The Field of Dreams, Wet Ones

Take me there and I will cum.

A bawdy tale by Cat

All the time we'd been chatting on messenger I'd insisted there would be nothing more. Despite the incredible intimacy of our chats I stressed that I'd never go further. Although we had the most amazing electronic sex where you would sometimes make me cum three and even four times I'd told you I was scared to talk to you or meet you.

At first you'd tried to persuade me to see you but gradually you came to accept that having a bird like me in the hand was better than several in the bush. You realised that it was more exciting to fuck me down the line than to lose me all together.

For me it was the perfect antidote to the incredible frustration I suffered from due to my husband, Richard's, neglect. That wasn't totally fair, though, for it was a sort of enforced neglect. Averaging a sixty hour work week as a successful corporate lawyer and travelling to America every month and to Europe most weeks, didn't leave a lot of time for providing his wife with a full and varied sex life. In any case, that didn't rank highly on Richard's priority of life experiences.

I'd tried before to overcome the frustration. I'd had a couple of affairs. Brief ones with two men I thought I had real feelings for and who I thought had them for me. As I got older and looked back on them I realised they came about because of my frustration and the feelings were lust not love. The affairs had been fantastic and terrible. The highs from having illicit sex in different places to the marital bed, hotels, cars even outdoors in a field and a shop doorway were tremendous. The lows from the guilt, the lies and the continual excuses were awful.

And of course after resolving to have no further affairs masturbation became my great ally. But then I found messenger and eventually you. Much younger then me with the sexual stamina and vigour of youth you had an understated enthusiasm, a laid back attitude, a polite and considerate nature and an amazing cock. I fell in love with it. It was beautiful, it was big, it had a great shape and the way you were able to make it grow almost by command thrilled me so much.

We got on well, very well both socially and especially sexually. You were the first man I'd met on messenger to whom I could say. "Pease fuck me" without feeling cheap. We had wonderful sex.

Then Richard and I had a trial separation. Our first in over twenty years of marriage. It had all become too much for us. The continual bickering. "If you don't work less hours and pay more attention to me then we'll have to part," I'd told him not quite sure I was completely serious. So we did. He moved to a flat owned by his firm and I stayed in the house. Fortunately it was term time so no one had to know immediately. We had time to see if it was what we wanted. Time to try things. Time when there would be no need for lies or excuses. Time when I could do as I wanted. Time when our sex didn't have to be restricted to electronic.

I told you what had happened with Richard and that we were having a trial separation.

"Would you like to meet Jon?" I typed a few days later.

We agreed to meet at a Marriott hotel just outside Canterbury.

"In the bar at 1.00," I said. "We'll have a drink, just to make sure we like each other in the flesh and then Jon, well we'll see," I'd gone on smiling to myself

I hardly slept the night before we were due to meet. I tossed and turned my mind whirring with wonderfully conflicting thoughts. It was the same the next morning when I was getting ready. I had a long bath slowly putting more and more water in until I noticed with a grin that just my face and neck and my two nipples were above the soapy water.

Naked, I dried my hair and painted my finger and toe nails with a vivid crimson varnish. I found myself becoming more and more excited at the prospect of what lie ahead. Of meeting you, of spending the afternoon and maybe the evening with you. Of being with a younger man. A younger man that was you. The tight, firm body and muscles. The flat belly and the lithe thighs and legs. The hardness of your erection. The way you could get hard again so soon and how you could cum many times. I hadn't had sex twice with a man in one session for such a long time and the prospect of you possibly making love to me three four or even five times filled me with such excitement. The vision of you spurting the huge amount of semen that I'd seen on your cam, of the way that, as if by magic, you made your penis hard again and the sheer beauty and size of it all went through my mind as I started to dress. The feelings and sensations were so strong I found myself stroking my breasts and they seemed so big and full. I contemplated masturbating but rejected that smiling as I opened the packages I'd bought specially for meeting you "why take second best when the real thing was waiting for me?" I asked myself.

I slid into the black, lacy tops hold-ups and admired myself in the mirror. They made my legs look slimmer and longer. I hadn't bought the black underwear we'd discussed. Instead it was deep burgundy an altogether more erotic colour or so the books said. Pure silk. Smooth and lustrous. The panties clung to me billowing out a little with the pleats of the French knickers. The silk moulded itself to my mound accentuating that. They hung loosely leaving I thought "just room for a hand to slip in." I did up the bra that could well have been half a size too small, or I'd grown, for my boobs seemed to burst out of the sheer silk and lace.

Slipping into the thin, black, typical cocktail party dress I was ready. The dress was high at the neck at the front and the material clung to my body emphasising my breasts but regrettably I noticed looking in the mirror also showing the slight bulge of my tummy. It was lower at the back of the neck and had a zip all the way up the back that I struggled to do up. The hem ended fashionably a few inches above my knee and I noted, as I sat down to put on the strappy, black high heeled sandles, slid way up my thighs to almost my stocking tops. That excited me as I knew it would you.

I was wearing lipstick and a little eye make, but nothing else. My ash blonde hair was down, the fairly straight locks tumbling nearly to my shoulders. Inspecting my face in the mirror I looked closely at the few wrinkles round my eyes and the lines from my nose to my upper lip and down my chin from my lower lip. I had sent you a few photos, both dressed and not so dressed and had told you many times that being old enough to be your mother I did look my age. You, courteously, had rebuffed that saying 'You look in your early thirties at the latest.' I just hoped that actually seeing me wouldn't change your mind and that you would still 'Fancy older women like hell.' Ready, I went down to the car and set off for what I guessed would be a fifty minute journey maybe to "sexual paradise, "I smiled gunning the engine of the Mercedes.

The traffic was welcomingly light down the M10 to the M25 where it got heavier, but not too bad so quite quickly I was bombing towards the Dartford Crossing. My mind was buzzing with the various emotions I was feeling so I kept my speed down for my concentration on the road and driving was continually being diverted.

Glancing down at myself and seeing my slightly parted stockinged legs, the hint of the stocking tops and the strappy shoes. Looking at the emphasised fullness of my breasts from the thin tight material and knowing that underneath I was wearing, what one of best friends called, "underwear to be undressed and fucked in," made me feel excited and desired.

Thinking of the sights I'd had of you on your cam, your tight youthful body and wonderful penis made me frequently shudder with sexual expectancy of such a level that even as I drove I found that my fingers were roaming over the mounds of my boobs and the smoothness of my stockinged thighs that I'd opened a little wider than the driving position required.

But accompanying those wickedly arousing thoughts of what I imagined you'd be doing to me in just a couple of hours time, were other thoughts. More serious considerations. Different and certainly contradictory to those of excitement and adventure. Yes thoughts of my son and daughter and my husband, our families and friends. Although parted this was only a trial, I was still married. I would still be cheating on Richard, committing adultery with you and being unfaithful to my marriage vows. I was still stepping outside my relationship. I was risking the temptation that once I'd done it, would I do it more and more. Was having sex outside my marriage a bit like smoking or the pangs of an alcoholic. All or none. Either don't do it at all or do it all the time. If I went with you would I then still be able to resist the other two or three men that were trying to get into my life?

*

As I passed through Essex and into Kent over the QE2 Bridge I was thinking, 'I'll stop and turn round, this is madness.'

But I didn't, I couldn't, something was driving me on so, in many ways against my better judgement, I continued down the M2. Turning off I followed the instructions on the satnav and soon I was pulling into the car park of the Marriott. Smiling as I walked across the lobby thinking about the scene from The Graduate when Dustin Hoffman was booking a room for him and Mrs Robinson I thanked the ease of the Internet and looked around for the signs to the bar.

Although I was purposefully fifteen minutes late I was still very nervous as I approached the bar for I couldn't help thinking that you might not be there either, through lateness or, a sudden change of mind. To be alone in a bar is something I hate and something, thankfully, I'm rarely forced to do.

I scanned the bar ignoring the stares of the mostly business men clientele many of whom ran their gaze up and down my body in a rather vulgar and suggestive manner. Men out of sight of their wife, especially on business, often become such lechers that it makes life difficult for women and could put us off men altogether.

You looked even younger than I remembered. Younger but better looking. Younger but leaner and fitter. Younger but more fanciable and certainly younger but so much sexier in the flesh as it were. We smiled at each other as I walked to the vacant stool beside you at the bar.

"At last Jon," I smiled leaning forward as you pecked me a little embarrassedly on the cheeks.

"Hi Cat, or should I say Sarah" you replied, referring to the false name I'd used until I got to know and trust you.

Resting my hand on yours I looked you right in the eye with the rest of the room looking on as I smiled.

"Well you could use darling if you like."

It's always difficult sitting demurely and ladylike on a high stool when wearing a skirt. When the skirt is rather short and loose and made of a thin, clingy material like crepe it becomes even more of a challenge. And when under that skirt there are lacy topped hold up stockings it becomes as good as impossible to retain one's modesty. And in that bar in which I was one of a very small number of women and a large number of men I didn't retain it.

As soon as I'd walked in I'd felt their eyes on me mentally undressing, leering and ogling me. In part that can be flattering and, believe me, as a woman roars into her forties some of that is good for the ego. Too much and too obvious, though, becomes simply tiresome. And that's what it was as I felt so pleased that I was with you, a young, virile and attractive young guy and not with the forty and fifty, balding and greying, paunchy businessmen in the bar who looked as if they would have loved to rip your heart out.

"Did you have a good trip?" You asked getting the conversation off in a very neutral manner.

"Yes fine thanks although I was a little nervous all the way."

"So was I, I was almost frightened," you said with the honesty and openness of the well adjusted guy I'd come to know on the net. You didn't seem to feel the need to boast as so many your age do. You'd never boasted about your, what I thought were, remarkable recovery powers, your out put and your virility. And certainly you'd let the pictures of your cam paint a thousand words about your delicious penis.

"How long did it take you?" I asked

I could see that you were nervous. Your hand was shaking a little as you held the glass and you spoke in short, sharp bursts not making complete sense at times. That was nice. I liked it. I was pleased that you weren't acting as if you were about to make another conquest, as I was becoming quite sure you were going to do. I liked your modesty and the way everything was understated with you. I was feeling very warm and tender about us. Partly because you were the only one, or so it seemed in the room, that wasn't staring at either, my stockinged legs and the hem of my skirt or at the swell of my breasts. The irony amused me for it was you that would almost certainly, shortly be slipping your hand up that hem or removing the material from those breasts. And all those leering middle aged businessmen would be left out. And that for some reason made me want to make them feel that.

"Oh only twenty minutes, I got the bus."

Forgetting that you didn't have a car, I smiled. "I could have picked you up."

"Well not really could you as you wanted to check me out didn't you?"

"Oh yes, but I guess after all we've said in messenger and emails that probably wasn't really necessary. Were you excited?"

"Yes the idea of meeting my older woman thrilled yet at the same time scared me."

I leaned forward and resting my hand on your leg some three to four inches above your knee, kissed you on the cheek as I whispered. "My Mrs Robinson to your Dustin Hoffman eh?"

"Yes, yes," you breathed quickly as I gave the inside of your thigh a little squeeze.

I was very aware, as women nearly always are when they show a little too much of a part of their body, that by leaning forward my skirt would have risen further. I guessed that at least the darker hue of the bottoms of the lacy tops would now be on show confirming the likely hopes of 'my audience' that I was indeed wearing stockings.

And that made me wonder just what they were thinking about us. Older women with younger men, though more common nowadays, are still not seen that often. And a couple so obviously into themselves to the exclusion of those around them generally suggests just one thing, and it certainly wasn't mum and son. The sight of my stocking tops probably confirmed what they were all thinking. That excited me. I wanted to be alone with you. I wanted us to be able to talk and smile, kiss and touch each other. So, leaning even further forward, running my hand even further up your thigh so that it was about half way I whispered into your ear.

"You can guess what they're all thinking can't you," as I nodded towards the men in the bar.

Smiling you replied. "Yes I think I can."

"Well we'd better not disappoint them," I went on sliding off the stool and flashing all of one stocking top and maybe a touch of skin above it as well. "Had we?" I continued casually pushing the skirt back in place as I put your arm through mine, held your hand, beamed a big smile at you and said, quietly so just you and I heard it. "No we'd better not darling so you'd better take me upstairs and fuck me hadn't you

"God Cat this is incredible," you breathed as we stood hand in hand waiting for the lift. "I've never been with a girl in a hotel before."

Smiling, I responded. "Well you're hardly with a girl now are you? Am I the first older woman though?"

Two people walking past prevented you answering and then the lift arrived. Going up to the eighth floor you tried to take me in your arms and kiss me.

"No Jon, not here," I said quite sharply. I was far too old and, in some ways well behaved I guess, to do such things in a public lift. Well at least sober that is!

Your opened lips on mine and your tongue in my mouth, although extremely welcome, were a little rushed as we closed the bedroom door behind us. I usually prefer to take my time. Chat and have a drink, let the mood develop and the atmosphere become heavy with expectancy. But you were right. It was the best way, the perfect action. This was not a time for being languorous or overly relaxed. We'd been through far too much, an electronic love affair, surrogate sex and so many enormously erotic moments together that now was the time for action. I knew it. You knew it. You wanted it and so did I in many ways. But as your hand squeezed and pressed my breasts and as our lips ground together it wasn't in all ways. There was still some doubts, some unanswered concerns and a number of reservations.

"Jon let's just have another drink first can we and chat a bit?" I asked gently pushing you off.

I could see the disappointment on your face and heard it in your voice as you muttered. "Sure."

"Could you send two bottles of white wine and two pints of Stella up to room 805 please?" I asked room service on the phone as you somewhat morosely looked on.

"What do we do when they get here?" you asked.

"Open the door of course, why?"

"Well what will they think?"

"I don't know and I suspect they don't care. This sort of thing happens all the time. I bet there's a least half a dozen other couples doing exactly what we are right now in this hotel.

"You reckon?"

"Yes I do, I've done it before as you know and so have some of my friends and my hubby has told me tales about his mates and colleagues, so I guess it's happening all the time."

I sat on the edge of the bed and patted it beside me to my left inviting you to sit down. You did. I turned slightly so I was looking right into your eyes. I lifted my hand and rested the back of my fingernails on your right cheek. I slowly ran them downwards until they reached your upper lip. I turned them so that the tip of my first and middle finger rested on it. I let them fall so they were on your bottom lip. I ran them along it pulling it as I did, so that I slowly parted it from the upper one. It was wet and I felt your spittle on my finger. I slid my finger inside as I heard a lovely low moan slip out of your mouth. I leaned closer so that my left breast pushed hard against your upper arm squashing it as flat as its fullness would permit.

"God Jon I have so looked forward to this."

"What shoving your fingers in my mouth?" you joked.

"No." I whispered smiling at your wit as I let my other hand rest right on your upper thigh the edge of it just inches from the bulge in your trousers. "To this," I said sliding my hand upwards until it found the rumpled up mass of your genitals and pants and trousers.

"And this," I added sliding the two fingers in and out of your mouth. They were obviously simulating a man's penis and the image of you sucking on them as I rubbed your crotch was amazingly erotic and I hoped indicative to you of what I was going to do later.

I could feel you stirring underneath my hand as you became erect.

"Oh God Cat, oh my God," you moaned into my ear as you rested your hand on my leg a few inches above my knee. It was a sort of enquiring squeeze. One that was asking my permission to proceed. I pushed my leg against your hand hopefully sending you the agreement you were seeking. It worked because your hand slid quite quickly up my leg taking the outside of my skirt with it up my right leg. It got caught though due to me sitting on it so that it only went several inches upwards before stopping. I could tell that you were unsure what to do. Presumably you wanted to pull it all the way and look at me. Men are very visual like that aren't they? But you didn't know whether I wanted that or whether now was an appropriate time. You still needed guidance and help. That made me feel good. It was perhaps about the only advantage I could think of from being an older woman. Experience and knowing what was going on in your partner's mind.