Straight Female / 41
My name's Connie - I'm 41 years young and I just left my 33 year old new boyfriend Mike in a passed out puddle in my bed. I'll get to that in a minute. He cried tears of joy while shooting the biggest cum load I've ever seen all over my body (not in the face, I'm not into that). I'll get to that in a minute, though. Let me bring you up to speed on how fucked up we are and how we ended up where we are tonight.
I'm from Boston originally and moved to Atlanta at 35 with my husband Eric - I was raised Jewish but I haven't been into a synagogue since I was about 13. I have dark hair and I think gorgeous brown eyes, slim, small perky tits even for my age, and I don't shave my lady parts - that's right, I believe a woman is supposed to look like a woman, not a teenage girl. Deal with it. If you're not ready to take on the wild puma, stay out of the jungle.
Anyway, I have NO IDEA how he talked me into coming down to the suburbs of "The ATL," but in the name of trying to start a family, I gave it a shot. Nothing took. I couldn't get pregnant, and we tried everything. Come to find out I'm infertile after three full years of trying to make it happen. And one night, after I pretty much pull it out of him that he's fucking another girl "out of frustration," he hits me. And that's it. I'm married at 34 and divorced at 38 and I went absolutely wild.
From 38-40 I probably fucked 28 guys - I couldn't even tell you their names, most of them. I didn't care, I was just in it to be the center of somebody's attention and get my life back - nothing says power like stroking two cocks at the same time and having the ability to literally rip their balls off. Nothing. I probably would have kept at it but one really rough threesome and an unwanted first anal experience (and a trip to the hospital the next morning) and I signed on to see a shrink that same week. And so for the last year, I've been in therapy, and about six months ago moved to a weekly group for folks with "relationship PTSD;" A LOT of sex addicts, unfortunately.
Let me tell you about Mike; Mike is a country boy, from bass fishing to wood working, fixing carburetors in his spare time, Sunday night dinner at his Mama's house (who I love dearly). How he ended up working in this city is beyond me, but he married a lawyer at 30 and they settled down here. Mike comes home from work (he actually works for the parks department, so cute) early and finds his wife getting slammed by another lawyer in the firm and she has the nerve to ask him if he "wants next." Mike went completely numb and stayed that way for two full years, but he did have the sense to file for the divorce. She got it all, stating that "his distance" caused her to go into a depression that led to her infidelity. Mike was on suicide watch for awhile, so I've heard.
Anyway, he and I are both in group therapy together. He comes in with that mesh trucker hat and a white tee and jeans and this city girl aches for him pretty much from the get-go. He's got a little gray coming in, that country twang. This little Jewish girl is practically in heat when he turns on that charm and flashes those pale blue eyes my way. But he's so distant, like he's not even on this planet anymore. So we're a decent set of damaged goods - someone who has left his body, and someone who did her best to become a part of her body and nothing else. How opposite can you get.
I've had to ignore pretty much every impulse I've ever had with him and take it slow - patience is not something I'm good at, but it's been rewarding to court him and play games with him, tease him a little bit, very low stress even though the old me might have just threw her legs open and said "take it." Thanks to group, we became friends first and I was almost okay with just that until he asked (and he really did ask) if he could kiss me. And it was wonderful, and sweet, and healing, and maybe we both needed each other to get some kind of authenticity in our lives again.
So here we are, tonight. After a lovely cookout at Mama's house (again, I love this woman and hope to become her one day), we went for a long walk around Inman Park and then headed back to my place. I didn't just suck his cock, I worshiped it, letting him sit on my couch while I slowly unzipped his jeans and gently brought him to life in my mouth (cute red lipstick that doesn't smear, a real plus), then shifted up to kisses on his strong neck and chest, his ears, his perfectly pouted lips (gets those from Mama). This was SO much different than my last sexual encounter.
I'm taking all the time in the world. I let go of his cock and just sit in his lap and hold his head to my chest - I want him to hear and feel my heart beat and in a really weird way just want to smother him. I smell his hair - love his shampoo (Dove Men Plus). This FEELS amazing, and his strong hands are just rubbing me all over in areas both super sexy and comforting at the same time.
My little dress hits the floor, black lacey panties and heels. And his eyes go so wide - that's an image I will keep for a LONG time. I go back to sucking him - he deserves this, maybe deserves me, deserves release. So I just keep going, listening to his breathing get a little heavier, feeling his muscles tense, and I ease off again and just look up at him, slowly blinking and gently running my red nails along his jeans, the top of his legs, his stomach. Just to touch anything, everything. My panties are wet, I'm aching for his cock, but I'm going to please him in a different way all together. I have him stand, drop his jeans and boxers, and right there in my living room, stroke, lick, suck, scratch, and finally coax that cum right out of him all over me. And it's a lot, my goodness. This man has been backed up for who know's how long.
On my knees, still in my heels, cum all over my tits, nearly flat stomach, my panties, my legs, running down my hands, even a little bit in my hair where it touched my shoulders. It smells strong, but heavenly. I sit him back down, gently, and sigh the biggest sigh of contentment I've ever had. I walk to my bathroom and looked at myself, rubbed his cum all over my tits and stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. I'm his, and he's marked me as such tonight for sure. I clean up. I go back and he's out cold on my couch, though he did have the good sense top zip up his jeans. I wake him just long enough for a long kiss, then let him drift back off to sleep.
I don't want to mess this up; I genuinely love this man and want to have a future with him. I just hope I was right that we're two fucks ups that found each other and I'm not about to get fucked over yet again. I'm not trying to backslide into the last few years of my life either - I had my fun, but this is SO different. Any positive thoughts or advice appreciated. This is real life, not my fantasy.
I'm from Boston originally and moved to Atlanta at 35 with my husband Eric - I was raised Jewish but I haven't been into a synagogue since I was about 13. I have dark hair and I think gorgeous brown eyes, slim, small perky tits even for my age, and I don't shave my lady parts - that's right, I believe a woman is supposed to look like a woman, not a teenage girl. Deal with it. If you're not ready to take on the wild puma, stay out of the jungle.
Anyway, I have NO IDEA how he talked me into coming down to the suburbs of "The ATL," but in the name of trying to start a family, I gave it a shot. Nothing took. I couldn't get pregnant, and we tried everything. Come to find out I'm infertile after three full years of trying to make it happen. And one night, after I pretty much pull it out of him that he's fucking another girl "out of frustration," he hits me. And that's it. I'm married at 34 and divorced at 38 and I went absolutely wild.
From 38-40 I probably fucked 28 guys - I couldn't even tell you their names, most of them. I didn't care, I was just in it to be the center of somebody's attention and get my life back - nothing says power like stroking two cocks at the same time and having the ability to literally rip their balls off. Nothing. I probably would have kept at it but one really rough threesome and an unwanted first anal experience (and a trip to the hospital the next morning) and I signed on to see a shrink that same week. And so for the last year, I've been in therapy, and about six months ago moved to a weekly group for folks with "relationship PTSD;" A LOT of sex addicts, unfortunately.
Let me tell you about Mike; Mike is a country boy, from bass fishing to wood working, fixing carburetors in his spare time, Sunday night dinner at his Mama's house (who I love dearly). How he ended up working in this city is beyond me, but he married a lawyer at 30 and they settled down here. Mike comes home from work (he actually works for the parks department, so cute) early and finds his wife getting slammed by another lawyer in the firm and she has the nerve to ask him if he "wants next." Mike went completely numb and stayed that way for two full years, but he did have the sense to file for the divorce. She got it all, stating that "his distance" caused her to go into a depression that led to her infidelity. Mike was on suicide watch for awhile, so I've heard.
Anyway, he and I are both in group therapy together. He comes in with that mesh trucker hat and a white tee and jeans and this city girl aches for him pretty much from the get-go. He's got a little gray coming in, that country twang. This little Jewish girl is practically in heat when he turns on that charm and flashes those pale blue eyes my way. But he's so distant, like he's not even on this planet anymore. So we're a decent set of damaged goods - someone who has left his body, and someone who did her best to become a part of her body and nothing else. How opposite can you get.
I've had to ignore pretty much every impulse I've ever had with him and take it slow - patience is not something I'm good at, but it's been rewarding to court him and play games with him, tease him a little bit, very low stress even though the old me might have just threw her legs open and said "take it." Thanks to group, we became friends first and I was almost okay with just that until he asked (and he really did ask) if he could kiss me. And it was wonderful, and sweet, and healing, and maybe we both needed each other to get some kind of authenticity in our lives again.
So here we are, tonight. After a lovely cookout at Mama's house (again, I love this woman and hope to become her one day), we went for a long walk around Inman Park and then headed back to my place. I didn't just suck his cock, I worshiped it, letting him sit on my couch while I slowly unzipped his jeans and gently brought him to life in my mouth (cute red lipstick that doesn't smear, a real plus), then shifted up to kisses on his strong neck and chest, his ears, his perfectly pouted lips (gets those from Mama). This was SO much different than my last sexual encounter.
I'm taking all the time in the world. I let go of his cock and just sit in his lap and hold his head to my chest - I want him to hear and feel my heart beat and in a really weird way just want to smother him. I smell his hair - love his shampoo (Dove Men Plus). This FEELS amazing, and his strong hands are just rubbing me all over in areas both super sexy and comforting at the same time.
My little dress hits the floor, black lacey panties and heels. And his eyes go so wide - that's an image I will keep for a LONG time. I go back to sucking him - he deserves this, maybe deserves me, deserves release. So I just keep going, listening to his breathing get a little heavier, feeling his muscles tense, and I ease off again and just look up at him, slowly blinking and gently running my red nails along his jeans, the top of his legs, his stomach. Just to touch anything, everything. My panties are wet, I'm aching for his cock, but I'm going to please him in a different way all together. I have him stand, drop his jeans and boxers, and right there in my living room, stroke, lick, suck, scratch, and finally coax that cum right out of him all over me. And it's a lot, my goodness. This man has been backed up for who know's how long.
On my knees, still in my heels, cum all over my tits, nearly flat stomach, my panties, my legs, running down my hands, even a little bit in my hair where it touched my shoulders. It smells strong, but heavenly. I sit him back down, gently, and sigh the biggest sigh of contentment I've ever had. I walk to my bathroom and looked at myself, rubbed his cum all over my tits and stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. I'm his, and he's marked me as such tonight for sure. I clean up. I go back and he's out cold on my couch, though he did have the good sense top zip up his jeans. I wake him just long enough for a long kiss, then let him drift back off to sleep.
I don't want to mess this up; I genuinely love this man and want to have a future with him. I just hope I was right that we're two fucks ups that found each other and I'm not about to get fucked over yet again. I'm not trying to backslide into the last few years of my life either - I had my fun, but this is SO different. Any positive thoughts or advice appreciated. This is real life, not my fantasy.
