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This will go on your permanent record
This will go on your permanent record
One thing I like about blogging (even if nobody reads them) is you begin to create a record of your life. People put poetry in, stories, opinions, etc. And, the internet being what it is, these words will take on a life of their own and be around a long, long time. Sort of like your permanent record, except you decide what goes in there. For example:
Even when I was younger, I wasn't good at meeting people in bars. More to the point: I sucked at picking up women in bars. It happened a few times, as well as at fraternity parties and the occasional other bash. But I can't recall ever being the one "picked up" in a bar until this week.
Let me preface this by saying I don't spend a lot of time in bars and am not a big drinker, especially in my hometown. I'm too busy, and the temptation to drink four instead of three, for example, would be too strong. But here I was in a one of the local restaurant bars, having a drink and some calimari with an out-of-town client and her broker. They were seated on the banquette and I was on the bench and it was relatively quiet and still early. After my third vodka, I was about to bid them good night and head on home when another group came and sat next to us. Four women, just my type, all between late 30's to late 40's, dressed in professional casual. In from out of town (at least one was from Washington State). Three seemed like they were already on their third or fourth, the fourth seemed like the designated driver, but she'd had one or two, too.
They jumped right into our conversation. After about half an hour, my party (who were pretty good sports) turned in and I was invited to hang with the women. They were fun and there to have fun. Conventioneers, ya gotta love 'em. *** Another half hour or so the three drunker ones decided to go dancing, but the "driver" begged off. So, there I was, on the melted ice of my fifth Grey Goose. She asked me to walk her back to the hotel, about two long blocks away. So, I asked myself, do I drop her off in the lobby or invite myself in? Just when I was in the middle of dithering, she invited me up to her room for coffee. (In a hotel room??)
We never had the coffee. Once inside the room, she slipped her hands in the side pockets of my sport coat and tugged me close to her. We didn't kiss at first. The first thing she did was nuzzle her face into my beard -- that's never happened before. (Good thing I'd washed my face at the bar and chewed some gum, given the calimari I'd eaten earlier.) We kissed for a bit, all the while she's got her hands in my jacket pockets. Then she loosened my tie, but only enough to reach the top shirt button, which she undid. She'd taken her own jacket off when she entered the lobby, and had thrown it on the bed, which, like when I travel, was filled with clothes, luggage, papers, and everything else. My brain then told me to start using my hands (which had been dangling awkwardly by my side) to slide up under the back of her sweater and unhook her bra. I then stroked her upper arms, which were soft of skin and flesh, too, a tiny bit zaftig. She purred when I stroked the upper insides of her arms, and it gave me an idea of what I had to look forward to with the upper insides of her thighs, if we got that far.
The next thing I knew my jacket was off and my tie was on its way to being off. I reached around her back and slipped my hands under the back of her waistband, between skin and panties. It was hard to tell which was softer. I wish I could say I was totally smooth and managed to get her and my slacks off, but I think she did most of the work.
Now, we're doing all of this just inside the door, lit only by the light from the bathroom through a partially-open door. It was time to move to the bed. It's been a while since I've lifted someone up by the ass, but that's what I did and we stumbled, laughing, to the edge of the bed. Given all the debris, which neither was in the mood to deal with, we wheeled around to the head of the bed and I set her down up near the pillows. (There was a few seconds of flapping covers and flying pillows, then we were in business.) I kneeled on the side of the bed while she dangled her legs over the side. So, I started with the calves, caressing them and then the knees and the recess behind the knees, and then moving up to the thighs, first the outside at the hip and moving closer to the inside. When I got to her pussy, after what seemed like hours, she was dripping wet or, as I like to think of it, dewy. She was completely unshaved and had a full, dark, musky bush, and even a faint line of fine hair that pointed toward her belly. Her tummy, too, was slightly soft and very light skinned. Yum. After licking her for a few minutes, I was ready to burst. Since I am new to all of this, and didn't expect to be in this situation, I started to panic because I didn't have a condom.
This is where I start to think I was "picked up" -- she did. After restoring my panicked member to its previous state, she rolled me on my back and even slid the condom on. When she got on she rocked a bit and then lowered her tits down onto my face. A little bit later I was lifting her with my thrusts and had a powerful orgasm.
We laid there for a while after, but between the vodka and the sex I had to fight the urge to just roll over and fall asleep (maybe that's why she kept all the stuff on the bed -- "you are not sleeping here".) It was still early enough at that point to claim I was out with my friends. Two blocks back to my car, and I even felt sobered up. Whew!
[Author's note: At the request of at least one member, I'm now 'fessing up to the fact that this blog post is entirely fictional. Well, actually not entirely fictional. It was real up until the three stars: ***. There, now I've unburdened myself.]