Where Do We Go From Here

My creative writing professor in college once said that without the benefit of experience, a writer cannot begin to create, and that only the right kind of eyes can interpret that experience in a way befitting the reader. My heart immediately sank. I knew that my experience watching "The Real World" and drinking cheap domestic beer at keg parties would not make for interesting material, no matter what kind of eyes I had. Bearing that in mind, I decided to seek out those life-altering experiences. I wanted to forge a writer's existence and enlighten the world with my take on those events. I wanted to be like Henry Miller, for more than one reason, or like Hemingway, but Iowa was not Paris and besides, my girlfriend was a gun-control activist (that semester). I knew I would have to make things happen one way or the other.

I worked three nights a week waiting tables at a local restaurant called "Soma's", Iowa Cities' version of four-star dining. I was required to wear a tie, something I didn't mind as much. College afforded me few opportunities to dress up and I have to admit, I do clean up pretty well. I'm just shy of 6 feet tall but I have dark hair and a beguiling handsome face. I didn't feel like kid on the brink of financial collapse when I brought water and rolls to people in my tie. In retrospect, there was a veritable all you can write buffet of material on any given night inside Soma's but my writer's eyes didn't have 20/20 vision. I practically had to be hit over the head with drama to notice it. My story begins exactly 5 years ago, when drama by the name of Claire sat in my section and hit me over the head.

Saturday had been very busy. There was a home football game that day and when all the breweries and bars filled up, Soma's got the overflow crowd. I was working a double shift that day and had an hour to go home, shower and come back. As soon as I clocked back in, my section was getting double sat. As luck would have it I was breaking in a new pair of shoes and had a savage blister on my left ankle. Martyrdom was mine for the night. After the initial rush and a surprise late rush, I gave the check to the last table and was preparing to half-ass my shift work and sit at the bar for a drink. The hostess, a bat-faced troll of a thing called Bethany asked me if I could take one more table. Behind her was a very attractive middle-aged woman in a silk blouse and black skirt. Instinctively I agreed.

"Good evening Ma'am. Would you like something to drink something while you look at the menu."

"Yes please. I'll have a glass of Chianti and for dinner, I'll have another glass. Please leave the desert menu with me. I may order something to drink when I'm through with dinner."

"Right away. Will there be anything else?" She was astute and looked at me as though she and I had been friends for some time. "Yes. I believe I'm your last table and would very much appreciate your company." I was shocked. I wondered if she was coming on to me. What my co-workers would think of me sitting with this woman? I decided my feet needed the rest, I needed a drink and this could be the writers' fodder I so desperately needed for my creative writing class. "O.K. Let me settle my checks and clock out."

I went to the bar, ordered a vodka tonic and her Chianti and sat down with my mystery woman. How weird could things possibly be? I was in Iowa, not Tijuana.

I sat across from her at the table. She began speaking to me as if this had been the plan all along. "Thank you. I'm Claire."

"I'm Tom."

"Tom, I'm going to be very frank with you. If I scare you or intimidate your Midwestern sensibilities, please be frank with me. We will part amicably and move on to our respective greener pastures."

"O.K. Fair enough." I was intrigued. What the creeping Jesus was this lady about to lay on me? I could already see a page in my journal filled to the brim. "Tom, I'm going to be moving soon. I've made a sort of laundry list of things I need to do here before I go. One of those things entails fucking a young man such as yourself. No strings attached. Can you help me with that?

I sat utterly motionless and oblivious to my surroundings. I must have looked frightened because Claire asked me if I was O.K. I swallowed most of my drink and nodded my head.

"Is that a 'yes?'" She said patiently. "Yes. It is a yes."

My mind was moving at a million miles an hour and coming up with nothing particularly useful. This was beyond weird. I felt as if I was on one of those reality prank shows and at any minute, the curtain would come down. She sat there smiling at me. I smiled back, faking confidence and wondering what to say at a race where the finish line was now the starting point. We talked a while and then she asked me if I would like to go to her apartment. I agreed.

We walked out together and Charles, the bartender shot me a look. I would have some explaining to do for sure and mentally calculated how my girlfriend could possibly find out about this.

Claire was radiant. She couldn't be a day older than 38 and had beautiful, soft skin. She had a petite frame and smallish breasts. Her chestnut hair almost flowed past her shoulders and I found myself getting hard seconds after she closed the door. Turning around she immediately began unbuttoning her blouse. I wanted to kiss her mouth. She seemed to look through me and I sensed that there was reluctance hidden behind this quiet urgency.

She took her blouse off and I could see the magical outline of her nipples under her thin white bra. I kissed her softly as her hand found the throbbing bulge in my pants. She was wearing a light fragrance that I knew would stay with me forever. She lead me to her couch, and in a moment of sexual synchronization, we were both undressed within seconds. She smiled at me as I sat naked on her couch and began to slowly caress my dick. I couldn't remember the last time I was that hard and the sight of her tiny hands gripping my shaft sent shivers down my spine. She gently kissed the purple head of my cock and began sucking on it. I was shivering with ecstasy. I wanted to come in her mouth but I also wanted to fuck her.

Claire straddled me and slid my rock hard dick into her pussy. She was tight but slid down the thick, 7 inches of my cock, moaning and breathing very hard. I began sucking on her nipples as we fucked. I still could not believe what was happening. With every thrust I felt closer to an explosive orgasm.

"Hold on," I said. "I want to taste you."

She immediately pulled my dick out of her sopping wet pussy. I laid her on the couch and began kissing the insides of her thighs. Her clit was swollen and I started to trace the outline of it with my tongue. She cried out and bucked her hips toward my mouth. I found myself licking every inch of her, sucking on her clit and tasting her deep inside. Using my index finger I gambled and gently began rubbing her asshole. She screamed out in approval and, careful not to hurt her, I worked my finger inside of her ass as I sucked her clit. My cock was almost swollen to the point of pain.

"Fuck me in the ass. Please fuck me in the ass," she proclaimed.

I turned her around on the couch. Her long hair cascaded down her back and in the darkness, she looked too beautiful to be doing something so visceral. I tenderly put the inflated head of my dick up to her tiny hole.

"Go slowly…at first."

I gently worked about two inches of my cock into her when she cried out. I could tell she was almost in pain but did not want me to stop. I rubbed her clit and kissed her back. In a moment, the tightness seemed to let up and I worked my cock in more. Spasms of pleasure went through my body and I had to control the urge to fuck her harder. I slowly pushed more of my cock in and she began to moan again. Within minutes we were fucking as hard as before and she began to come.

"Ohhhhh, please don't stop fucking me!" she screamed.

There on her couch, I buried the length of my ecstatic prick deep inside of her ass. I could see the outline of her hard nipples and feel the come from her pussy on my balls and thighs. She seemed to be having intense orgasms every two minutes and before I knew it, my cock was beginning to issue pre-come warnings deep in her ass. I started fucking her as hard as I could and she screamed out but fucked me back with equal vigor. Right before my cock exploded, she pulled away from me, turned around and grabbed my dick. It was too much for me to handle. I shot a hot ribbon of come into her hair. Instead of backing off, she slowly pulled my spastic gushing cock into her mouth. Despite the hot, white semen dripping from her forehead and chin, she sucked the voluminous loud and swallowed every drop, as if it were water in the desert.

My heart was racing.

"So…where are you moving?" I asked.

"I'm moving back to the East Coast to live with my parents. I'm dying Tom. As soon as I do a few more things I always wanted to do, I'm going home."