The "Me Date" Ch. 01

There I was -- a freshly (and happily) divorced 40-year old guy obsessed with a twenty-something sweet young thing who had moved into my condo. And why not? I keep myself in pretty good shape. My stomach is flat and I have a muscular-looking physique that doesn't go overboard. I am definitely not the body-builder type, but when I look at myself in the mirror (with the exception of a penis that I've always wished was just a bit bigger) I like what I see.

The Sweet Young Thing (let's call her Honey) on the other hand, was off the charts. She had the face of a goddess with piercing blue eyes, short blond hair and drop-dead gorgeous features. Her thin, svelte body attracted me like a 20-ton magnet. The best part was her breasts. The fact is, she barely had any. I love flat-chested women and Honey fit the bill perfectly. I often saw her sashay around our building braless, and the movement of those delectable little titties was almost more than I could bear. Her nipples were always flaunting themselves and there was just enough flesh behind them to create an incredible display of firm but fluid perfection. She'd probably left a long trail of hapless male-types who would have done anything to get their paws on her delicious young charms.

My troubles began one day when she made an entrance at our pool. She wore this purple, skin-tight, one-piece suit that looked like it was painted on. Her nipples poked out defiantly, creating a delectable but agonizing feeling in the pit of my stomach. This feeling was accentuated by the fact that she was so matter of fact about it. And she didn't hesitate to show off her chest as she stretched, dried herself with a towel or slathered her back with oil. I suspect she knew exactly what she was doing.

Another hot spot was the exercise room. I'd be there doing my six miles on the treadmill when she would show up in her sports bra and gym shorts. I loved watching that athletic body go through its paces -- especially after she got all sweaty and started soaking through her bra. Yes, those tantalizing nipples even managed to reveal themselves through that thick elastic-like material.

It went on like that for a few weeks. I admired her from afar, fantasizing about getting a peek at those supple young breasts (not to mention her other delights). Finally, I worked up my courage and struck up a conversation with her at the pool one day. She had graduated from college a few years ago and had a job in the city working for a law firm. This was her first apartment and she was really enjoying the independence and amenities that living downtown afforded. We talked about my situation (including the nightmare that was supposed to be marital bliss) and the fact that we both liked to exercise and stay fit. She was actually very nice and remarkably easy to talk to. I certainly didn't envision a relationship with her based on anything but small talk. Fortunately, I was about to discover otherwise.

It was a dreary Friday afternoon after work and I punched the button to the elevator, not knowing exactly where I was going. There was Honey, headed to the laundry room with a basket of clothes and those enchanting nipples beckoning me to follow.

"What's up," she asked.

"Not much," I responded, and then I heard myself say, "actually, I was thinking about doing my laundry too."

"Cool. I could use some company. Maybe I'll see you down there."

Maybe indeed. I went back to my apartment, had a shot of bourbon to settle my nerves and decide if I really wanted to go through with it. After another two shots the answer was "yes".

I gathered my dirty clothes (along with some clean stuff to conceal the fact that I didn't really need to do my washing) and headed down the elevator.

By the time I got there, she was already putting her clothes into the dryer. I loved watching those alluring little breasts move sexily under her loose fitting tee. She asked what took me so long and we talked nonchalantly while her clothes were in the drier. Then she put them back into her cart and wheeled away.

Shit ... opportunity missed!

But that's when I caught a break. While I was taking my clothes out of the washer, I noticed she left something in the machine she had been using. Oh my God it was a bra!

I quickly covered it with my clothes -- acting like it was a piece of incriminating evidence, and stuffed everything into the drier. It seemed like the drier took forever but I was enjoying the knowledge that one of her undergarments was mingling with my own. Anyway, as soon as everything was dry, I hightailed it back to my apartment. My heart was beating hard with anticipation. I couldn't wait to examine my prize. It was a simple, white cotton bra with the clasp in the back. (How many times had I struggled trying to release one of those insidious things with one hand?). A little tag told me the size was 32 AA.

32 AA. To a small tit freak like me, that nugget of information was like an aphrodisiac. Proof positive that my precious Honey had the real thing -- genuinely small breasts. Even though the outfits she wore left absolutely no doubt, the reality of those numbers made my penis stiffen. I wished the bra were still dirty so I could detect a hint of her essence. Despite the fact that I knew this was not possible, I pressed the inside of one of the cups to my nose and inhaled deeply; imagining what it smelled like before it was washed. Earthy, with a hint of her sweet perfume, perhaps. I put my fingers on the exact spot where her nipple had pressed against the soft material. I reveled in the fact that the perfect little nub had just been there -- possibly as recently as today. I repeated this process with the other cup. I was really getting turned on and it got even worse when I fantasized about finding a pair of her panties -- dirty panties -- on the floor of the laundry room. The thought of smelling her sex practically put me over the edge.

And then a staggeringly powerful thought struck me. Oh my God, I have an opportunity to return this! I had an engraved invitation to interact with Honey on a new and exciting level. I needed a few more minutes to myself, but eventually I decided to call her and take advantage of the situation before I lost my nerve. Just like a high school kid afraid of being rejected for a date to the prom, I punched in her number.

"Hi," she said when she answered the phone. I couldn't put my finger on it, but she sounded a little strange.

"Hey, it's your laundry buddy, and I ended up with a bra you accidentally left in the washer. It's dry now, and I wondered it you wanted me to drop it by."

There was a long pause, and I thought, "Oh shit, here comes that 'I've already got a date to the prom' rejection I feared."

"I guess you could, but I'm just getting ready for a "Me Date" and it might be a little awkward."

"What's a Me Date?"

"Something I do every once in awhile when I need to rejuvenate. It's a totally self-centered process I go through that is completely, 100 percent focused on me and my body. Frankly, I've never shared a Me Date before, but the thought of doing so is kind of exciting. I'm just afraid it would be frustrating for you because it's all about me, and there's nothing I can do to change that. Me Dates are very important to me and I really need one right now.

"I'm an expert in frustration. My Ex saw to that. I'm still not quite sure what this Me Date is all about, but I'm willing to take the chance."

There was another long pause and I could tell she was struggling with the decision. What ever this thing was, she clearly thought of it as a very big deal.

"OK, what the hell. Come on down, and don't forget my bra."

Bingo. My boring Friday was about to become something memorable.

I didn't want to have to explain why I was carrying around a bra in case of a chance hallway encounter, so I put it into a brown lunch bag and headed to her apartment. What awaited me was completely unexpected.

Her apartment was bathed in the soft glow of maybe 50 candles. There was a Mozart string quartet playing softly in the background and the place reeked of marijuana. She was stoned out of her mind. Now I understood why she sounded so funny on the phone.

"Come in and have a seat next to me on the couch. I need to ask you again if you're sure you're OK with this. You see, a Me Date is all about my generating sexual energy -- as much as I can -- and then yielding to it with the very essence and soul of my body. It's a highly spiritual thing for me, and I take it very seriously. I simply cannot allow you to fuck it up by making me feel selfish. If you stay, you'll have to understand that this is all about ME. I can't feel obligated to consider your feelings or help you in any way. It's up to you."

"I get it, let's give it a shot."

"OK, but you better start by smoking this. It'll get you in the proper frame of mind."

Indeed it did. The dope was fantastic and I hadn't been stoned in ages. I loved feeling the high spread throughout my body, giving me that deliciously aware feeling. Dope always heightens my senses and makes me feel sexy as hell. What an ideal time for it. I looked at Honey's perfect breasts through her tee shirt and thought, "Wow, this is going to be something."

"You like my breasts, don't you?"

"Like isn't the word for it. Worship maybe, or adore."

"Most guys think they're too small. Way too small. I used to be self-conscious about them, but then I realized there are plenty of guys like you who prefer girls like me. I see them staring at my nipples and watching how they rub against my shirt. It turns me on to see that. In fact, it's one of the things that attracted me to you."

As she said all this, I noticed her nipples getting more erect. She was using me to build to the sexual energy for her Me Date. I felt honored -- and extremely turned on. She slowly moved her hands to her to her breasts and began to touch them lightly through her soft cotton shirt.

"My nipples get really hard when I'm turned on -- especially when I'm stoned. Even though they're always poking out on their own. I used to be embarrassed about them, but I finally thought, "what the fuck," it's my body so why should I be embarrassed. Besides, I don't think there is anything wrong with giving guys like you a little thrill. Do you like it when I touch them?"

"More than you can imagine."

"Would you like to touch them?"

"I would love it if you want me to."

"Well, we'll have to see what develops for you Mr. Tiny Tit Man. But remember, this Me Date is all about me. Let's turn things up a notch."

She showed me a small, screw-capped glass vial that was resting in a bowel of clear oil heated by a candle.

"Can you guess what this is?" she whispered.

It was partially filled with a thick white fluid.

"I've got a pretty good guess."

"You're undoubtedly right. You see, I LOVE semen. I love everything about it. The way it smells, the way it feels between my fingers and on my body. The way it squirts into my vagina when I fuck. The cool feeling it creates on my breasts when I spread it over them and let it dry. Everything. It's the most important ingredient for a Me Date."

I thought to myself that much more talk like this would result in another deposit of warm semen -- in my jeans!

"Where did you get it?" I managed to croak.

"I thought maybe you would want to know. This sample is from an old boyfriend, but I have more. Want me to show you?"

She went to her freezer and returned with a metal rack that contained a dozen or more vials just like the one she had showed me.

"These are deposits from some of the men in my life. This one is from my brother. He was my first contributor. Our parents were strictly religious and I was already in college, but still living at home, when I first learned to masturbate. I would think about boys playing with themselves and squirting their semen all over the palace as I experimented with my body. I kept coming back to this vision even though I had never seen it in real life; only in a video and from reading about it in books. But I decided something was missing; I desperately wanted to see what real semen was like. And then I had a brilliant idea. I had an 18 year-old brother living in the same house! I had never even thought about him masturbating, but I figured there was a pretty good chance he was doing it. So the next day I told him I knew that he masturbated and that I would tell our parents unless he gave me some of his stuff. I gave him a little vial that I had taken from chemistry class. He looked shocked, but I assured him I was serious and that I better see some results by the next day. Sure enough, when I came back from my shower the next morning, the vial was under my pillow -- practically full. It didn't dawn on me at the time, but he must have been so turned on by the idea of doing it for me that he masturbated five or six times in that short period of time.

I was in heaven with my new-found prize. I remember the first thing I did was savor the smell. That's when I realized there is a direct connection between my nose and my vagina. I was literally sopping wet in less than a second. The feeling was "basic" and electric. I immediately began rubbing my swollen clit and quickly exploded into the first real orgasm I had ever had.

I hid the vial in one of my drawers and used it repeatedly during the next few days to continue my masturbatory exploits. I did everything you could think of with that semen -- spreading it on my nipples, using it to soak my pubic hair, spreading it on my labia and over my clitoris, tasting it, dabbing it onto my anus, I even put some in my ears. I loved what I was doing. Life had taken on a whole new meaning and I could barely force myself to go to class.

Unfortunately, my supply quickly dwindled. I realized I was like a junky in need of a fix. When I tried to make the same deal with my brother he said, "OK, but I want a pair of your dirty panties before I do."

"The little shit wasn't so stupid. But I didn't really mind. It sounded like a fair exchange. So that night, I did my best to give him a worthy specimen. Smelling the dregs of his semen in the vial, I began rubbing my vagina through my plain cotton panties. I was surprisingly turned on by the thought of doing this for him, so my pussy was really getting wet. I decided to push the material as deeply into my crack as possible to give it a thorough dousing. This little exercise was turning out to be more fun than I expected, and I felt like my body was experiencing something for the very first time. I continued to drench my panties, rubbing them up and down over my now slippery lips when WHAM, I experienced my first ejaculation. I had no idea what was happening, but this liquid that I knew wasn't pee came flooding out of my vagina as I started to cum. My body was wracked with wave after wave of intense pleasure that seemed to go on forever. I lay there for a long time, just relishing what I had experienced. My panties were drenched. I sealed them in a baggie and placed them under my brother's pillow. Clearly, I had held up my end of the bargain. And the next morning he came through for me too."

By this time my cock was throbbing in my pants and I didn't know how I could survive much more of this talk without excusing myself. But Honey was just getting started.

This next one is from my first real boyfriend. He was an engineering student and a little nerdy, but a nice guy. At first I didn't want him to think I was too weird, so I didn't tell him about my little semen fetish. We had a nice, if somewhat reserved, sexual relationship and I was OK with that. OK until one day when I decided to do him a favor and wash his clothes. That's when I discovered that many of his tee shirts had odd crusty stains on them. The deposits were basically clear but had a slight yellowish tinge. Oh my God, I thought, he's been masturbating onto his tee shirts! Turns out the connection to my vagina has nothing to do with my nose because I experienced the same instant lubrication as when I smelled my brother's semen for the first time. My knees buckled and I thought I might fall to the floor. Instead, I took his tee shirt, went to the bedroom, and began putting it to good use. The dried stain was rough and felt wonderful as I rubbed it across my nipples. They were at full attention in no time. Then I did the same thing between my legs. The scratchy sensation felt great there too, bringing my clit to full hardness. But my vagina was so wet, it sort of rehydrated the semen and the scratchy feeling went away. I ended up soaking his shirt with my juices and using it to scrub the sticky residue into my pubes and onto my lips. The result was an Earth-shaking orgasm complete with an impressive ejaculation. After my composure returned, I realized I had another laundry problem.

I thought about leaving my boyfriend's secret intact, but then I was struck by a much more enticing idea. That night I confronted him with one of the soiled shirts and asked if he knew anything about the strange stain. He turned beet red and stammered something about maybe using it to blow his nose. I said that was odd because there were seven other tee shirts in the same condition, and I didn't remember him having a cold.

The poor guy knew he was busted but was so embarrassed he just couldn't acknowledge the truth, so I decided to let him off the hook.

"Look," I said, "it's OK for you to masturbate. I do it too. But you shouldn't slink around in the dark to do it. Why don't you let me watch?"

I could tell from the topography of his gym shorts that the idea had given him an immediate erection.

"Come on," I said, tweaking the tip of his penis through his shorts, "it looks like you're ready right now!"

We went on to have the best sexual experience of our relationship. I inched down his shorts and underpants and told him he had a beautiful penis. Then I began peppering him with questions about his masturbation history.

"How often do you do it? What do you think about when you do it? How far does your semen shoot up? How much of it comes out? Have you ever gotten caught before?

He told me about the first time he discovered that he could make himself cum, and started to really get into it. I could tell his penis had never been harder, and he was literally ready to explode.

"Do it for me now," I demanded. "Show me how you rub yourself until you cum."

He started by grasping the base of his shaft with one hand and sliding it forward. When that hand reached the underside of his head, he repeated the process with his other hand. He continued like this, one hand after the other, as the pressure in his body mounted. He was sweating now, and I knew he was really turned on by my watching him stroke himself. He was circumcised and I noticed that he was making a special effort to use his fingers to stimulate the underside of the ring at the base of his glans as they slid by. He was getting close. Abruptly he encircled the same ring with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and began stimulating it with short rapid strokes.

And then it happened. He grunted and sprayed stream after stream of beautiful, hot semen all over his stomach and chest and hands.

"Oh my God that was the best one I've ever had!"

Of course, by this point I was practically cumming myself. Here he was, playing out the very fantasy I had been using to masturbate to for years. The smell of his semen hit me like a freight train as it permeated the room. My vagina was dripping into my panties and I couldn't wait to peel them off and provide the relief I so urgently needed.

Needless to say, the quality of our sex life improved immeasurably. And there was one other change. I provided him with a supply of my little vials and told him I didn't expect to find dried semen on his underwear any more. No sense wasting it when there were much better uses!