Age Gap, Stranger

Back Against the Wall

Outside in the dark, back alleyway we literally fall on each other

This erotic story is written in the first person to create urgency. The style of writing is “spare” for the same reason…

Our eyes meet and my cunt involuntarily contracts — a tiny bit of moisture escapes caressing my slit. There, seated at the next table, alone, staring, confident, smiling — he can only be about twenty-five. I shift in the chair, hoping my damp panties won’t stain my skirt. A rush of adrenalin floods my veins as blushing I turn away and wonder why he’s still looking. After all, I’m over forty.

Noticing I’m distracted, the office girls joke with me — daydreaming again. We split the bill, say goodbye and leave the Won-Ton Restaurant. But realising my fortune cookie is still on the table, and being slightly superstitious by nature, I rush back to retrieve it. Pocketing the biscuit I feel a hand on my shoulder.

It’s him…

“How about a drink then?” he suggests in a sexy Irish brogue, sharp green eyes intent.

In the Red Lion, over a gin and tonic, we talk about my bastard ex-husband. A few months earlier I came home to find him shagging my best friend. It was a wake-up call and I found the guts to take a stand and kick them both out my life. He nods, and not to be outdone confesses to fleeing Ireland six years ago on the day he jilted his sweetheart.

I begin to feel bolder as we make the most of our time to brush hands and exchange glances.

Flirting, touching.

This is quite out of character, but I’m enjoying our dance. It has been a while since an attractive guy has been solicitous with me. Tonight, I’m a chameleon basking in the warmth of the moment.

Suddenly, he grabs my arm. But I’m not afraid — he is laughing, joking, taking the lead.

Outside in the dark, back alleyway we literally fall on each other.

Urgently.

Mouths searching.

Hands exploring.

Blouse ripped open.

My nipples are taut in the cool breeze — longing for attention. His tongue teases them and fingers find my slit, intruding into my sodden cunt. How I’ve waited for this.

Feeling my way, I pull down the zip and release his erect cock. The warm perfume of sex meets my nostrils as I edge back the foreskin, tentatively. His red, swollen knob glistens in the moonlight.

He leans me against the wall, hitching up my skirt and jerking my legs open with his. Assured. Bending his knees he guides his cock past the gusset of my knickers. I respond, move my hips slightly forward — it stabs my pussy and victoriously angles into the warm, dewy flesh.

Groaning, he tugs at my long auburn curls. My cunt greedily devours his cock.

He positions his hands against the wall, either side of me… a wilful capture — and we begin to fuck, primally.

Grinding — short, sharp jabs.

Then long, vital strokes.

Eyes locked on mine — animated.

Alive.

When our tongues tangle, I begin to quiver and moan unable to hold back my climax. Intoxicated by the spontaneity. Within seconds he trembles and falls heavily against me panting.

We stand, simply holding each other. Heartbeats slowing. Satiated. His cock still trapped in my pussy.

Finally, it droops and slips out. Yet we’re still connected, as we keep the embrace. Lost in the moment…

His wavy dark hair tickling my face. My back a little chafed from the craggy wall.

The sound of a police siren passes close by, snapping us back to reality. He zips his fly, strokes my cheek with soft fingertips and heads off to the toilet.

I wait as his juice begins to soak my panties.

He doesn’t return.

Smiling, I am not disappointed, just relishing my freedom and such an intense experience with a beautiful stranger.

We never even swapped names.

At home, finding the restaurant cookie in my pocket, I break it open and, reading the fortune, start to giggle,

“With your back against the wall, you can still stand tall.”

Written by May More and linked to Wicked Wednesday prompt of “Dark Street.”

Here’s more from May …

A fun satirical look at working in the pop industry.