if I saw her face and thighs that I might have some unwelcome activity at my crotch area.

"Well then let me treat you to dinner and dancing – how about I pick you up at 7 p. m. – that's not too early, is it?"

"No – sounds good; where did you want to go?" I choked out, again without looking directly at her.

"Well presumptuous little bitch that I am, I have already gotten a reservation at 'The Cellar' for dinner followed by the 'Embers' nightclub for dancing," she grinned. This time I did look at her face (though I avoided staring at her glorious thighs) due to the shock value of her announcement.

"Uh...those places are the priciest in town..." I deferred before I was interrupted.

"And you're worth every penny, and much more," she chuckled.

"At least let me drive," I stammered. "That way if you have a drink or two there will be no problem," I continued with a half-smile.

"Sounds like a plan," she chortled.

We talked about other things until we arrived at her house. Then staring at me with her enchanting emerald eyes which seemed to penetrate my skull directly to my brain she announced "Don't pick me up for exercise on Saturday morning. I'm having a day at the spa to get ready for our night out – and be prepared for anything."

With that she kissed my forehead and scurried out of my car. I watched her bubble butt and sleek thighs prance up her driveway, no longer concerned that my cock acted as expected – with an instant full salute.

*************

Gail was squirrely to, from, and at exercise on Friday; like she had some important things on her mind that she had no intention of blurting out, although it was clearly requiring maximum effort on her part not to. Her parting words on Friday were "I'll be ready at 6:40 tomorrow."

"I'll be there," was my nervous and trite reply.

I worked out hard on Saturday morning, earlier than normal since I wasn't meeting up with Gail, then had a massage, got a good late lunch, and even took an hour long nap. I was like a teenager before his or her first prom as I got ready about six o'clock.

When I picked Gail up it was clear that she had fully maximized her already prodigious sex appeal. She was a walking wet dream with her silken brunette hair half up and half down, just the right amount of green eyeshadow and matching lipstick. (I didn't even know that they made green lipstick, let alone that it would look spectacular on the right green-eyed woman.) She wore a classic "little black cocktail dress," an emerald necklace with matching earrings, arm bracelet, and ankle bracelet, and four inch green heels that matched her lipstick exactly.

I know that my Johnson went "boing," but I was too gobsmacked by Gail's appearance to even notice or care.

"Holy Shit! You're gorgeous!" I exclaimed.

"Just figuring that out now?" Gail laughed as she took my arm and I carefully escorted her to my waiting chariot. I quickly opened the passenger side door for her and unabashedly leered at her sculptured thighs as she sat and swung her legs into the vehicle.

The stunning impression that Gail made on me seemed to be matched by those on the valet, doorman, maître de, and male clientele at The Castle. I doubt that even at a high end restaurant like that that they were used to someone who looked like she did that night. The table we were seated at was glass (despite its name The Castle has a modern décor), and I thought for sure that the busboy was going to spill water all over us since his focus was clearly on Gail's thighs, and not on filling our glasses.

Despite my nervousness in the anticipation of that evening my adrenaline had kicked in and I was both calm and hyper alert at the same time. The meal – and company – were fabulous and the dinner ended humorously as Gail snatched the check from the startled waiter as he attempted to hand it to me. Then in a completely serious tone as she handed him her credit card she said "I need to pay for my male escort here, otherwise he may skimp on the services that he is to provide me with tonight."

After the red-faced waiter ran off, more than merely left, with a big smile I said "You really are an evil minx, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," she sneered, followed by a hearty laugh.

Dancing was even better than dinner for two reasons – Gail's gyrations during the fast dances during which her hips seemed to be detached from the rest of her body, and body contact during the slow ones. Even though I'm normally 14 inches taller than she is, her four inch heels cut that to 10 inches, enough to result in stimulating body contact during the slow songs. The only drawbacks – my constant stiffy, which she smiled at, and the leering eyes of almost every guy at the club.

After we had been at the club about ninety minutes, Gail went to the washroom, and when she returned, sat on my lap and stuffed her panties into my inside suitcoat pocket. I'm sure that I was wide-eyed. That was followed up by her whispering into my ear.

"Paul, let's do something that will provide a better reward than this night out so far for you helping me, that will be fun for you, that will be fun for me, and that will allow me to get some revenge on Vernon for the miserable way that he has treated me the last year."

"Uh...what's that?" I hesitantly asked.

"Aren't all four of those things that you want?" she asked as she rubbed one hand on my chest, and wrapped the other around the back of my neck.

"Of...of... course, uh...yes," I stammered.

"Then what's the issue?" she asked, then inserted her tongue into my ear.

"Uh...no issue, I guess," I mumbled.

"Then take me to your condo...now," she whispered.

*************

It is probable that I knew that what Gail wanted was a good old-fashioned balls-slapping fucking.

It is possible that somewhere in my brain the thought "no matter what a shit her husband is, she is still married and you shouldn't fuck her" passed through.

It is possible that I wanted to resist.

It is probable that I admitted to myself that I was madly in love with Gail.

It is possible that I would blurt out "I love you" sometime during the night, even though I wouldn't want to.

It is possible that I would be ruined for any other woman in the world if I had sex with Gail.

It is possible that I thought that this might be the best night of my life.

It is possible that I was scared shitless about screwing up my relationship with Gail.

None of the above possibilities and probabilities ultimately mattered, however. Her aura was so intoxicating that I was like an automaton as I helped Gail into my car and drove to my condo.

I was helpless to do anything differently as I carried Gail up the steps of my condo and into my bedroom as she planted kisses on me or licked my face.

I was overwhelmed with desire as she removed her dress, the only article of clothing that she had on after stuffing her panties into my suitcoat pocket.

Before I out-of-control started passionately kissing her I did have the presence of mind to repeat what she already knew from our previous discussions: "If you don't have the inability to conceive you will get pregnant if I fuck you."

Between kisses she mumbled "Promises, promises," which indicated that she either knew for certain that she couldn't conceive, didn't believe me, or wanted a baby even if it was with me and not her husband.

At that point there was no going back.

As I lay Gail on my bed and started attacking her perfect pelvic area with my tongue and lips I quickly removed my clothes, without concern for what condition they were in as or after I removed them; I simply wanted them off. By the time that she had her first orgasm I was nude except for one troublesome sock.

I didn't give her more than a few seconds to recover from her first orgasm before my fingers accompanied my mouth in stimulating her labia, clitoris, and Gräfenberg spot. Soon she was writing in a second orgasm so intense that it was almost like she was having a seizure.

As she was still dazed from her second orgasm, I turned her on her hands and knees. Her ass, thighs, and pussy were beyond perfection – I didn't think that those features could possibly be as stimulating, indeed even as intoxicating, as they were. Reality was better than fantasy as I unceremoniously shoved my rock-hard pulsating cock into her soaking wet vagina.

imhapless
imhapless
3,572 Followers