March 2018 (continued)

Forbidden Fruit Newsletter
Have you ever had sex outdoors?
Yes - sex al fresco!
No - for too many reasons!
Sort of - in a tent!
Does oral qualify?
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Guilty Pleasures Continued

Confessions Of A Dirty Older Woman (continued)

I am a psychologist. Patients come to me to confess their conflicts, confusions, anxieties and obsessions.

I offer non-judgmental listening, teach them to listen to themselves, and help them find more productive ways of dealing with their problems. With regard to sexuality I have heard every sexual variation on the norm. And yet I could never seem to quell my own obsession.

My life, up to four years ago, was normal and predictable. I had reached my 45th birthday as a successful professional practicing her craft. I lived and worked on the bottom floor of a Manhattan brownstone. Divorced, I have a married daughter living in another state. After work I enjoyed fine dining, concerts, plays and parties with friends. Nonetheless, I had been growing steadily more restless.

Men my age and older had lost their appeal. So many of them seemed to be rooted in their own routines, uninterested in new discoveries or stepping out of their comfort zones. And so many of them couldn't keep up with me in the bedroom.

So I tuned in on the parade of much younger men that seemed to be everywhere. I loved their energy, playfulness, and muscular, toned bodies. Alone in my quiet apartment I would fire up my vibrator and scroll through local adults only online ads until I found my favorite. As I brought myself to climax, I would focus on his erect penis, plunging a dildo into myself. At orgasm I would cry out to my fantasy lover: Do it to me, do it, don't you dare stop!

What disturbed me was actually another element of my obsession: I wanted a virgin. I wanted to be his first sexual encounter, and I wanted the experience to be so earth-shattering he would never forget me. Of course I never believed this could actually happen, but I couldn't shake the fantasies.

I spotted Donald at the opening of a swanky new neighborhood bar. It was targeted at the younger crowd, but I'd gone to check it out anyway (and, let's be honest, the college-aged hunks) even though I felt like the oldest person there. Sipping my drink, I enjoyed the display of man candy around me. Donald caught me watching him and sat down on the next stool. He was tall and slender with a swimmer's build, his hands soft and silky blonde hair baby-fine. I liked the way he brushed it back. Sweetness radiated from him. The loud music disappeared as we made small talk.

I'm not sure I'm impressed with this place," he confessed over the music.

I shrugged a shoulder. "The drinks are watered down." My breath caught. Did I dare? "You know, I have this amazing scotch back at my place. It's not far."

Sweet young Donald actually blushed.

We left the bar and caught a Lyft back to my place. Inside, I winced at the bright light in the foyer. The low light in the bar was kinder on the wrinkles. Would he realize how much older I was and run screaming?

But Donald seemed completely comfortable. My lust built. So maybe I was a dirty old woman. Nonetheless, this young man made me feel half my age, and the feeling was like a drug. We parked ourselves on the couch and I poured the scotch.

Donald was 21 and had just graduated from college. A self-described introvert, he lived in a sublet that was running out at the end of the month, did a few odd jobs to get by, and had come to the city hoping to figure out what to do with his life. I found his candor and everything else about him charming. He seemed so impressed with me. Seen through his eyes, my practice, articles, books, and speaking engagements took on a greater significance than I usually gave them. If he was acting, it was an Academy Award performance. Two drinks later, I invited him on a tour of the house. As we went upstairs, his hand touched the small of my back. It was thrilling.

Upstairs, I showed him the spare room, my office, and then the master bedroom. There, I couldn't wait any longer. I made the first move, brushing my fingers across his fly. He looked at me with puppy dog eyes. "I have a confession," he said. "I've never been with anyone. I mean, I want to have sex. I just never have. If you want me to leave, I will."

This was too good to be true! Lust arced through my body. I didn't trust my voice, so I simply kissed him. Slowly, he responded with slow, passionate kisses. When I felt his erection, I led him to my bed. Following my lead, he allowed me to undress him. His body was like carved ivory. I turned down the lights and undressed myself, then climbed onto the bed with him.

Donald touched my full breasts tentatively, leaving a trail of shivering flesh. Then he lay back on the bed and said: "I'm yours. Do what you want with me." I touched his long, thick penis with my tongue and stifled a laugh as it jumped and he gasped. My blowjob was quick and not the stuff of legends, but he moaned appreciatively until he came with a sudden, sharp jerk of his hips that almost made me lose my hold on him. I swallowed down every drop.

When he'd caught his breath, he almost seemed disappointed. Donald opened his mouth, probably to make an excuse about his performance, but I shushed him and climbed atop his prone body. He was 21 and in moments hard enough again for me to slide his quivering staff into my pussy. "Don't come again until I say." As he filled me and began to thrust, I moaned and told him how good it felt, how fucking handsome he was, how I loved it. I had my first orgasm, then a second.

"Please," he begged.

Finally I gave him permission to come and he did, in rapid-fire thrusts followed by one great groan of pleasure. He fell back on the bed, breathing heavily. When he caught his breath he asked: "Was I okay? Did I do it right?"

I was ecstatic. "Oh yes. You were fantastic." And as I collapsed beside him, I was already scheming ways to fuck this hot young thing into oblivion every single night.

Two orgasms later – one before, one after breakfast – Donald agreed to move in with me. Just until he found another sublet. Donald carried his worldly possessions (a backpack, a gym bag, and a laptop case) into my apartment. The next months were pure bliss. I didn't mind paying the bills: he practiced making gourmet meals, painting, making music. We went out on spontaneous trips and stayed in and fucked in every position possible at hotels, outdoors, and all over the house. Our sex life was glorious.

And then one day Donald brought home his friend Bill. He was over six feet easily, his body a canvas of tattoos. He was darker and more muscular than Donald, with a playful but shy grin.

It didn't matter that I should've been more than sexually satisfied: I wanted this one, too.

Donald must've known me better than I'd known myself. He pulled me aside later, while Bill had gone to the bathroom, and whispered into my ear that he'd seen me looking. That he wanted to watch. And that it would be Bill's first time.

Before I knew it, his fingers had delved underneath my panties and inside me. When Bill came back into the room, Donald's head was between my thighs. I gasped as his tongue found and thrummed my sensitive clit.

For a frozen moment it seemed like Bill might've changed his mind. And then somehow he and Donald were on their knees, taking turns making me come before they draped me over the couch and Donald stuffed my mouth as Bill filled my dripping pussy.

After breakfast and another round in the morning, we sent Bill off plus a wild story and minus his virginity.

In a few weeks, I turn fifty. Since then, I've deflowered many of the city's most eligible young men. With help of course from my favorite wingman and bed partner. Donald's a little older now, too, but 25 is plenty young enough to go back to college for a computer programming degree.

He's already told me about his hottest classmates.

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