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Sex Story



*

Admittedly, I was very much a novice, a turtle peeking out of his shell when it came to on-line dating. I'd been in a long-term (seven years, is that long enough?) relationship that had run its course, but still left me in a bit crestfallen. Then, one of my female co-workers, who met her own new BF on-line, urged me to join snatch.com or match.cum (euphemisms, sure, but not entirely inaccurate ones).

I composed the witty profile, posted the All-American-male photo or two, one in a suit and tie, the other as a doting dad, all the non-beefcake stuff, I hadn't tried to seduce a woman by taking my shirt off in about fifteen years. Now, my pants, that's another matter altogether, but that's for private showings only. And, boyohboy, did Tea demand a private showing

I think my profile cleared approval for public viewing on a Friday, and by Saturday, I'd already received quite a few promising emails. I wondered could it really be this easy, I was hooked. However, I didn't respond to any right away, I was traveling that evening from my home in Northern Virginia, just outside of D.C., to go to North Jersey to visit my old college roommate, Dave, for the Eagles-Giants game that Sunday.

I told him about my foray into the wonderful world of electronic fornication (let's face it, that is the ultimate goal for any male on these sites), and gave him my password so he could peruse for himself. We had way too much sangria over dinner, and I turned in early in his spare bedroom. Dave, who in his divorce case was termed by his ex-wife as having 'an unhealthy appetite for porn', used the occasion to divert his favorite pastime for an evening, and cruised through the dating site to peek in on my latest would-be paramours while I was sleeping.

When I awoke Sunday morning, I groggily stumbled to the den and saw that Dave was still sitting at the computer. I wondered if he had been there all night. He looked at me with the shit-eating grin that only really old friends can truly appreciate. "How much did you pay for this membership?"

I told him the nominal fee for the thirty-day initial program. His grin grew wider. "Well, my man, I think you just hit the lottery. Look at this one. Jesus H. Christ!" (Sidebar, at the sake of being innocently sacrilegious, just what was Jesus' middle name, anyway, Harold? Do you suppose maybe his business card read J. Harold Christ, son of God?)

I peered over Dave's shoulder at the screen. Even before I got really close, I could see her main photo, a tall, slender, sparkling blue-eyed blonde with close-cropped spiked hair, smiling seductively into the lens, wearing a midriff cranberry colored tank-top with white short-shorts. I echoed Dave's exhortation to Jesus and let out a low whistle. She was stunning, if I had to paint a picture of a dream girl, she would have been a close approximation to the police profile sketch. I love 'em tall and thin. Opposites attract.

"It gets better, buddy," Dave smirked. "Read what she wrote. Too good to be true."

I hurriedly pushed him out of the chair and took command of the mouse. I noticed the address on her profile was Jacksonville, North Carolina, and immediately agreed this had to be a hoax of some kind, since I lived in Fairfax, Virginia. Yet, of course, I flicked to the next screen with the introductory e-mail, and read what she wrote, with amazement, the tent in my short rising with each paragraph.

"Hi, handsome! I guess you're wondering why I'm writing to you from the Tar Heel state. Well, you've got a long-distance admirer, and three things work in your favor, should you be interested in following up by calling me."

I read on, completely hooked now, but still understandably skeptical.

"One, there isn't much down in these neck of the woods except Marine boys in their teens. Two, I loved your profile, and find you very witty and attractive, not to mention extremely cute. Three, I've never been to DC, I've always wanted to visit, and it just so happens I have this upcoming weekend free. My daughter just started at East Carolina and I'm a lonely empty-nester looking for something new. Care for a guest to show around town?"

Love, Theresa (but call me "Tea", everyone does) #908-xxx-xxxx

I looked up at Dave who grabbed the mouse from me to click through the remaining photos that Tea had posted, all tasteful, nothing overtly provocative, but there was no need for her to be. She was a goddess, that incredibly erotic combination of wholesome, athletic, yet with that semi-slutty twinkle in her eye. Picture Elle McPherson with a spiky hairdo dyed blonde.

I shook my head, always the glass half-empty conspiracy theorist. "There's no way, this is one of those scams, has to be." I looked up again at Dave, seeking confirmation. "Right?"

Dave looked at me slack-jawed, incredulous. He pushed me so hard I nearly toppled from the chair. "Dickhead, jerkoff, stupid Motherfucker! I can't believe you! If you don't call her this morning, I'm going to. I just hope she has a thing for bearded Jewish men with good Giants tickets."

He tapped into the keyboard, "Tea, I'm very flattered and would love to be your tour guide, I will call you tonight to say hello and make arrangements. xoxo, John". He hit reply/send.

He turned the screen off before I could react, but I had to admit, that was the perfect reply. Not overly enthusiastic, not too hesitant, just right. Like Papa Bear's porridge in the Goldilocks fairy tale. I felt like I was about to embark upon a fairy tale myself, and boy, was I right. Like most parables, though, this adventure was to have a lot of twists and turns and a surprise ending.

The football game itself was a fairy tale of sorts, also. McNabb threw the ball all over North Jersey, everywhere except to a Eagles receiver, but then Westbrook ran back a punt about 83 yards with about 90 seconds to play for a miraculous win. Maybe this was my lucky day after all, I thought, being a born and raised Philly boy.

It usually takes about five days to get out of the parking lot of Giants Stadium, or at least it seems like it. In reality, it was about an hour. I utilized this time wisely, calling Tea, and by the time I had reached the sign that finally said I-95 south, keep right, we had already dispensed with the formalities and were deeply involved in graphic phone sex. We talked and talked and talked some more for the next five-and-half hours (yep, it takes that long from Jersey to DC, ever drive on 95 on a Sunday night?), and I think I stopped to masturbate in about three different highway rest stops. (For the record, I think they were the Joyce Kilmer, the Vince Lombardi, and the Chesapeake Bay overlook. At least Maryland doesn't memorialize their dignitaries by naming rest stops after them. But, that's Jersey.)

The plan was made for her trip, as soon as I got home, I booked her flight for the upcoming Saturday morning from Wilmington, NC to Washington Reagan, with a return flight the following evening. It turned out Tea was still married, though in her words, 'separated', and still lived in the same house as her husband, a deep-sea fishing captain, who left on many weekends to run charter tours out into the Atlantic.

I confess to a fair amount of trepidation after having discovered this little tidbit, but as usual, the fighting 'Below-the-Waist Johns' far outscored the plodding 'Think-With-The-Big-Head Johns' in the battle for moral supremacy. It was a blowout, actually. Married or not, she was going to come this weekend. Literally.

The work week passed surprisingly quickly, interspersed each night by hot phone sex and intellectual and explorative conversation in between the orgasms. Tea had the fucking sexiest southern drawl you could imagine, she was originally from Alabama, and the combination of geographic southern dialects resulted in her turning a three-letter word into a three-syllable expression of telephonic orgiastic expressiveness. As in, "oooooh, yea-ess-ess, ah'm gonna cum-mmm-mmm." (It translates better over the phone, trust me. Maybe I should do text by audio.)

Saturday finally arrived, a gorgeous Indian-summer day, sunny and near record highs approaching eighty degrees. I had already alerted Tea to the forecast, and kidded her that she was bringing the warm, coastal Carolina weather north with her, and advised her to pack accordingly. When I first saw her, it was just as she exited the security checkpoint, each male TSA guard's duties being diverted from the task of national security as she walked past them, their heads rolling like swivels to check her out. She had heeded my fashion suggestion.

When I first laid eyes on her, truth be told, I felt a tinge of nervousness that I haven't felt on a 'date' since the 1977 Harvest Dance at Mount St. Joe's girls high school with Linda Wagner. (She had huge tits popping out of her dress, they intimated me, what would I DO with them!?)

My gaze started on Tea's face, which was brightened by a happy smile, the light bangs on her head bouncing into her crystal-blue eyes. She had on a cream-colored spaghetti-strap blouse which stopped right above the belly button, illustrating a golden bronze tan from her days sunning on the beach, and her nipples stretched the cotton fabric so vividly that the taut, erect nubs were visible from yard away. he tits weren't big, yet perfectly proportioned to her angular, slender, lean torso.

Yet, it was those LEGS, Jesus Fucking Christ (his less formal yet more popular middle name), those LEGS, that made my heart flutter, my brow perspire, and my cock twitch for joy. Tanned, lean, long, shapely, perfectly shaped femininely muscular calves, with wondrous thighs that culminated into a pronounced 'V' at the crotch, covered in the shortest and thinnest and tightest of denim shorts, her camel toe practically bursting from the seams. I'm surprised her camel toe didn't require its own separate identification to board the flight, that's how visible it was.

I'm a solid five-foot-eleven inches, and with her slightly-heeled sandals, we stood almost the exact same height. This made it easy when she approached me, dropped her travel bag from her shoulder, and pulled my head to hers, tongues immediately dancing in the middle of the terminal. I opened my eyes and saw many people stopping to look at us, well at HER, and thought about all thost times when you see some lucky bastard playing way over his head, and wondering how he ever got HER?

Well, this time I was the lucky bastard.

The heated, passionate kiss, a forebearer of the activity of the next twenty-four hours or so, finally broke, and I literally stammered to catch my breath. "Tea, you're sensational, beautiful, my gosh."

She blushed slightly in gratitude, though obviously accustomed to such reactions from men, but nonetheless seemingly pleased that I approved. Even better, her twinkle in her eye and grin seemed to indicate that she found me acceptable as well. (Rah, team!) I bent down to pick up her bag at my feet. "Do you have any luggage to claim?"

She threw that gorgeous head back and laughed, locking her arm into mine as she did so, and started walking towards the moving stairway that led to the parking garage. "No, silly," she drawled in that sweet, syrupy voice. "Y'all told me to pack lightly, so ah did. Now, c'mon, darlin', let's go sightsee, the view while we were landin' was just uh-may-zin."

We spent the next two hours driving around Washington. For anyone who has never been to our nations' capital and visits for the first time, it is equally as pleasurable to be the guests' tour guide, so that you can absorb the awe in their face. It truly is a spectacular tour, evoking goose bumps. However, as I struggled to keep my concentration and sense of direction, I had one other bump rising from my nether regions, my eyes glancing about, oh, every two seconds or so onto Tea's thighs, stomach, tits, nipples, neck, ankles, lips, well, you get the idea.

I maintained my poise somehow and was the consummate gentleman as I led Tea past many historic and patriotic sites. She finally indicated that she thought we should return to my place to 'relax', and I headed west on I-66 to Fairfax, the conversation easy and casual.

I lived on the third floor of a condo in Fair Oaks, six small flights of steps to reach my door. I let Tea go first, and I had a close-up view of her ass. Still, when I opened the door and let her inside, I didn't make any moves. I led her on the tour of my intimate, three-bedroom condo, which took about twenty seconds, and we plopped down on the couch. I again felt like Harvest Dance night in the back seat, circa 1977 I kept a safe distance, still mesmerized by her beauty. I don't know why, I have been with many attractive women, but this woman was something else. Yes, I was scared. I sensed she was different. I was right.

An icebreaker was sorely needed, and fortunately, Tea had just the ice chip. As I started to get up and go to the kitchen, asking her is she wanted something to drink, she pulled me by the wrist and eased next to me, locking the back of my head in her palm.

"John, you've been the perfect gentleman, thank you, ah've had such a great time." My heart raced as she gracefully slithered her body closer to mine, pulling my head closer to her face. "But, now, I want you to show me that John that talked to me on the phone all week and got me so hot."

Her eyes bore into mine as she licked her lips. "Ah also came her to get fucked, remember? Now, you wanna fuck me?" Her warm, wet tongue bore into my mouth, sucking my tongue between her lips. "Maybe ah should suck your cock first. Relax, hunny."

Tea got down on her knees in front of the couch and toyed with my zipper, pulling my khaki shorts down to my ankles with a smooth slide, not a yank, and was pleased to see that I was going commando. "Ah thought so," she nodded, my cock disappearing into her oral tunnel in three swift gulps, accompanied by the background music of a southern girl moaning. She stopped only when I heeded her directives to "cumm all ovah mah face". Always the gentleman, I complied.

This was approximately 3 p.m. Saturday. For the next twenty four hours, we didn't leave the condo.

She sucked me. I led her to the bedroom and disrobed her and ate her and licked her into countless orgasms, each one augmented by increasingly fervent wails and groans as her body writhed and heaved and convulsed to my fingers and lips and tongue in her pussy, tongue-fucking her, licking her anus, finger-fucking her cunt and asshole. Her cunt was the most beautiful, cleanest, tastiest treat I have ever consumed, to this day. (Sorry, Becky!)

We fucked in the kitchen, we fucked on the balcony, we fucked in the shower (three times), she sucked me in front of my patio window, we fucked standing up, lying down, upside down, from behind, when she opened up her ass cheeks in the doggy position and demanded, "Now fuck mah ass!"

When we took a rare break, my cock never left her mouth for more than a few minutes at a time, she had my cock like marble, she had me so hard, I stayed erect for perhaps twenty-two hours. We never slept, we dozed only for minutes at a time, we ate food and licked wind off of each other's body, I sucked her tits, she licked my balls and my ass, I tit-fucked her next, I fucked her ass again, and I licked my own cum from her asshole. She rode me on top for the longest time, clenching her cunt muscles over my cock like a glove.

We fucked tender, we fucked rough, we fucked slow, we fucked fast, hard, deep, our bodies and minds meshing togehter as one, we fucked in front of the mirror, she spit on and assaulted my cock with her mouth one minute, and lovingly careesed and kissed the draft the next. I finger fucked her so savagely I though it would leave dents in her cervix, yet she kept yelling, "Deeper, harder, fist-fuck me, I've never been fist fucked, I want it, do it." When I was done, she masturbated herself, she was insatiable, her pussy was bright pink and raw from the brutal pounding, but she always wanted "more, more".

Somehow, when my cock needed a respite, my hands and tongue and mouth and fingers, and even my toes, were more than ready to pick up the slack, filling each of her holes time and time again.

Y'all get the picture?

So, fast forwarding, on Sunday at 4 p.m., we left to go back to Reagan Airport so she could catch her flight. She had on the same outfit she wore onto the plane the day before, after all, we had been naked since. She blew me the entire drive, deriving great excitement from the passersby on the busy highway who honked and could see what she was doing.

And, then, we got to the terminal, and before she entered past the security checkpoint, some of the same guards from yesterday noticing with relish that she had on the exact same attire, she dropped the surprise ending in response to my inquiry as to when we would arrange our next rendezvous.

"John", she began slowly, smiling wickedly. "Ah lied to you, just a tad." She held her index and middle fingers about a cenitmeter apart.

"Ah've bin gittin' fucked almost every weekend, this is kind of a sport for me, ah've bin travelin' all over the East Coast for a few months now, but ah don't want to see anybody ah've fucked ever again if they ain't gonna be mah sugah daddy. Ah'm lookin' for a husband, darlin', tradin' up to richer, and frankly, a small condo and a Jeep Cherokee just ain't gonna make it for me, baby."

"There simply ain't gonna be no rematch, sweetie. Sorry. But yew are such a nice guy, and a wild fuck, the best yet, thank yew."

"Buh-bye."

She kissed me on the cheek and I watched her walk into her gate area, stunned. I continued to watch as she immediately sat herself down directly across from the tall pilot in the crisp white shirt, crossing her legs while smiling oh, so sweetly at him. He was next in her sights, her pussy still raw and sore from a weekend of self-described wild sex, yet already being dangled as a formidable weapon once more.

"Jesus H. Fucking Christ", I mumbled as I turned and moped out of the terminal. "Was I ever just fucked!"