Category: age gap porn

The Astronaut

The Astronaut

He knew it was something that she’d dreamed of doing ever since she was a little girl. As her husband, he never for a moment thought he should try and prevent her from going. They were still a young couple in their mid-twenties back then, and there were thoughts of having children. She’d been in the astronaut training program for a year as a navigation systems specialist but she didn’t think they would ever pick her for a mission. Then she got the call from mission control. They needed her skills on the next flight. Did she want to go? It wasn’t going to be easy on her spouse.

They had sat down together after that call and talked about what saying yes would mean. They’d been separated before. When her mother was really sick, she’d flown over to spent the final weeks with her as the illness progressed. On that occasion, their time apart just seemed to strengthen the bond between them. But this time was different. Very different. It was a new type of spaceship with a new type of propulsion system. The initial launch would be with conventional rockets burning gasoline with liquid oxygen. But once in outer space, the ion drive would be switched on and the craft would gradually accelerate over the succeeding weeks up to a velocity approaching the speed of light. Something that had been unthinkable just a decade previously.

The mission objective was to investigate a possibly habitable exoplanet called Proxima Centauri b that had been identified in the galaxy of Alpha Centauri and it would be the first time any humans had traveled beyond the local solar system. He knew he had to let her go. And he also knew he’d wait for her to return, however long that would be. This was something she was born to do and he just had a feeling of immense pride that it was his partner in life that had been chosen for mankind’s greatest extraterrestrial adventure yet.

The first few months following the launch were the easiest. During that time they would send each other recorded video messages almost every day. The long signal delay meant live chatting was difficult. But as the spaceship accelerated away from the earth, her transmissions became further and further apart. When the ship started to approach light speed, the videos took months to reach Earth and they also soon had long gaps of many months between them. Whenever he watched her on the screen chat about the journey, he was always struck by how young and enthusiastic she appeared. She was always tactful and diplomatic about the videos he had sent her. She must have received his recordings every couple of days in her time frame reference and it must have been clear to her how fast he was aging.

It was probably the most exciting day of his life when she returned to Earth. As her ship approached Earth-orbit it slowed itself by turning around and using the ion drive like a reverse thruster. Then, it docked with the International space station and the ship’s crew transferred to a waiting Russian shuttle craft before they re-entered the atmosphere and glided to a perfect touchdown at an air force base.

He was there on the tarmac to meet her with the other families. Like himself, most of the next of kin seemed to be in their sixties, and he was sure they felt the same excitement he felt, mixed with a large portion of apprehension. He recognized her instantly as she walked across the asphalt of the runway in her orange flight suit and she seemed to have not aged a day. Her body looked as trim and fit and as beautifully proportioned as the day of the launch. She took a moment to recognize him but when she did, a huge smile spread across her face and she rushed towards him, flinging herself into his arms. A few hours later they opened the front door of the house they had shared ever since getting married.

He stood there in the living room watching her as she looked around. “You haven’t changed much in here,” she said. He made the obvious reply. “No, the thing that’s changed most is me.” She came over to him and put her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “What have you been doing for sex?” He laughed. “I bought a fleshlight. Well, I went through several. And I always found something good to masturbate to on tumblr.” She kissed his lips. “Any age-gap porn?” she asked, mischievously. He put his hands around her young slim waist and felt how fresh and supple her body still was. “A lot of that,” he replied, “I was training for today.” She started rubbing the hard in his crotch that his trousers were hiding. “I think we should start a family,” she said, unzipping her flight suit, “and I think we, should start right now. And I think…,” she unzipped his trousers and started stroking his cock, “… we should call our first boy, Albert.”

Albert. That was an appropriate name. Albert Einstein was the one that had predicted that a person traveling near the speed of light would have hardly aged compared with someone left behind on Earth. And he was right. In the thirty five years that he had aged, she had barely aged by six months. Space travel was a funny thing.

The Sex Addict

The Sex Addict

It probably started with tumblr porn. Masturbating under her sheets late on a hot sleepless night while she looked at the images on the screen of her Apple laptop. Everything interested her. From the everyday acts of mundane missionary penetration to the seemingly endless alternate ways that sexual congress can be consummated. Human beings are nothing if not inventive when it comes to finding ways to reach sexual release.

That was her situation. She needed orgasms. Lot of them. One or two a night wasn’t enough. She would finger herself relentlessly, constantly searching for that one last piece of sublime physical ecstasy before she collapsed back onto the bed in sweaty exhaustion. Finally, her body would overrule the pleasure centers of her mind in deciding that a state of deep sleep would take over until she would wake up refreshed the next morning.

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t a logical person. Her day job demanded that she be a cold factual automaton. Every working day she would sit through meetings where the meaning of obscure legal terms would be parsed and byzantine contractual clauses constructed with mathematical rigor. But after the workday was done, the human being inside her would stop pretending it was an objective calculating machine and demand that her brain be flooded with dopamine. Lots of dopamine. And the most direct route to that was to cum.  Not once, not twice, but many times, repeatedly.

She often wondered why her logical self didn’t push back on these demands by her body. She managed to be rational and controlled for the eight hours of her working day. It seemed though that the need for sexual release in the adult human sex-addict comes second only to the need for food. Orgasms were her heroine, a fix she absolutely had to have, no matter how much time it consumed.

For the viewer of pornography it’s more about seeing the act performed vicariously than being a participant. However, it can get the point where not being a participant isn’t enough anymore and that was when she started to have sex with much older men. The age-gap porn on tumblr had always been one of the most frequent triggers for her deepest, most satisfying climaxes. She could cum endlessly to watching young women like herself being penetrated by men three times their age. Men with large fat bellies. Men with no hair, Men who would be the last person anyone would have ever pictured her having sex with.

But to satisfy her need she soon found herself being fucked by just such a male specimen. And she loved it!

Millennials

Millennials

“A person reaching adulthood in the early twentieth first century” was the dictionary definition of a millennial. His personal definition was a young woman in her early twenties capable of creating havoc in the life of an middle-aged baby boomer like himself. To begin with, there was his daughter. As a single father, he loved her to bits and was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her safe and happy. The problem was that millennials like her were graduating from college and entering an economy that generated jobs, but only of the low paying service kind. With the inexorable rise in housing costs, it was inevitable she would end up living at home rent-free, spending her days either working in Urban Outfitters or socializing with her friends and often borrowing his car and needing some of his money. It was a little frustrating for him but such was the world that his generation had built so it was partly his fault,

Then, one day over evening dinner, his daughter asks an innocent question. “Can my college friend Ivy come to stay, dad? She wants to try for some corporate internships in the city and the commuting distance is so much shorter from here! Please dad?” The name didn’t ring any bells but then his daughter had gained a wide circle of acquaintances when she was studying. The term “friend” could mean anything on a scale from ‘we met a couple of times at parties’ to ‘she was the BFF shoulder i always cried on when I was down’. In the end, he knew his daughter had fairly good judgement when it came to people so he said yes. Could living with two millennials be that much worse than one?

A few days later, he came home to find a strange bag in the hallway and the sound of two young woman gossiping coming from the furthest end of the house. He entered the kitchen to find his daughter and a young woman he couldn’t recall meeting before, sitting drinking coffee around the kitchen table. His daughter stood up first. “Dad, this is Ivy.” The other young woman stood up and offered him her hand to shake. “I’m so pleased to meet you Mister St.Clare. And so, so glad you’ll let me stay here while i go for interviews.” He took her hand in his and held it for a moment while he looked her in the eyes. Her held felt soft and gentle in his and her brown eyes shone with the youthful excitement. She wasn’t exactly a clone of his daughter, but she had a remarkable similarity in her body shape and the way she moved. Her hair was cut in a similar style to his daughters and even the light makeup she was wearing seemed to have been applied in a similar way. He let go of her hand as the two girls spoke excitedly about what they planned to do together that evening. As they spoke, he pretended to listen but was distracted by the memory of Ivy’s hand in his and the physical reaction its touch induced in him. He gazed at her as she talked about all the interviews she had lined up and realized he was strongly attracted to her.

Being sexually attracted to a friend of his daughter’s should have come as no surprise. He was a regular viewer late at night of Internet porn and the porn he loved the most was to be found on tumblr age-gap blogs. There was no better sexual stimulation that looking at images of men his own age with their cocks buried deep inside the pussy of a young woman his daughter’s age. But the fantasy stopped short of the young woman actually being his daughter. The idea of that was something he couldn’t comprehend let alone be aroused by. However, Ivy was not his daughter so being attracted to her seemed totally reasonable.

After the three of them had eaten their first evening meal together, the young women went out to get a late evening coffee together and he decided to go to be bed early. That is, he went to bed so he could masturbate to the memory of looking at Ivy across the dinner table. After he came, he fell asleep but was woken just before midnight by the girls coming back. He could hear their voices as his daughter showed Ivy the guest room which shared a wall with his own bedroom, then the sound of water running from the bathroom. Goodnights were said and the television in the guest room was turned on at a low volume.

Perhaps someone should have told Ivy how thin the wall was between her room and the master bedroom but that night he liked the sound that was leaking through from her room to his. She was watching a late night talk show and as he lay there in the bed he started to masturbate again while he imagined Ivy laying naked in the bed a short distance from his. He hadn’t quite cum yet when the television was switched off and he guessed Ivy would then turn over in bed and go to sleep. Instead, after a moments silence, he heard a very faint buzzing sound, like a mosquito on the other side of the room.

With his erect penis still in his hand he softly slid out of bed and stealthily walked across the carpet to the wall of the guest bedroom. The buzz became slightly louder so he slowly put his ear to the wall at the point behind which he judged the guest bed was located. Instead of just the buzz, he could now hear the sound of soft female moans, moans of pleasure. With his ear stuck to the wall, he couldn’t help but stroke his cock harder. In the bed on the other side, he realized that Ivy was masturbating with a vibrator and as he heard the final heavy breaths of her orgasm, he shot his load onto the carpet. As he crept back to bed, he thought how he’d have to sponge down the carpet stains the next day.

The next morning at breakfast, there was no sign that Ivy had any idea about his eavesdropping the night before. He brewed some coffee and walked around the kitchen table pouring it into the girl’s mugs as they chatted. Ivy hadn’t changed into her interview clothes yet and was just wearing a loose fitting plaid shirt undone at the top. As he stood next to her filling her cup, he was able to look down the front of the shirt and get a clear view of her wonderful bra-less breasts nestling behind the fabric. He knew the memory of those oh-so-suckable nipples would be mental fodder for some intense self-pleasuring later.

He had to go out as well that morning but when he came back mid-afternoon, the house was still empty. He assumed Ivy had decided to spend the whole day in the city so he went upstairs to the guest bedroom. He pushed her door open slowly and his heart beat a little faster as he went inside. He looked around at the unmade bed, the makeup containers on the table and the half unpacked bag on the floor. He went over to the bed and knelt down so he could bury his nose in the sheets and breath in the smell she had left on them. He stood back up and slowly pulled opened the drawer next to the bed. Inside was a pink shiny plastic vribrator. He picked it up carefully by the end of the handle between thumb and forefinger as though he was a detective trying not to destroy evidence. He brought the rounded end of the next toy up to his nose and took some deep breaths. The smell of her juices on the plastic made him rub his cock though the loose tracksuit pants he was wearing.

He was about to place the vibrator back in the drawer as close to its original position as possible when he had an idea. He held it up vertically in front of his mouth and took four long, wet licks that ended at the rounded tip. Then he placed it back in the drawer and slowly closed it again. It was his way being just once removed from actually licking her cunt.

By this time, he’d graduated from rubbing his dick through his sweatpants to put his hand inside them and stroking himself directly. He was standing there with his eyes closed thinking about the sight of her breasts from breakfast when he opened his eyelids and spotted a pair of skimpy white lacy panties on the back of a chair. He went over to them and picked them up with the hand that wasn’t stroking his cock. He brought the crutch of the panties to his nose and took a deep breath. Unfortunately they seemed to be clean but they still smelled of her which made him stroke his very erect cock faster. Then, in a very male moment when the dick starts performing the role of the brain, he let his tracksuit pants drop to his knees and he placed the panties over the head of his penis so he could shoot his load into them.

He was still standing there with his eyes shut, feeling the post-orgasm relief coursing through his brain when he heard the front door open and Ivy’s voice call out. “Hello! Anyone home?!” He opened his eyes and realized she was one flight of stairs away from finding her middle-aged host standing in her bedroom with his trousers around his knees and a pair of her cum soaked panties wrapped around his deflating erection. As he heard her take her jacket off, he thought as fast as he could. He bunched the wet panties tight in his masturbating hand and pulled up his trousers with the other. Then he went towards to bedroom door as she began to ascend the staircase, on the way poking the sticky white panties between the small gap between her bed and the floor. She was half way up the stairs by the time he was outside her room and he managed to say in as carefree a voice as possible. “Oh, hi Ivy! I’m just going to take a shower. I’d love to hear how the interview went later.” He hurried into the bathroom, closed the door and sighed with relief. As soon as he could, he’d have to retrieve those panties from under the bed, wash them, dry them and put them back in her room.

The evening went smoothly. He cooked the dinner while the girls talked about the highlights of their respective days. Then they ate and Ivy said she would do the clearing up. After she took the plates into the kitchen, he was a million miles away thinking about the panties under the bed when his daughter brought him back to reality when she leaned over the table and started whispering so Ivy couldn’t hear her. “Ivy told me she thinks you’re the coolest dad ever! Her own father is a bit of a disaster and she doesn’t see him. I think she’s a bit jealous I’ve got you.” as she said this, the thought of cumming in Ivy’s panties earlier returned to him. “That’s nice to hear,” he replied and gulped down some mineral water.

As before, he went to bed before the girls. He was just dozing when he heard Ivy call out to his daughter. “Have you seen a pair of white lace panties? I can’t find them anywhere!” He lay frozen in his bed as he heard Ivy rummage around beyond the wall they shared. Eventually, she seemed to give up, turn the TV on for a little while and then turn it off. He got out of bed and crept to the wall again, put his ear to it and again could hear the soft buzz of her vibrator. He could tell her orgasm was much more intense this time. Hee heard her whisper “oh god” then “oh my god” as she came. Evidently she had conjured up something really pleasurable in her mind. He wasn’t planning to but he came again onto the carpet as she climaxed and he thought about his saliva being on the dildo she was using to bring herself off.

The next morning, just his daughter came down to breakfast. She told him that Ivy didn’t have any interviews that day so she was going to sleep in for a few hours. He nodded and told her that Ivy could borrow his car if she wanted to go to out somewhere. He was desperate to get Ivy to go out so he could retrieve the panties and having a car available might be a catalyst for this. His daughter kissed him on the cheek as she headed for the front door and said, “Dad, your the best!” With his daughter gone and Ivy asleep on top of the incriminating evidence, he decided he’d go up and take a shower.

He didn’t realize the bathroom was already occupied. He opened the door to find Ivy standing there in front of the mirror wearing a bathrobe. But instead of facing the mirror, she had her back to it and was looking down at something she held in her clenched hand. She looked up at him with a serious expression on her face. He was going to apologize for disturbing her but he was silenced by Ivy holding out her arm to him and unclenching her hand to reveal the soiled panties he had poked under the bed. Before he could formulate some kind of half-plausible explanation, she spoke. “You’re a dirty old pervert, aren’t you Mister St.Clare?” He felt there was no alternative to confessing his guilt. “Yes,” he replied in what he hoped was a repentant voice. “You know what, Mister St.Clare?” she put the panties down and pulled her bathrobe apart so it fell to the floor to reveal her naked body. “I like that in an older man.”

Some hours later, he was laying on his back on his bed looking at the ceiling. He had lost track of time. All he knew was that he was sleepy and could hardly keep his eyes open. Not surprising after the best sex of his life. She seemed to be dozing next to him with her arm draped across his stomach and her head lying against his chest. He stroked Ivy’s hair and marvelled how soft and sensual it felt. It recalled how he had kissed her in the bathroom and she had stroked his cock for the first time. Then they had moved to his bed and she watched her as she knelt in front of him and artfully sucked him. Then he was licking her out before penetrating her young tight pussy for the first time. Bareback because she said she didn’t like condoms, but he finish in her mouth, if he liked that. She said she didn’t want him to get her pregnant. As he had fucked her from behind, she had asked him about coming into her room and asked him what else he had done? He told her about licking her vibrator and he felt how wet she became around his cock as he said this. Then, they had both gone to sleep and woken up for more fucking later. His balls were definitely running on empty.

As he was laying there half asleep, he heard the front door again and his daughter calling. “Hellooo! I’m back!” and he suddenly remembered that the store was closing early that day. He heard her running up the stairs and towards his closed bedroom door. He sat bolt upright and looked at the door, knowing that his daughter was about to come through it to find that he had freshly shafted her young college friend. As he watched the handle of the door turn, he felt Ivy’s hand caress his stomach and, still relaxed, without moving her body, she spoke “Don’t worry Mister St.Clare, she knows.” He was a deer caught in the headlights of confusion as the door began to open. She knows, he thought. Knows what? The door swung open wide and he was soon going to find out…

The Purser

The Purser

It was a long overnight flight so the cabin lights were dimmed after the evening meal and most passengers tried to grab a little sleep until the sun rose again above the horizon. It was a time when the cabin crew themselves could take a breather, just answering the occasional call from a passenger needing a drink of something. Even the infants traveling with their mothers seemed to sense they should fall asleep. These were the quiet hours onboard when, as the inflight service manager, he felt most relaxed. He was just one return flight away from retiring and he decided to walk the length of the aircraft one last time, partly to check on all the passengers but partly to reminisce about all the times he’d trod the same path down the aisle of countless generations of aircraft since he began working for the airline in his early twenties.

He’d started at row one in first class, then through business and premium economy, then finally economy. There were some empty seats at the back of the plane and he had almost reached the galley when he noticed a young woman, around college age. She was sitting next to the window in the last row on the starboard side and had all three seats to herself. Her reading light was on, her head was down and she was wiping tears from her eyes with a tissue and was clearly upset. Partly because passenger welfare was his job but also because he felt a fatherly concern come over him, he sat down in the aisle seat near her and leaned over to ask if she was alright, He spoke as softly as you can in a jet flying at thirty seven thousand feet.

She tried to wipe away some more tears and put on a brave face as she turned towards him. “Thank you, I think I’ll be okay,” she said. He wasn’t convinced and asked if she was sure. She began sobbing again. “No, I’m not okay. I have no idea what I’m doing on this flight. I just wanted to get away and bought the first ticket to somewhere I knew nothing about that didn’t need a visa.” He quickly leaned out into the empty aisle to check if everything was under control before turning back to her. He realized he might have to sit there a while longer.

He had learnt through the years that air travel can do strange things to people’s mindset. As you cruise above the planet with vast swathes of humanity passing beneath far below, for a few hours you exist in this alternate world inside a pressurized metal tube, where unexpected bonds can form between total strangers who would otherwise never talk to each other. That’s why it didn’t surprise him that he was suddenly transformed into part psychotherapist and part confessional priest as she opened her heart to him. The feeling of concern he felt for this young passenger was probably intensified by his own lack of family. Without children of his own, he felt a deep fatherly concern for this young woman, as though she might be a daughter he had never had.

She began to recount how she had come to be sitting on that aircraft, hurtling through successive time zones to the other side of the planet. Of course, it had all begun with a boy. A fine handsome Adonis of a young man, from her description. A boy who had taken her heart and with it, her virginity. A boy she had trusted with her life and who she had dreamed of spending the rest of her life with. But human packaging can be treacherously deceptive, as she was later to discover. And then her father got sick, very sick. She had thought her new found partner would support her through the brief time her father had left. Instead, as her father was transferred from hospital to hospice, she accidentally uncovered her beau’s intricate deceits. Deceits which ranged from spending money she needed for her father’s care on strippers and gambling, to cheating on her with a number of acquaintances, including her best friend.

All of this she could never tell her dying father. He left this world thinking that his precious daughter was in the tender care of a young man worthy of his blessing. And what do you do when your whole emotional world turns to ashes? One of the attractive options is to pack your bag, grab your passport and all the savings you have, take a taxi to the airport and get as far away as a modern jetliner can take you. He had listened with his entire focus on her as she related this tragic tale. Occasionally nodding, occasionally making empathetic noises. But what bothered him most was her chosen destination. She seemed to have absolutely no notion of how dangerous it could be for a young woman. She had a good chance of having an unwelcome meeting with some very bad hombres. The whole country was rife with corruption and violence and it was the last place an innocent like her should be visiting.

There are billions of people on the planet and in a lifetime the average person gets to personally meet very few of them. As cabin crew, he’d got to meet more than a few but he couldn’t say he’d really let many see behind his professional facade. As the cabin lights came back on and the pilot announced they would shortly begin their final approach, he made the decision that at that moment he was a human being and not an airline functionary. He turned to her and put a comforting hand on her arm. “When we land, you’re coming with me, okay? I’ll meet you in the arrivals hall in front of the information desk. Don’t talk to any strangers until I get there, understood?” She looked at him through tired teary eyes and nodded. He stood up, walked down the aisle and became the flight’s purser again.

After the passengers disembarked, his workday ended and he went to meet her in the arrivals hall. She was waiting for him just as he asked her to do and he saw her smile for the first time as he approached.They went outside, he hailed a cab and they traveled to the hotel in the city where he was due to stay until working again on a return flight two days later. She seemed to automatically acquiesce to the idea of him taking over the responsibility for her well being. She appeared more than happy to have found someone who could make decisions about what to do next. There was a sense that she had been totally alone on one of life’s treacherous cliff-faces and an unexpected rescue party had just arrived to extricate her from the predicament she was in.

At the hotel, he told the front desk he needed a room with two double beds and they were happy to help. It was the kind of city where hotels often had such requests from wealthy older men with much younger companions. He knew no one would ask questions. The rest of the cabin crew were rostered differently so they had already taken another flight back to the main airline hub. Not that he cared, but he felt too tired to explain to them why he had taken on the role of chaperone to a young passenger.

When they got to the room, he made sure she was comfortable before leaving to get them some prepared food to eat in the room. He suggested the best thing for her to do was to get a shower and freshen up. When he came back with the food, she was already lying on her back under the covers in one of the beds and seemed to be asleep so he put the food in the table and went in the bathroom himself to take a shower. He came back out wearing just a hotel bathrobe. She was now lying on her side under the covers in a fetal position with just her hair strewn across the pillow. Her breathing sounded rhythmic and deep and he was certain she was fast asleep. After putting the food in the refrigerator and still wearing just the bathrobe, he pulled back the bed-sheets and lay down on his back, breathing a sigh of relief the day was over. He was tired and jet lagged and just wanted to close his eyes. As he began to drift into sleep, he had just enough presence of mind to throw out his arm to one side and switch off the bed light beside him so the room went completely dark.

He was still lying on his back and deeply asleep a few hours later when his dreams were interrupted by the feeling of another body slide in next to him and an arm attached to that body slide across his stomach. It woke him up a little and he turned his head to one side. She was lying against his chest and he could smell the wonderful aroma of her hair. Because it seemed the natural thing to do, he put his arm around her so she would stay close to him. She was naked and he could feel the wonderful silky softness of her young skin. Then she spoke. “Is it true that all air stewards are gay?” He’d woken up enough by now to get out an answer. “Some are. But not all.” She moved her arm across his stomach and brushed against his cock which was lying half erect and leaking pre-cum. She must have felt the wetness of it because she then moved her arm back and took his cock in her hand and began to stroke it so it got bigger and harder. She looked up at him. “Do you mind if I call you ‘Daddy’. He said that was fine. “Good,” she said, “because I need a daddy.”

In Therapy

In Therapy

She was less nervous this time as she stood on the street and pressed the buzzer to the apartment. She looked around at the pedestrians going by and wondered what they might think if they knew why a young woman in her early twenties was going up to the fifth floor of that building. Surprised? Shocked? Disgusted? She hadn’t told a soul about the treatment she was undergoing. It had been a surprise to her that such therapy even existed. But her psychotherapist had recommended it as the very best option for her sexual addiction and she decided she’d try anything if it could help return her beahvior to what most considered “normal”.

The young female receptionist opened the door with a broad smile and asked her to take a seat in the waiting room. It was nice there was a female her own age that worked as his assistant. Somehow it made it all feel normal and everyday. Like she wasn’t some pervert with an overactive sex-drive, constantly seeking out erotic thrills. Although her shrink prefered to describe it more in Freudian terms. Her id and its need for physical sexual satisfaction, was in control, he said, and neither the stabilizing forces of her ego or super-ego were able to balance out those basic, primitive needs.

Her shrink was also quite certain that she had deep-seated issues with older men that lay behind her increasingly troubling behavior. It had all started innocently enough with tumblr age-gap porn blogs but it soon escalated to the point that she cut off regular social contacts so she could bring herself off to Internet porn. Nothing seemed more erotic or visceral than the sight of a sixty something year old man deep inside the vagina of a girl in her early twenties or reading a story about it. But tumblr porn turned out to be a gateway drug. It was when she started approaching old men in public places and offering them a quick free blowjob that she knew she needed help. Yes, she loved to hear them grunt with pleasure as they looked down at her bobbing head but she also knew things had got out of control. She needed to seek professional help before her health and possibly her life were put in danger.

It took some hours of laying on the couch in his office being psychoanalyzed before her therapist started to probe her relationships with her father and grandfather. He must have gone through a lot of ink as he took notes on that subject. To put it mildly, it was complicated. Then, when he’d heard enough, he proposed a solution she had never dreamed could have existed. He knew of a private therapist, a man in his sixties who had long experience of dealing with such non-standard sexual feelings in women like herself. In a safe, controlled environment she would be able to experience intimacy with a much older man so she could fully act out the sexual experiences that her libido was driving her to seek. She herself could decide the level of intimacy and the length of the sessions but several might to needed to fully explore her innermost issues. The greater surprise was that her private health insurance would cover the costs. It took a moment’s thought before she said ‘yes’ to this idea, although she really wanted to scream out ‘sign me up!’

The receptionist came back to the waiting room and asked if she’d like some wine or maybe some medicinal marijuana to relax her before the session. She opted for the wine and thought about the previous sessions as she sipped some cabernet sauvignon. It was her third visit to the therapist and one she was the most nervous about.

On the first visit they had just talked, without hardly any touching except for a long hug before she left. She remembered how warm and cuddly his body felt in that long hug.

On the second visit he had sat next to her on a sofa and she got accustomed to him holding her hand, putting his arm around her and softly kissing her cheek. He only ever went as far as her comfort level allowed. So far they had been fully clothed but that didn’t diminish the intensity of the experience. By the time the sessions were over, her panties were soaked.

She also had a questionnaire to fill out asking about the level of intimacy she would like. She had done this on the previous visits and had been told it was an essential tool for the therapist to understand her frame of mind before the session. Under the category “Clothing”, she ticked the box “Naked”. It was about time she felt his hands on her whole body. Under the category “Intimacy Level” she ticked the box “Full Penetration without Condom”. She’d had enough of holding hands and kissing. It was time to get what she really craved. This freudian Id thing with its venal needs needed to be silenced. Under “Control Parameter” she ticked the box “Slightly rough”. Being used as an old man’s fucktoy might also help give her Id what it needed. Under “Ejaculate Location” she ticked “Anywhere” and handed back the sheet of paper.

The receptionist took the questionnaire from her and disappeared through a door at the side A few minutes later the therapist himself emerged from the same door with the paper in hand. As on the previous visits, he wore a smart suit with shirt and tie, and she found it easy to imagine he was a sixty-four year old tax consultant rather than a sex therapist. “It’s so nice to see you again and you’re looking so well!” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake it although he were about to advise her on choosing accelerated depreciation. She blushed as she stood, wine glass still in hand, aware that pussy was tingling from filling out the questionnaire. “Would you like to come through, and we’ll get started.” He turned to his receptionist as he went through the door. “No more calls today. This consultation will be an extended one”. The word ‘extended’ sounded ominous in her ears.

His office was much like any mental health professional’s office. It had a pleasant warm atmosphere with colorful paintings on the walls and two comfortable chairs where patient and therapist could sit facing each other. He sat in one with the questionnaire still in one hand and a notebook and pen in the other. She put down her bag, took off her jacket and sat in the other. Behind his head she could see the doorway to the other room that led from the office and behind the half open door under half dimmed lights, she could see a freshly made bed whose sight made her pussy even wetter.

“So,” he began, looking at the questionnaire and scribbling something in his notebook. “How have you been since the last session? Still masturbating a lot?” Inside the safe confines of his office, there was no point in subterfuge. She was here for help. Anything but total honesty was ridiculous. She said that she was masturbating to orgasm about three times a day. Usually at least twice in the evening and if she could find the opportunity, once at work in the restroom. “And still to age-gap porn?” She said that, yes, mostly tumblr porn, although sometimes she went to the video sites and searched using the words “Old Man” to find videos that weren’t on tumblr. “But you haven’t tried approaching any more strangers to act out your fantasies?” She answered in the negative. She said she was starting to see the line between fantasy and reality. “That’s excellent! I think we’re making progress, don’t you? Shall we go into the therapy room?”

They got up together and she followed him into the bedroom she’d seen earlier. She could smell the beautiful musky aftershave he was wearing as she followed him and she could also feel how wet her pussy was and how her breasts tingled. She knew she was going to get well and truly fucked for the next hour or so by an understanding old man and in any way she wanted. Hopefully she wouldn’t be cured any time soon.

The Big Daddy

The Big Daddy

Thirty years on the force and another ten being a gumshoe, that don’t make you wet around the ears. Yeah, I thought I’d seen it all until she walked in the door. I was leaning back in my chair with my feet on the desk thinking about starting retirement next week and catching barracuda off the Florida Keys when I hear this soft tap tap on the glass of my office door. I yell “it’s open” and in she walks. A few years younger and she’d have been jail-bait with me squirming like a dumb sap on the hook. She looked like a million dollars, if you like your dough stuffed into slinky female curves. Short black dress, black sheer stockings, black high heel pumps, lacey white shirt, partially unbuttoned. Lashes that could have swatted away flies and pouting lips that must have needed a special order at a lipstick factory to cover with the bright red shade she had on. “Mister St.Claire?” She asked politely in those sweet tones only a dame who knows you’re already putty in her hands can pull off. I replied, “Yeah, you got the right place. Take a seat.” She delicately put that tight behind in the wooden chair on the other side of my desk and it was like Van Cleef and Arpels exploded a perfumed warhead in the room, and I couldn’t breathe in enough of the fall out.

By this time I had my feet on the floor and was straightening my tie. Maybe I’m a little gray up top, but when a swell looking broad shows up looking distressed, you shape up a little. “How can I help you, Miss…?” She opened her clutch bag and pulled out a pack of those fancy French cigarettes that don’t have filters and smell like a filter wouldn’t work anyway. “Miss Lightcastle, Davina Lightcastle. May I smoke?” She’s pulled out a white tube from the packet. I just wanted to see how good it looked between those full red lips. “Sure, go ahead,” I said, “the smoke detector hasn’t worked since last century. Light?” I reached into a drawer and pulled out my Zippo and leaned over to light her up, close enough to see the pores underneath all that foundation she had on and to get an eyeful of what the dress was hiding. And boy, I didn’t need to feel those peaches to know they were ripe. She took a deep drag and blew the smoke into the air like it was her last one at dawn before the firing squad lined up.

You could hear those soft stockings brushing against each other as she crossed her legs and laid her cards on the table, well at least the ones she wanted to play. “It’s my daddy, I need to find him,” she said. Sounded like a missing persons case. That, I could handle. “What does he look like?” I pulled out my pad from the desk drawer and picked up a sharpened pencil. She spilled the deets. “He’s a lot like you Mister St.Claire. Same height, same weight, same mature age, same athletic build.” She put an emphasis on the ‘athletic’ as she looked at my chest and arms through the cigarette smoke from under those lashes.

“Will you help me Mister St.Claire? They say you’re the best.” I get up and walk over to the filing cabinet, open the drawer marked “A-E” and pull out a half-full bottle and a couple of shot glasses. “Bourbon?” I ask her. She gives me a nod. I pour a shot each and lay out the terms. “It’s a hundred a day plus expenses. And a success fee of a thousand if I find him.” She picked up her glass and I picked up mine. “Deal!” she said, clinked my glass and downed that drink in one mouthful like she downed strong liquor every day of the week at three in the afternoon.Then she gets up to leave. “Here’s my card. When will I hear from you?” She puts this bespoke linen business card on the desk that probably cost more than my tie. I see the address is way uptown where the fancy people live. “A few days. Maybe sooner if I get a lead. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch Miss Lightcastle.” She gets up, stubs her cigarette out, blows the last smoke from between those big red lips of hers and looks me in the eyes, like she was peering into my soul and she’d written the manual on how to do it. “I’m sure you will, Mister St.Claire”.

No sooner has she sashayed her cute derriere down to the street than I’m in the john, spanking my old fellah like I want to rip it off. So who are you to judge? Think it’s easy being in a eleven by eleven office rental for twenty minutes trying to be mister super-sleuth when you got a young dame right in front of you oozing pure sex with a capital “S”? Be my guest and try it buster! Sometimes you gotta just squeeze your feelings out in the john so you can think straight.

So I spend the next few days sniffing around the flop houses and the clip joints, shaking down a few career snitches I know who’ll grass on their own mother for another fix of sally. Nada. Just a big zero. If old man Lightcastle ever existed he didn’t leave much trace. It was a huge fat blank and it was time to tell his little popsicle that my digging wasn’t turning up pay-dirt. I flagged down a yellow cab, showed the driver the business card and got driven to a ritzy town house on Lexington. I threw the driver a twenty and rang the doorbell.

I thought maybe I’d got the timing wrong when it opened.  Miss D. was standing there wearing a short white silk kimono with blue hummingbirds embroidered all over it and apparently not much else, not even house shoes. Kind of strange for three in the afternoon. I apologized and said I’d come back later but she insisted I come inside. I guess rich folks get to wear kimonos whenever they want. I took my fedora off and followed her inside and tried to hide how deep my breathing was. She was wearing a different perfume and I couldn’t get enough of this new one inside my nose either.

She took me into a big oak lined library with shelves of leather bound books up to the ceiling. She went over to a drinks cabinet by the fireplace. “How do you like your scotch Mister St.Claire?” I was fingering my hat and looking around at all that printed paper. Must have been half a forest between all that leather. Somehow she didn’t strike me as a bookworm. “Straight up, thanks.” She poured a little into a whisky glass and came over with it.

I took the glass and her fingers brushed mine as I took it. “I’m afraid your pops must be lying real low. I prodded pretty much every lowlife on the other side of the tracks and no one’s squealing”. She was standing in front of me about two feet away. Her expression didn’t show one crack of emotion. I sipped the scotch. Malt blend, real classy stuff. As smooth as the skin on her hands.  I was trying to act all nonchalant like my pecker wasn’t getting all stiff and weepy from looking how her hair was cascading over those cute shoulders and those ripe peaches on her chest were  pushing against the outline of the kimono but she wasn’t about to help me out. She moved a little closer and put a hand up to one side of my double breasted jacket, the side that had a bump in it.

“You carry a gun, Mister St.Claire?” I thought a moment about why she’d ask. “Sure, Smith and Wesson, .357 revolver. Just a little insurance. You never know when some wiseguy punk gets it into his head he’s Al Capone.” She’s even closer now, opens my jacket and puts her hand on the gun in the shoulder holster, looks up at me with those big blue saucers she calls eyes and starts purring her words instead of just speaking them. “And I bet your gun is loaded Mister St.Claire, isn’t it?” I wasn’t thinking straight again and figured maybe I should ask where the little boy’s room is so I can powder my nose and jack off while I’m at it. Seemed she’d already read my schedule. She undid the sash keeping that patch of silk she called a kimono together and puts an arm around my neck. “I think I’ve found the daddy I’m looking for Mister St.Claire. The case is closed”.

So I guess you’re thinking I’m a real pro and realize she was playing me for a patsy who was going to take the fall. Nah, Kristian St.Claire ain’t no stool pigeon, you’re thinking. He’s not going to buy into the dodgy deal this cutsie was offering. Sorry to disappoint you pal but jerking in the john was past its sell-by date. If you’d rang my office after that day, I might have answered the phone, and I might have sounded like I was listening to you, but if you listened real carefully over that crackly Bell North East phone line you would have heard the faint sound of wet rosy red young lips running up and down something real fat and real hard underneath my desk. She was right. My gun’s loaded. It’s always loaded for her.

The Crossword Puzzler

The Crossword Puzzler

There’s a zen-like quality to getting old. Younger people see you sitting on your own in a diner everyday doing crossword puzzles  and might assume you felt an overwhelming loneliness. When he sat in that diner sipping from his cup and trying to figure out 9-across (Pot pusher’s vehicle, 7 letters, first letter “T”) he felt a peacefulness that a Himalayan monk might envy. He looked up from the newspaper to ruminate on those 6 inscrutable letters while watched the other patrons come and go. The world gyrated around him, with all it’s haphazard velocity and random momentum, but in his quiet bubble, he had the certainty of knowing nothing out of the ordinary, nothing even mildly chaotic was going to happen to him. His sixty four years of earthly existence told him this with near certainty, save for an unplanned meteorite strike in the neighborhood and the ensuing descent into social anarchy. But meteors can sometimes take the unlikely form of a young woman in her early twenties on a mission.

He was reading 2-down (Eye-covers for the naive, 4 letters, second letter “O”) when she sat down opposite him. “Do you mind if I sit here?” was what he heard before he raised his head to find her looking across the table at him. Through the upper part of the vari-focal lenses in his spectacles, the unblemished features of her slightly nervous young face were in sharp focus. He replied that he didn’t mind in the slightest but politely reminded her that he was a man of modest means who wasn’t about to buy anything she might be selling, be it religion or something more personal. “No, no, I just wanted to talk to you. I’ve seen you in here many times and I always wanted to just say hello”.

He folded his newspaper and sat back as the waitress came by to take her order. “What would your granddaughter like?” was what automatically came out the waitress’ mouth, as though it could be the only possible explanation for her customer’s age difference. The young woman took control of the misunderstanding. “No, I’m not his granddaughter. And I’ll have a decaf with a vanilla muffin.” The waitress scribbled on her pad while she threw his new companion a sharp glance that said: ‘I’m watching you.’

As the waitress departed, the young woman sat up, put her hands together on the table and leaned earnestly towards him as though she was about to address the people about a national crisis. “You see, it’s really hard to meet older men. And you’ve always seemed like an older man I’d like to meet.” So far, this was making sense to him but he still wasn’t sure where this was going but she continued and it became clearer. “I feel such a mess inside. It’s all a big mess of feelings and emotions at my age. Boy’s my own age, I think they’re an even bigger mess and they never make me feel safe, make me feel truly secure.”

Her coffee and muffin arrived and the conversation went on like this for an hour or so. She talked about her life, it’s emotional confusion, her disappointments with conventional romance. She leant back more, her body became less stiff as she bared her young soul, as though he were a priest in a confessional. There seemed to be many things she just wanted to tell somebody. Somebody male and much older, someone who would understand. But then the conversation took a much more personal turn. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “You see, I look at porn late at night. There’s a site called tumblr. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It has porn blogs with pictures and stories. I always go to the age-gap blogs.” Her faced reddened as she looked down at the table with a little embarrassment. “I get so wet when I look at those blogs. But I’m tired of fantasy,” she raised her head and looked directly into his eyes, “I want it to be real. What I want from you has three letters and is a type of symbol or appeal.”

A few hours later he was kissing her young lips in his apartment. He had already taken her top and skirt off and as he slid his hand into her panties and began to stroke her very wet pussy, he suddenly thought of the perfect crossword clue to describe the evening: Streaker at night hits the earth, 9 letters.

(Answers to clues: 1.Teacart. 2. Wool. 3. Sex. 4. Meteorite.)

The Accidental Gigolo

The Accidental Gigolo

As he sat in the airport business class lounge doing the day’s London Times crossword puzzle, he’d glance up occasionally to watch the other passengers coming and going. On a weekday morning like today, all of them seemed to be business travelers of some kind. Traveling alone, well groomed and in smart clothes, they would pull behind them some type of wheeled cabin bag which no doubt contained the change of underwear and other clothes that would sustain them for the next few days as a four star hotel dweller. He pondered how they would probably see him, a middle aged, gray haired man pulling a similar cabin bag behind him and assume that he too was part of this horde of merchant emissaries sent out along the airline routes than span the globe to grease the wheels of the world’s commerce. They might even feel sympathy for him that he had to take these long intercontinental flights at his advanced  age when he should be at home enjoying a gentle rubber or two of bridge with fellow pensioners.

But no, his role was less related to the material needs of humanity and more to its inner, immaterial needs. And although rubbers were often involved in his travels, they were not those associated with contract bridge. He wondered if the other people in the lounge could understand there was a hidden sexual world beneath the one they could imagine. A world where sexual desires extend well beyond the common notion of normal and push boundaries into strange lands traversed only by intrepid explorers like himself.

It all started innocently enough with a tumblr porn blog. He always loved tumblr porn. It was a vast, easily accessible library of images, text and movie clips that could vicariously satiate the most outlandish of sexual tastes. It seemed natural that he should start his own age-gap blog. He had always found the juxtaposition of young nubile women with much older men like himself intensely arousing and who better to curate a collection of such pornography than a man who dreamed of being one of the male lovers in the images he posted. At first, he enjoyed and appreciated the occasional messages he received from young women who clearly found his erotic tastes coinciding with their own. The polite, well thought-out messages were the best, devoid of nude selfies, and if they had pictures of themselves on their own blog he would often masturbate to them, imagining how he make love to them.

It was a logical progression for him to start posting his own selfies. Unsure about the wisdom of revealing too much, he began by posting fully clothed pictures without his face. Then he decided to start to peel away the clothes. A shirtless selfie soon followed by a fully nude one with flaccid penis. Messages of appreciation followed which encouraged him to go further. Selfies of his now erect penis were posted which were soon followed by videos of masturbation with money shot. More messages of appreciation in his inbox made him decide to cross the Rubicon of anonymity. After all there were so many billions of people in the world, who really cared if he was discovered masturbating in an Internet video? So he posted his face. He was totally revealed to the world, or at least the tumblr world, for what he was. A pervert? A dirty old man? He wasn’t sure but it felt cathartic to stop hiding.

It was then that the requests started coming in. The first message was direct and to the point. She was 19 years old. A student at university. His blog made her wetter than she ever been before. She really wanted to experiment. Could she meet him? He had never thought about crossing from his virtual tumblr world to the real one so his first reaction was that he should write a polite reply to thank her for her interest but that she should keep fantasies as just that, fantasies. But then he considered the costs and benefits. He was retired, he was fit, he was horny, and also had the time and money for the flight and hotel. After some skype conversations with the young lady over the course of the next few days, he soon found himself on a flight over the ocean to a hotel room in a town he’d never dreamed of ever visiting before. Barely a few hours after checking into that hotel, his rock hard cock was buried deep in the pussy of the sweetest nineteen year old he ever had the pleasure of barely knowing and about to ejaculate every single eager spermatozoa in his testicles into the teat end of condom he was wearing while his weathered lips passionately kissed her soft innocent ones.

And there he was a year later, sitting in that airport lounge doing a crossword, reflecting on half a dozen similar trips he’d taken all over the world to perform a similar service for the planet’s sexually adventurous young women. Was he a gigolo? Not in the strict sense of the word. He never took anything from his clients except their time, and occasionally their virginity. His next assignment was a lesbian couple who both loved older men. He’d never had a threesome with two lovely young women before but his experiences in the last year told him his ageing body was fully capable of meeting the demands placed on it by those in their sexual prime. Physical durability was particularly needed for this trip because the women in question both wanted to be impregnated during his stay. He’d booked a hotel room with an extra large bed and fully expected to be making good use of it’s springs over the next two weeks. A few days just wouldn’t be enough to ensure complete customer satisfaction.

The Checkout Chick

The Checkout Chick

Music is the food of love. Or is food the music of love? She thought the latter. Food had always been an obsession for her. Not in a bad way. Not in the sense of eating disorders or gluttony. But in the sense that she just loved food in all it’s forms. It was therefore only natural that she should want to become a food scientist. Being a dietician or a chef had their attractions but food scientists have way more impact on people’s everyday lives. Every ready-to-eat dish, every scoop of ice cream, every delicious cookie. There was a white coated food scientist in a sterile lab somewhere, working out exactly how to make these treats on an industrial scale, yet so that every mouthful would still taste like it came fresh from your mom’s kitchen. They were geniuses in her estimation and she wanted to count herself among their ranks as soon as she was old enough to understand that this lofty profession existed.

But the trouble with being a food scientist is you first have to study food science and that meant the long arduous slog of getting an undergraduate degree. She was well into her second undergraduate year when she found that one of the unexpected side effects of her course

is understanding exactly what goes into many of the products that you hitherto had never spent a moment of hesitation moving from plate to watering mouth. When she started to glimpse the hidden world of factory food processing, her dietary habits swung inexorably towards the purity of vegan eating. Only legumes, vegetables and their derivatives could blot out the nauseous insights she had gained about what most of the civilized population were putting in their stomachs everyday.

Along with this swing to plant based nutrition came an accompanying swing towards sexual partners who appreciated the finer points of beluga lentils and Peruvian quinoa. When fellow students asked her out on a date, her first response had become a gentle inquiry about where they were thinking of grabbing a bite This was a interrogative filter few could pass. No matter how good looking the guy, no matter how tight his pecs, abs or ass were, no matter how kissable his lips seemed, a reply of Pizza Hut or Chipotle would find her suddenly remembering she had to finish an important paper by Monday so she’s really sorry but maybe another time. Maybe in a decade or so? The way to a man’s heart might be through his stomach but the way to a horny food scientist’s pussy is knowing what amaranth is and where it’s cooked to perfection.

It was half way through her second year of college when she got the part-time gig of being a supermarket checkout cashier. The money wasn’t amazing but the hours were good and best of all she could come face to face with the buyers of what her intended profession created. Freshman year job’s flipping burgers and waiting tables had given her one view of food’s end user, but they seemed like niche markets compared with the cornucopia of manufactured foodstuffs offered by a large supermarket.

The strange thing about operating a cash register is that you have this minute or so of very personal interaction with someone you don’t know. On the one end hand you engage in some idle chit chat while you scan their purchase and on the other hand you can see exactly who they are in the socioeconomic scheme of things and what they are putting into their body.

The chit chat ran the gamut from a minimal polite greeting up to surprisingly personal discussions about ailments and domestic problems. Younger customers and busy working people kept to the minimal salutations while older people with time on their hands seemed eternally grateful for those few seconds of social exchange . She guessed that those brief interactions over her scanner screen was perhaps the only direct contact with another human some of her older customers might have that day.

Apart from the verbal exchanges, the other interesting part about the job was comparing what food people bought to the kind of people they appeared to be. Students tended to buy cheap filling food like rice and pasta. No surprises there. Busy-looking males in suits bought ready-meals and wine. Middle-class women with kids bought pretty much the whole spectrum. And retired people bought a lot of preserves and biscuits. Evidently getting older meant increasing sugar consumption. She wondered sometimes if she should point out to the middle-aged executive with a paunch that the high saturated fat levels plus excess salt and sugar in the microwaveable meals he was buying was a sure short-cut to high blood pressure, cardiovascular disease, diabetes and early death but the risk of being fired made her keep her own counsel. And besides, it was the ironic sign of a true wealthy democracy that anyone was allowed to eat any junk that food companies managed to get away with supplying. It was also sad that the store acted like a Fentanyl wholesaler, unconcerned about the fate of the product’s end-users.

But where were the vegans? They were few and far between. It was her third week on the register when she really became aware of Andrew. Well she didn’t actually know his name but he really reminded her of an older porn actor called Andrew who sometimes featured in those videos featuring much older men with young women like herself. Damn, they were hot. She hadn’t really considered older men that attractive until her random tumblr browsing landed her on an age-gap blog which was full of gifs and stories about men more than old enough to be her father fucking young girls like herself. She’d never been so wet as when she looked at that smut. Not masturbating to it and having an intense orgasm wasn’t really an option. When the tumblr blogs weren’t strong enough for climax any more, she could be found alone in her dorm room. fingering herself to the free streaming age-gap movies you could find on the Internet. It never failed to get her off to see those hard old cocks penetrate a young tight pussy but she had locked the association between pleasure and age-gap sex away in the back of her mind as just pure fantasy that she’d never experience in real-life, let alone tell anyone about.

The came Andrew. The first time they spoke, she said hello without looking up. She’d had a mid-term exam that day and it was near to closing time so she wasn’t wild about putting a fake smile on her face. A middle aged voice said hello back as she scanned the contents of his cart. Giant wholemeal couscous; good choice as carbohydrates. Block of silken tofu; this was going in the right direction. Ecological black rice from Italy; great taste, lots of antioxidants. In fact, everything she was scanning screamed vegan purity. Finally, she looked up to match the shopping to the face and there he was. Around 60, well proportioned, thinning gray hair. He smiled back at her after he punched in his pin code. She was hooked.

After that, she started to look out for him every evening and felt a little sad if she hadn’t spotted him in at least one register, even if it wasn’t hers. When she glimpsed him a couple of customers back in her line, her heart fluttered a little with anticipation. Anticipation of what small talk would fill those fleeting seconds between the start of scanning his items and the moment he took his card out of the reader, and also what wonderful ingredients he would buy that day. She tried to be nonchalant and seem a little distracted as she opened with the weather. At first he seemed surprised but also pleased he was being treated as more than just another customer. As she scanned his whole buckwheat, she would move the conversation around to college and how the part-time job was a welcome relief from lectures. Those precious seconds before he picked up his purchases ticked away all too quickly.

Then she started noticing he always seemed to pick her register. Instead of talking to him every three or four days, she would have him opposite whenever he came into the store, which was almost everyday. She also noticed that her pussy was getting moist and tingly as she scanned his black lentils and wild rice. Why was this guy so hot, she wondered? Well he’s obviously vegan she thought. Plus he looks like a porn star who she masturbates to regularly, that’s a bonus. To seal the deal, he must be single. The one thing you can tell from someone’s shopping is if they are buying for one or two people and Andrew always bought for one.

Finally, she couldn’t wait any more. This issue had to be resolved.  she blurted out the question that was hanging in the air. Just as he was sliding his card into the reader and with no next customer waiting she leaned over. “You’re vegan aren’t you?” He typed in his pin number, hit “Enter” and turned his head back towards her. “More of a  seagan actually. I eat fish for the B12. I could cook for two if you’re interested?” She had never heard a proposition that was sweeter to her ears, or her pussy.

A few hours later she was in his apartment on her knees with his hard dripping cock in her mouth. She had had the most delicious home-cooked seagan meal that her demanding palate had ever enjoyed and there was no way she was leaving before his old macrobiotic cock had pounded her until it couldn’t pound anymore. Studying food science could lead you down the most unexpected of life’s paths.

The Careful Professors

The Careful Professors

These were dangerous days. At least if you were a middle aged male college professor with a high sex drive and a particularly keen interest in the female students who you regularly came in contact with. The two of them had agreed on that as they sat around drinking coffee in one of their campus offices. They both had an inkling of the other’s extracurricular activities but neither had discussed this so openly before. Both of them had always regarded occasional sexual relations with willing students as just a natural perk of the job. These young women were rarely seriously involved with anyone and sometimes had quite specific fantasies they wanted to fulfill. Some female students liked the idea of being taken advantage of by a powerful older man. Some liked the idea of sexual favors in return for a better grade (in fairness, the professors usually did bump grades but only by one of two notches). Some had genuine daddy issues and just needed to feel emotionally close to an older man. Some girls were simply very horny and loved to experiment. The two professors were happy to help meet all these needs.  All the participants were willing and the danger of repercussions had been reasonably low.

But now the scenery had changed. Harvey Weinstein’s abuse of power dwarfed all the abusers that had come before him and  had unleashed a torrent of allegations against men of formerly impeccable character. The male dominoes were falling one by one. The charming and erudite  Mark Halperin. The hilarious and amiable Louis C. K. Who was next?  It seemed like this spreading tidal wave of accusatory fingers could touch every male in positions of power that came in contact with younger women, including avuncular academics like themselves.

Society was getting whipped into a fever pitch about the abuse of power by sexual predators and both professors agreed that it was getting a little too risky to have their faculty cocks inside young pristine undergraduate pussies. It just took one regretful sophomore to tearily tell her distraught mother how their evil professor had preyed on their innocent naivety before deans were called, charges were filed, tenure was lost and academic lives were ruined. The effects of the following social fallout would flood over family and friends alike. Both professors had started feeling like they could easily become the character John in the David Mamet play “Oleanna”.

How could this conundrum be solved? Was there no way that sexual congress between professor and student could not continue unimpeded? The answer came to them like a bolt from the blue. There they were, sitting across from each other, lamenting the curtailment of their dissolute lifestyle when they looked up and realized the solution was right in front of them: it was each other! From now on, the only kind of sex that was going to happen was the sharing kind. If one of them was going to fuck a young female student then the other was going to help them do it. No longer would it be a case of “she said, he said”. From now on it would be a case of “she said, they said”. And besides, threesomes were more fun!

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