Alison's Younger Man
“Mr. Thompson? Are you home? Hello? Mr. Thompson, it’s Alison Campbell. Hello?”
Alison Campbell,
real estate agent to the extraordinary, lifetime member of the Million Dollar
Club, let herself into the condo of Peter Thompson, the writer to whom she had
made her latest sale. She had knocked and then used the key she had come to
deliver. Not that this was common practice, mind you. She had called first and
he had told her to come around after work and let her self in if he wasn’t at
home. He had a few errands to run, he explained, and would return before too
long.
Alison released a big sigh and stepped through the door. What was
she doing here? She could have very easily mailed the key to him. It wasn’t like
she didn’t know the address. But for some reason, she felt the need to see him
again.
And she wasn’t sure why. Was it because he was a writer, a
profession she herself had aspired for in her younger days? Was it because he
was young, 26 if she remembered correctly? What was it her daughter called men
who were so good looking? Eye candy?
“Yes”, Alison muttered to herself,
“look but don’t touch.”
Alison walked through the condo’s living room,
spacious and absent of furniture, and into the kitchen. She planned on placing
the gift basket she had brought into the refrigerator. Another one of her
hobbies (or wastes of time, he ex-husband had said) was gourmet cooking and
basket making. She had included a variety of foods for Peter Thompson, marinated
shrimp, coriander chicken, black bean salsa, pasta salad and a bottle of
chardonnay. She was attempting to impress the man for future sales, she
reassured herself.
Alison opened the refrigerator; it was empty except
for a few bottles of wine and a six-pack of beer. “This man’s going to need more
than what’s in this basket” she said to herself. Turning from the kitchen,
Alison noticed a note on the counter. It read:
Alison,
Back in 30
minutes. Make yourself at home. Open a bottle of wine.
Peter
Well,
thought Alison, a glass of wine would be nice, and she wasn’t in any hurry. Ever
since her daughter started driving, she was never at home. And with her son at
college, it wasn’t like there was a man waiting for her anywhere. Alison opened
a bottle of white zinfandel, poured a glass (a paper cup, actually), and decided
to look over the condo’s layout. She was going to have to move soon, as the
house was being sold as part of the divorce settlement. These condo’s, more like
lofts actually, were a bit expensive, but she did have an image to
uphold.
Alison’s first stop was the bathroom. She studied her reflection
in the lighted mirror. Not bad for almost 40; large breasts, curvy hips, a bit
too much padding here and there but what did you expect after two kids? And why
had Eric left her for that bimbo? Oh yes, she remembered his words clearly;
“it’s become old hat. There’s nothing new anymore and you make me feel old”.
Well, he was 50; and at 11 years his junior, she had made him feel young once.
Weren’t they supposed to grow old gracefully, together? Apparently
not.
Alison sighed again and removed her jacket. She smoothed down her
powder blue silk shirt, allowing her hands to linger at her breasts, posing for
herself (who else was there?) in the mirror. Her long, curly blonde hair was
pulled back loosely. She removed the combs and allowed her tresses to cascade
across her shoulders. She turned her head over, fluffing her hair as she went.
Maybe a little lip-gloss? She retrieved her purse from the kitchen and returned
to freshen her makeup. Alison paused. What was she doing? Setting a trap? “As
if.” she said aloud.
The first glass of wine was gone. Alison went back
for another and decided to look through the rest of the condo. Off the living
room and already established was an office. A desk littered with papers, a
computer, a bookcase, all were already in place. In the few days Peter Thompson
had inhabited his new home, it was clear that this was his personal space and
where he spent most of his time. Alison backed from the room, feeling like an
intruder in a sanctified space.
“What the hell”, she thought, “ I might
as well take the grand tour.” She passed through the kitchen, refilling her cup,
and made her way to the bedrooms.
The guest room was empty of
furnishing. The master bedroom didn’t fare much better. There was a mattress (on
the floor), an end table and nothing else. “Well” said Alison, a bit tipsy at
this point, “Mr. Thompson needs an interior decorator”.
“Actually, I
do”.
Startled, Alison turned and collided into Peter Thompson, giving
them both a bath in wine.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry”, Alison managed to
stammer.
“No, I’m sorry for startling you. Here, let me get a
towel.”
Peter moved toward the bathroom and returned with a hand towel.
He began wiping the wine from Alison’s face and shirt, only to turn red with
embarrassment as his hand crossed her glorious breasts.
“Here”, he said,
handing her the towel. “Let me find you another shirt. I’m afraid all I have to
offer at this point is a t-shirt. I hope your shirt isn’t ruined.”
“It’s
nothing,” Alison managed to reply. “I’m so sorry to be in your bedroom. See, I’m
actually thinking of buying one of these condo’s myself, and I was just
attempting to reacquaint my self with the layout.
“No problem” said Peter
as he handed Alison a t-shirt that read ‘Writers-By-The-Sea 2000’. “And you’re
right. I do need some help with this place. It’s the first place I’ve bought on
my own. I lived with my parents, or a roommate or a girlfriend before now. I’d
welcome your ideas.” As he spoke, Peter removed his own wet shirt. For a moment,
Alison could not speak, but only stare at the Adonis before her. He had almost
shoulder length black wavy hair, piercing hazel eyes, a well-defined jaw line,
and a body that looked as if it had been chiseled from marble. Without thinking,
she reached out and ran her hand across his chest.
“Oh, god. Oh, god. I’m
sorry, I just…”Alison managed to stammer.
“It’s alright”, Peter said as
he leaned forward. His lips lightly brushed across hers.
“I’m almost old
enough to be your mother” Alison whispered.
“But you’re not” Peter
replied, as he enfolded her in his arms, pulling her close to his bare chest. He
kissed her, softly at first and then again, harder and with more passion. Alison
moaned and pulled him closer and closer still. Her lips parted and she felt his
tongue dancing across her teeth, and they melted into a passionate kiss that
seemed to last for hours. Alison felt weak with desire. She hadn’t felt this way
since, well, maybe ever.
“You may want to remove that wet shirt”, Peter
whispered in her ear. “May I help?”
“Mmm”, was all Alison managed as
Peter began unbuttoning her shirt, kissing her neck as he pulled the shirt from
her waistband and burying his head in her hair.
“God, you’re beautiful. I
wanted you from the first moment I saw you. So sexy, so
glamorous.”
“Mature, yes, glamorous, no”, Alison laughed. “You, on the
other hand…”
His kisses trailed from her neck to her breasts. His hands
moved to her waist and he pushed he skirt downward. Alison tried not to think
too hard, but to go with the moment. At least her underclothes were nice. That
was the one treat she allowed herself; lacy bras, camisoles, and panties. These
were dark blue, to match her suit and, she mused, the color of her eyes. Peter’s
hands caressed her body, moving from her breasts to her hips, and coming to rest
on her ass. She was wearing nothing now but a bra, underwear, thigh-highs, and
heels. He pulled her close and his intentions were made clear by the bulge in
his jeans.
Alison reached forward, unzipping the young man’s jeans. She
reached through his boxers and released his glorious seven-inch cock. How good
it felt in her hands! She pushed him away and pulled his jeans and boxers to his
ankles. He moved toward her, but she pushed him back to the bed.
“Sit”.
He sat on the edge of the bed as she knelt between his legs,
licking her lips. She kissed the head of his penis, tasting his pre-cum before
taking all of him into her mouth. Her tongue rimmed the head of his cock and
then she sucked back, lovingly taking him all the way into her mouth. This time
it was Peter who moaned, as she moved up and down, fucking her mouth with his
cock. Slowly, and then faster, at times almost inhaling his cock, tracing the
shaft with her nails. He felt the head of his cock hit the back of her throat
before she pulled away, licking the shaft. Alison shifted her focus downward,
licking Peter’s balls and then his ass, her mouth making love to his body, like
a woman consumed with passion and need. She repeated these motions again and
again and then took his cock into the back of her throat again as he came,
filling her mouth. She continued to suck his cock as he filled her mouth,
swallowing all he could give her.
Peter pulled her toward him, kissing
her mouth, tasting his cum on her lips. “You’re a dream”, he whispered, as he
laid her across the bed and kissed her neck before moving to her ear lobes and
further down. Alison arched her back, grinding her body into his. Her breathing
was heavy as she pulled his head toward her chest, her breast quivering with
anticipation.
Peter removed her bra and began kissing her right nipple
while his hand found the other. He flicked his tongue across the tip of one and
then moved to the other, gently at first and then harder. Alison was writhing in
what was almost pain. She needed this man’s touch, his tongue, his cock. She had
been with no one since her divorce and Eric had not touched her the final year
of their marriage, and only sporadically before then. Her need was building and
she thought she would explode! Peter moved downward, kissing her stomach, his
hand coming to rest on her underwear. He eased it down slowly, kissing his way
down her legs to her feet through her stockings. Finally, his mouth worked its
way back to her pussy, his tongue flickering on the outer edges. Alison came
just from his hot breath on her body. She pressed her body forward, his tongue
separating her pussy lips, his mouth finding her clit. She moaned, not able to
control her own body. Peter licked, sucked and fucked her pussy with his tongue.
Alison wrapped her legs around Peter’s neck, pushing her pussy further into his
mouth.
“Oh, eat my pussy”, she yelled, to her own surprise. Eric had
never liked it when she was verbal or unladylike. But the moment was beyond her
control. “You know what I like. Mmm, that feels so good.” The more she spoke the
more excited Peter became, licking and sucking harder. Alison’s body shuddered
in ecstasy as she came, spraying cum on his face. “Oh, Peter, fuck me”, Alison
yelled.
She turned over, backing her ass up to his now rock hard cock.
His cock entered her sopping pussy and Alison began rocking back and forth as
hard as she was able. He fucked her pussy hard, as she moaned, “fuck me” and
“give me that cock” again and again.
Peter wrapped his hands in her long
blonde hair, pulling her head back towards him. “I’ll fuck you”, he said, “I’ll
fuck you like you have never been fucked. I’ll make that sweet pussy cum just
for me”.
“Oh, yes”, Alison moaned, her hands playing with her clit as her
pussy was being pounded. She came once again, an orgasm that seemed to consume
her entire body from head to toe.
Peter came with her, his cock filling
her pussy with come. “Oh fuck, oh Baby”, he yelled as he came. They collapsed
together in a wet, sweaty heap, Peter kissing her neck, her ears, her mouth.
They lay there, snuggling, catching their breaths.
“God, that was
incredible”, Alison said when she was finally able to speak. And then teasingly
she added, “Why did I never know about younger men before?”
“You’re just
at the right age to appreciate us.” Peter answered. “More specifically,
me.”
“So do you want to talk about decorating your condo now?” Alison
teased.
“Well, I’d like to get your opinion on other rooms.” Peter
answered.
“I do think,” Alison mused, “the prime view is from on my
back. Looking over your shoulder of course.”
“Of course.” Peter laughed,
kissing her hair. ‘I’m starving. I saw the spectacular food you made. Shall we
start with the kitchen?”
“No rest for the wicked.” Alison whispered, as
she removed her stockings and pulled on her underwear and Peter’s
t-shirt.
“Hmm?” asked Peter.
“Oh, I’m coming.” She
said.
“I’m planning on it,” said Peter with a boyish grin.
Alison's Younger Man
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