8 comments/ 27089 views/ 1 favorites You Were with Me All the While Ch. 01 By: chryseme After an extremely contentious and miserable 15-year marriage, I wasted little time getting an online dating subscription so that I could safely sample the fruits of the dating world—and perhaps start a relationship that would eventually turn into satisfying and mutual love. I needed to be loved. I really needed it. And I had so much to give a kind, secure, gentle man who would see my love as a gift and not as a resource to be consumed, as had my husband. And some killer sex along the way, I mused, would be a bonus, considering that my angry and sad marriage had been without affection for more than two years. At 39, I am still very pretty and youthful—most people are shocked to hear that am old enough to have five kids and a PhD in comparative literature. Some of the men I met have gone so far as to say that I am "beautiful," "fucking gorgeous," and even "exotically sexy." Having birthed five healthy-sized babies, I was very nervous about hitting the scene with that squishy mound of pizza dough that lives just above my c-section scar and about the soft layer of marshmallow fluff that covered my formerly muscular, petite athlete's physique. At 5-foot-nothin', you'd think 155 pounds would pop and protrude all over the place, but I managed to hide it pretty well among the gymnast calves, the soccer player thighs, and the Playboy bunny tits. I was soon to discover that being curvy in all the right places is still very desirable to many, many men, if not all of them. And my well-placed curves were desirable to one man in particular. Will Rogers Keller was the very first man whose online profile I had read in what would turn out to be an 18-month tour of online dating disappointments: The uncomfortable first meetings with careless men who said things like, "Oh. I had hoped you'd have longer hair" or "I really prefer women who take care of themselves" (HELLO! My profile says "Curvy!" you moron...not "Vanna-White-Head-on-a-Stick Chick"). E-mails so heart-wrenchingly desperate that I considered actually meeting one or two of these English-challenged "Larry the Cable Guy" types who sent them to me—just so they might have one gentle experience in the cyberjungle that is online personals. The three or four octogenarians who unerringly proclaimed their youthful vitality and ability to keep up with "a dish" like me. (Eww.) And not a few lesbians. I'll tell you, after seven months of rude assholes, artlessly-grabbing-my-boobs-five-seconds-into-the-first-kiss assholes, booty-call assholes, and heart-breaking assholes, those lesbians were tempting! But I feel passionately that there's no substitute for a deep dickin'. No woman—however attentive, gentle, or skilled in bringing another woman to juicy, slippery climax—was going to do it for me like a beefy, strapping man with an 8-inch cock ramming its way home. So...I went back into the Virtual Land of the Assholes to search for that one true rosebud who might possibly love and cherish me. And service me daily with brain-numbing, pussy-squirting, multi-orgasmic sex... Back to Will. As I was saying, his was the very first online profile I encountered after entering some fairly restrictive search criteria: 37-42 years old, non-smoker, college educated, taller than 5' 10" (did I mention that I like 'em big?), and employed. (It's amazing to me that I'd had to stipulate that a dude have a job, but, believe me, plenty of using losers noted my advanced education, my parenting status, and my curvy lusciousness...they thought they'd hit the freakin' Power Ball with a woman who makes big bank, is ambitious, is clearly nurturing, and most of all is HARD UP for love and some of' that deep dickin'). But Will's profile was hilarious, and I would come to know, unique. He co-opted a bit of Internet viral material that had been circulating for some years—ostensibly written by a high school senior for his college applications. You might know the one I'm referring to: "I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries." Anyway, it just cracked me up. His pictures were...okay. He had a boyishness that was appealing and a sparkle in his eye that said he was mischievous and knew a secret that no one else knew. He was 37 and 6'1", but attractively boyish. Unfortunately, his goatee, reddish hair, and full lower lip reminded me a bit of my soon-to-be-ex. I had never really been into long-haired guys—and his mane was shoulder length. You see, I have two dating rules I never break (until then, that is): don't get involved with a guy who is skinnier than I am or with a guy who has prettier hair than I have. And his hair was PRETTY. But because I admired his approach to profile writing (despite his resemblance to my dickless ex-husband) and his competitively vibrant tresses, I dropped him a quick message through the dating site telling him I found him adorable and that he made me laugh out loud, even though he looked a little like my ex-asshole. A day or two passed, and when I opened my mailbox, I was thrilled to see my first reply from this silken-haired jester. Nothing huge: just a teasing line or two. I had NO IDEA how this online personals thing was supposed to work (I'm much more circumspect now about what I'll say to and ask prospective dates), so after a few teasing and bantering back-and-forths in which I discovered him to be exceptionally bright and culturally literate, I included a list of questions for him to answer: Ginger or Mary Anne? Chocolate cake or cheesecake? Gym shoes or dress shoes? Beach or mountains? Top or bottom? He took the bait. He answered my innocuous questions first: Mary Anne. Chocolate cheesecake. Flip flops. The beach. His reply to my loaded question was a partial sentence followed by a simulated groan and assertion that he couldn't write coherently anymore because all of his blood had run from his brain into his cock. (Funny, how after countless subsequent sexual escapades with him, I still don't know the answer to that last question. He seemed to like and excel at all positions equally.) Then one week after "first contact," he asked me to meet him at this dive-y little bar in my part of town. I knew it was a pretty dingy little place, but he didn't, and he seemed excited to take me there. We exchanged a few messages after that, and he expressed his anticipation and aroused excitement about meeting me. I got a little nervous about my mommy-body, I admit, and I told him that I hoped he would not be disappointed. I sent him some more pictures of me—he said I was beautiful to him, and that my words had gotten him so hot, he wouldn't care what I looked like. In retrospect, I can see how unusual that is—most of the men online, even though they are disgusting slugs themselves, seem to feel entitled to landing a "slender" or "athletic" woman. I arranged for a friend to stay with the kids—until quite late—and then I spent three hours getting ready to meet this charming, boyish, brilliant man, who, for whatever reasons, was really doing it for me before I'd even met him. My makeup was stunning. My 38-C-enhancing v-neck, cute cropped jeans, and kicky little open-toed sandals were exactly what this first meeting called for: flirty and sexy, but stylish and smart. I looked 28 years old, at most (which our lesbian waitress confirmed when Will went to the bathroom and I drunkenly asked her what she thought of him—she said she was less interested in him than she was in me and was shocked to hear my true age). Back to the main story. (I digress a lot; bear with me, reader...you won't be disappointed.) We met at said dive at 9:00...but only after I tried to scope him out with a couple of drive-by's in my mommy minivan and stopped at a convenience store to get breath mints. I popped a couple of those little fluid-filled ball-type mints, and then drove into the bar's parking lot, where I saw resting against the hood of a truck this tall, broad-shouldered, long-haired boy-man with the sparkly smile that extended to his eyes and accentuated his jaw line. I nervously got out of my family truckster, adjusted my cleavage, fluffed my perfectly calculated but messy waves, and walked around the van. Will's smile was so big. So charming. So...sparkly. I nervously blurted out, "Oh, thank God! You ARE cute!" and he in turn said that my pictures didn't do me justice—that I was stunningly beautiful in person. He quickly closed the three steps between us, took my chin in his hand, and calmed my anxiousness with the gentlest kiss I'd ever known. Just soft, plush lips pressing and sliding lightly for four seconds, and then the teeniest pressure of his tongue tip to mine. He pulled back, looked into my eyes, and said, "Stunning." I nervously giggled something stupid about "getting that out of the way," but I was drunk already on my first little nip of Will. We went into the bar with his strong hand at my back (he actually opened the door for me!) and took the first booth. As he got up from the cracked vinyl seat to get our first round, but then he briskly turned on his heel and said, "One more!" He kissed me just as sweetly as in the parking lot, but with a bit more pressure and just a touch more tongue. I was floored by the physical chemistry I had with this man. He smelled and tasted like fucking. In my nervousness, I drank three vodka and tonics in about 15 minutes, as he recounted some odd dreams he had had recently. We stayed through the three drinks, I had my exchange with the lesbian waitress, and then we left in his truck to go to another local spot with a fun, outdoorsy atmosphere. Damn. I was freakin' falling in love with this guy minute by minute. And loving the way it felt. I felt alive for the first time in ten years. I felt desirable and beautiful and sexy and horny as hell. After a couple more drinks at the patio bar, we were both laughing and teasing and engaging in that sort of sexual-tension-charged intellectual banter that you used to see between Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd on that '80s detective show, Moonlighting: Me: Will, may I have some ANSWERS please? Will: Delaware, all of the above, 90 degrees. and Will: Jennifer, I just don't think... Me [interrupting]: That's okay, you look good. At one point, between sips, he asked me what I thought of him so far. And in my tipsy state, I honestly told him that although I found him intriguing and adorable, he tended to talk abut himself too much, and that it would be nice if he asked about me occasionally. He looked at me thoughtfully, and said, "You're right. I do tend to make everything about me. So tell me, what's your degree in again? What is your work like?" Despite the slight tension, we were reveling in our personality similarities: our ability to quote all things Monty Python, our Sean Connery imitations, our shared love of Dennis Miller and his obscure cultural references that no one else ever gets. We not only had an intense physical chemistry that was clear to everyone around through our intimate hand strokes, sneaked kisses, and entwined forearms as we fed each other chicken wings, but we had this meeting-of-the-minds thing happening too. I have always loved a man with a big, throbbing brain and an irreverent sense of humor to match mine, and he was my match in every way. Again, falling in love with...each...passing...minute. It was getting late. I wanted to be fair and reasonable with my sitter and not stay out ALL night. We tripped back to his truck, laughing and holding hands. He helped me into the passenger side door. Sweet. Attentive. New to me. When he got into the truck himself, he turned to me, pulled my whole body to him, and kissed me hard and frantically. Lots of tongue this time. His hands in my mahogany waves. His breathing irregular and gasping. I moaned and purred and cooed with pleasure as he tugged at my hair gently and touched my face with his long fingers and slipped his tongue deeper into my mouth. It had been so long since I had been kissed so meaningfully and with such fervor. It wasn't just the horny—although we had both admitted to a long sexual dry spell—it was passion and attraction and instant connection that rated this clutching make out session in my top two of all time. We continued to kiss each others' lips, jaw lines, and necks; groan into each other's open mouths; and giggle with pleasure at the teasing strokes we subjected each other to. His fingers brushed the soft skin of my neck and chest and gently dipped into my cleavage to feel the slight rise to the full, bouncing firmness of my hidden tits. I tangled my fingers through his reddish-brown mane and lightly scratched the back of his neck and his scalp with my newly French-manicured nails. We were both moaning and melting and needing so much more... He reached into my shirt and assertively lifted my left breast out of my bra cup and up through my v-neck. He wiped his thumb over the nipple as he tongued my ear, and then he squeezed my sensitive, hardening nub as he simultaneously fondled the heft of my breast. "Mmmmm," he groaned. "So full and your skin is so soft." I was losing it—the second he lowered his mouth and flicked my nipple with his tongue, I felt a jolt zigzag down my torso from the nipple outpost to the pussy center of operations. When he enclosed my pink bubblegum nipple with his lips and sucked and tongued it firmly, I had the first of a dozen orgasms that night. He stopped sucking and looked at me with wide, wondrous eyes. "Did you just come?" "God, yes," I gasped, as I clutched at his biceps and jammed my tongue between his soft lips again. I am an exceptionally verbal and physical lover, and my poor, deprived body was demanding firmer and more resolute action. I wanted this beautifully adorable hot man to strip me naked right there in the parking lot of the patio bar, cover my soft, hot body with his hard, massive frame, and stroke me everywhere into multiple orgasms. But because the bar was closing, and the other patrons will milling about, we had to at least keep our clothes on as we pawed and mauled each other. "Touch me, Will. Touch my tits and my ass, and tease me everywhere...make me come over and over for you." He responded to my demands by grabbing me between my legs at the crotch of my jeans and roughly squeezing and pinching at the seams. I lifted my ass off the car seat and leaned into him so that he could really grab at my mound and hit my clit with his thumb. When he had a firm handful and was grinding my hard little clit into oblivion under the thickness of the denim, I returned his volley with an assault of my own. I laid my palm flat on the stretched fabric of his own jeans, where his cock pushed, demanding to be freed. I pushed down with my palm and rotated it a little—kind of like you do to fan a stack of napkins or a deck of cards. I repeated this press-and-turn motion for about 30 seconds, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he pulled his waistband away from his body and tugged his purple 6.5-incher out for some air. I noted with a touch of dismay that it wasn't the eight inches of my fantasies, but I brightened when he placed my hand over his shaft: I was stroking a thick, dense, veiny tool with the silkiest skin I had ever touched. It was heavenly. "Screw the eight inches," I thought. "This will be like fucking a Coke can!" As all straight men do, he loved the feel of a soft, feminine hand jerking him off. He started to lose it and grabbed at my pussy with one hand and my other breast, still in my shirt, with the other. "Let's get a hotel room and fuck the right way," he croaked in my ear. We stopped our groping and looked at each other while we panted. "God, I want you," he said to me. It was the sweetest admission I'd ever heard. I bit my lower lip and said, "Drive!" We pulled into the local Holiday Inn, and then he ran into the lobby to get us a room. I sat in his truck alone, feeling overwhelmed and a little scared, but absolutely certain that I would die if I didn't get this amazing guy's cock buried, all fat 6.5 inches, in my tender and swollen cunt TONIGHT. He came back to the truck and chuckled nervously and, I think, painfully: "They're all booked up. Said there's not another room available along this strip tonight." I audibly gasped in disappointment. He looked at me hungrily and questioningly. "Next weekend?" Oh my God! There was no way I could hold out seven days before I got his fingers and his cock up inside me, his mouth all over my clit, and his cock down my throat. I wanted all of him. Now. But we didn't have to say out loud what we both felt—that we had something potentially special here, and we didn't want to taint it with a mere truck-fuck. I knew I wanted to hold him and be held all night—after we fucked like big dogs. "Follow me back to my place," I said. "Really?" he asked. "What about your kids?" "They'll be asleep and so will the sitter. You can sneak out before everyone wakes up." "Are you sure?" In response, I ground his still-hard cock with my palm and stuck my tongue down his throat. "Absofuckinglutely sure!" I hopped into the Mommy Mobile, and drove the six miles to my suburban home, looking in my rearview mirror frequently to make sure I didn't lose him on the way. I was aware that I was inebriated. I was nervous about driving under the influence. I'd never done that before. I mused at how just three months before, I also would never have seen myself bringing a near-stranger into my home for some fuck action—with my kids under the same roof! But hormones are insistent little bastards, and they demanded that their torturous two-year lock-out be halted and that they be allowed to return to their jobs. Common sense be damned! I pulled into the driveway of my four-bedroom house, and he parked on the street in front. I didn't even care what the neighbors might say. Most of those husbands wanted a piece of me, I was certain. I could tell by the way their gazes followed me at the block parties and how their wives ignored me at the bus stop. So let the men fuck me vicariously and the wives hate me for getting it on with a younger, hot guy! Hee! I nervously unlocked my front door and led him up the stairs to my bedroom. We were kissing and pawing each other the whole way, and when I opened my bedroom door and flipped the light on, I was shocked to see my sitter and her three kids snuggled into my bed. "Oh shit!" I gasped as I turned off the light and quickly shut the door. I stood there for a beat or two, and pointed: "This room!" I gestured across the hall to where my oldest son sleeps—he was away at a sleepover, so I was fairly certain his bed was available. Before the door clicked shut, we were both undressing frantically, anxiously wanting to feel flesh on flesh. Naked as the day we came into this world, we grabbed at each other and kissed as hot as we had in his truck, but this time without the thick fabric and layers of underthings blocking our progress. I don't remember the exact sequence of our lovemaking, but I do know that I came in his hand as he pushed it between my thighs and stroked my furry mound. (I'm usually a shaver, but in all of my ministrations earlier that evening, I had not had time to clean the girl up and ready her for a potential pleasure assault. I think the good Catholic girl in me—I walled her up years ago deep in my psyche because she's such a buzz kill—was trying to prevent me from falling sluttily into bed with this guy, so she made me run out of time and hot water.) You Were with Me All the While Ch. 01 Will was again amazed at the ease with which I could reach orgasm. It must be a maturity thing—I come so much harder, so much more frequently, and so much more juicily than I have ever before in my sexual life. I love it, and I wanted to share my ecstasy with this sweet, hot, massive man! After my first wet explosion, I huskily begged him to finger fuck me. I had confided in earlier emails that getting fingered is my all-time favorite sexual activity. I think it reminds me of getting it on with Bobby Banfree in the back seat of his Buick Opal junior year in high school—where I had my first squirting orgasm. I never did fuck Bobby, but, damn, he had magic fingers and a skill for honing in on that ridged and sublimely sensitive spot just the other side of the clitoris. Will was only the second man I'd ever been with who truly understood the importance of G-spot stimulation to intense female orgasms. And he worked it good. As he pumped two and then three crooked fingers in and out of my cunt, I gasped and wriggled and groaned repeatedly, "God, yes. God, yes!" I came three more times—squirting several ounces of female ejaculate into his waiting palm with each spasmic burst. The bed was soaked with my pussy fluid, as was Will. When I felt I'd been selfish enough, I pushed him onto his back and wriggled down between his legs, sucking the pussy juices off of his neck and chest and stomach as I went. He knew what was coming, and he could barely contain himself. Before I even got to his fat, waiting rod, his body stiffened and he groaned: "Fuck. Oh, fuck." Of course, I teased him first. I kissed his inner thighs, and then blew gentle, hot breath on his heavy, hairy balls. Oh my God, I missed the musky scent of a man's crotch! When I got a whiff of that distinctly male smell, those pissed off hormones from the truck ran screaming to the forefront of my brain and compelled me to engulf his now bouncing cock in my soft, wet mouth. The poor boy didn't know what hit him as I pumped hungrily and wetly up and down his dick. It was so thick, that I started to gag—which, incidentally, I had always done with my ex-husband despite his inferior size—but I quickly regained my composure and focused on giving this amazing guy the same ecstatic experience he had given me. I sucked Will's smooth, taut cock head, focusing my flattened tongue on that wonderful little frenulum on the underside and stroking his length with my spit-slicked fist. He rocked and moaned and seemed to be close to blasting the contents of those hairy balls into my waiting stomach. I was soooo psyched: I had not swallowed cum in many, many years (as I said, I hated going down on my unkempt and cruel husband), but I was about to take this sweet, hot, maddeningly sexy guy's spunk down my throat. I came again just thinking about how salty-sweet it would taste (seriously). After ten minutes of his gasping for air and my slobbering and pumping, he asked me to stop for a minute. "My dick's too fucking sensitive...I wanna taste your pussy!" "God, yes!" I said again (my favorite vocalization, evidently), as I lay back on the pillows and spread my sturdy gymnast legs taut and wide so my hot fuck buddy could "eat at the Y." He made no attempt at teasing me. He wanted my girl juices all over his face, just like they'd splashed his torso during the exquisite finger fucking. He immediately zeroed in on my hard clit, lapping at it firmly with his flattened tongue. "Your pussy tastes fucking incredible," he said between slathering licks. "Sweet...like oranges." "Oh, fuck, yes," I moaned...hearing a man tell me how he finds my body and what he feels during our lovemaking gets me incredibly hot. And sometimes, the more graphic the better. Oranges? Fuck...he was good. "Keep talking to me, baby," I whimpered. "Well, I can't eat your pussy and talk to you at the same time, can I?" he teased. "Okay. You're right," I chortled between panting and sucking the air between my teeth and jumped as he hit the little nubbin just inside the hood of my clit. "Oh, my baby's sensitive, huh? How can we get her off again?" He teased. "Oh, I know!" he said. "How about I ram my fingers into you again—hard and slow—while you rub your clit the way you told me you like. How's that, baby?" "God, yes!" I said (again). So Will gave my sloppy slit and engorged clit another long lap before inserting first one, then two long, fat fingers into my twitching hole. I threw my head back in absolute ecstasy as he pumped me slowly and purposefully, using those fingertips to work my ridged pleasure center again. "Come on, baby doll, " he said, as he took my right hand and placed my index and middle fingers in his mouth. "Get them nice and wet...and let me see you touch yourself." I obeyed, pulling my saliva-slick fingers from his lips and placing them on my rock-hard and exposed clitoris. The very nanosecond that I started the circular, rhythmic rubbing, Will's strong fingertips brushed and pushed my G-spot perfectly, causing me to gush a massive amount of pussy fluid on the bed and on his hand. "Oh, fucking A!" I groaned loudly. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." I pressed and rubbed my hot clit harder and harder as Will applied more and more pressure to my front pussy wall; I felt the monster climax building one note at a time. All I could say as my pleasure climbed and climbed was "Oh! Oh! Oh!" And finally, just as Will gave me a third finger in my tight box, I hit that crescendo, where swirls of white light popped and pulsed in my brain as my eyes rolled back into my head. And then a full half-cup of cum squirted forcefully out of my body in three huge geysers—so hard that the force pushed Will's fingers right out of my pussy. I cried out in relief and in disappointment as the essential G-spot lovin' stopped abruptly. "Damn, woman!" said Will. "You weren't kidding about the squirting. This is so fucking hot..." "I want to feel you on top of me," I groaned as I recovered from the Lord God High Queen of all orgasms. "Please get on top of me." I absolutely crave the excitement and almost-restrained feeling of a tall, strapping guy placing his weight above me as he kisses and fondles and fucks me. I didn't necessarily mean "fuck me" at that moment, but poor Will took "Get on top of me" to mean "stick it in me now." So he did. No preliminary rubbing or introductory slipping and sliding of genitals against each other—just a hard, ramming thrust. My pussy walls stretched and groaned as the fat intruder barreled its way to the back of my tight tunnel. The impact of that insistent cock head on my tender cervix made me jump and moan with satisfaction. The slight pain was such a turn-on. Knowing that this man was so fucking turned on by me and my squirting cunt that he was driven to almost causing me pain in the interest of his own release was just what I needed to send me over the edge--again. As Will moaned "Fuck. Ah, fuck," over and over, and as his monster dick rammed my cervix cruelly again and again, I arched my back, grabbed at his shoulders, and exploded in the most intense, deepest vaginal orgasm I had ever had. It was fucking glorious. I came so hard—without much of an expulsion of fluid this time—that Will's cock jerked out of my tightness. We cracked up at the ridiculousness of his cock flying out of my cunt like a stunt man out of cannon, but he quickly slammed his meat back into me and resumed his near-violent assault on my body. "Come in me, Will, please. Come in my pussy!" I pleaded. "That's what I'm working on, baby!" he half-laughed, half-scolded. "Clench those pussy walls as hard as you can so you don't force me out next time," he laughed. I did as I was told, and as a result, was rewarded with first, another intense vaginal orgasm of my own, and then finally my dream-lover stud's uncontrollable bursts of cum deep into my uterus. As he came, he clutched my hands above my head, holding me down and using my soft body for his ultimate pleasure. "Oh, fuck, Jenny. Oh, fuck, you're incredible, Jennifer." His voice quavered. I had never felt so much like a woman in my entire adult life. And had never been with such a completely male man either. His scent, his strength, his gentleness, his warmth, his insistence...he was the thing of my fantasies. "Oh, God," I thought as I shook in Will's arms and came down from the physical and emotional intensity of the experience. "I'm gonna fall in love again. Fuck..." Little did I know that as this first fantasmagoric night of passion and discovery wound down to an exhausted sleep, I was right to feel trepidation. The man of my fantasies was still just a man—despite his warmth and gentleness and seemingly intense attraction to me, he had demons of his own to fight and I would be a sad casualty of that war. Continued... You Were with Me All the While Ch. 02 Willster: brb...buttmunch on the phone JennyJ: eww, baby, you know i love when you talk dirty :) After our intense first meeting, Will and I became inseparable—online that is. Because he worked six 12-hour shifts per week, our time together was limited to a weekend night, maybe two if he slept at my place all day while I did the mommy thing. Or if he were too lazy to go home. The rest of the week, we instant messaged each other for an hour or more each night. (OK, usually more.) Will worked nights in a call center, answering incoming customer calls for a major computer manufacturer. "Buttmunch" was his irritable term for the clueless customers who called in with complaints about their computers not starting (unplugged), their printers jamming (100 pieces of card stock in the printer tray), and their modems not flashing (yep, not plugged into the computer). I found his sarcasm kind of charming—and I knew full well that he was underemployed in his $12.00/hr. job. And I knew that he knew it too. Little by little he had been sharing his recent history with me, and he was turning out to be one complicated dude. But more about him and his issues another time. This story is about me. For the several weeks after our initial fuckfest, the weekend sex was hotter and juicier than a Wendy's Double with everything. Will knew how to use his fingers and tongue on me and in me to get my pussy juices squirting and splashing. He was one of only two men I had ever been with who had no problem catching and swallowing the volumes of fluid I gush when come. And I come a lot. We damaged more than one mattress over those first few weeks. But after five or six weeks of steady and hard sexin', I started to notice a change in Will's approach to me as a friend/date/girlfriend and in his approach to sex. As Dr. Evil said to Frau Farbissina, "It got weird." He no longer locked eyes with me while he grunted on top of me. He didn't call during the week anymore—instead relying on IM for communication. He started saying things like, "I might not get to see you this weekend because I'm really busy" and "I'm just a little stressed out and need some downtime." Busy? Stressed out!? He didn't know from busy, as my Jewish mother used to say—I'm a single mom of five with a full-time job and a mortgage hanging in the balance. I know busy. I know stressed out. And you, single guy with no real responsibilities, are not stressed out! But I quietly accepted his withdrawal and watched closely. If I'd learned anything from being married to a tortured soul for 15 years, it was how to pull back and observe before responding to the drama. Although it could be tiresome in the moment, I secretly enjoyed his angst. It was a relief to be with someone more self-absorbed than I was—you know, like hanging out with a fat girl because you look skinny by comparison? As long as Will was focusing so much on his own dysfunction, I came off as a normal, happy, and well-adjusted mother and member of society—June Cleaver (but with a naughty splash of Xaviera Hollander). After a couple weeks of so-so sex and even less-inspiring conversation, I thought I might go back to the online dating Web site to see if other local men would pique my interest. I had been away from the site for some time—since I'd been falling hard for Will—and I was shocked to see the large number of messages in my inbox. One in particular stood out—a cutie named Bryce, who claimed to have a grown-up job. I replied to his assertion that I seemed both pretty and normal (ha!), saying that I thought he seemed cute and normal as well. We exchanged some messages over the dating site for about a week. Interestingly, we knew many of the same people, as he had gone to the same university I had attended for my PhD. After several phone conversations, one of which included some hot phone sex, we decided to meet. Bryce was a single guy. Never married. No children. Owned a little condo, where he lived with a persnickety cat. Politically conservative. A little arrogant about his looks and education. We had arranged to meet for lunch one day—safe and easy to escape if one of us found the other to be a total Quasimodo or an insufferable boor. However, that day my youngest child was sick, and I had to stay home. Not a good idea to take a feverish child on a first date. I called Bryce's cell phone repeatedly and left several messages telling him I could not meet him, but he never answered. Long story short—he had forgotten his cell phone that day, had waited for me for an hour, and was feeling humiliated. When we finally connected later in the day and I had the chance to explain, he seemed relieved, but a little irritated. (Hey, I didn't tell him to forget his cell phone!) I was beginning to get the "asshole" vibe from this one too. Sigh. So much for normal. And I was beginning to realize that having five children was indeed going to impede my dating life. After reassuring him for the tenth time that I did not stand him up and was indeed interested in meeting him, I suggested we go out later that night. My older children were willing to babysit for a short while so I could get out of the house. He thought that was fine, but was "not feeling very social," so would I like to just come over to his place? Wow, alarm bells were going off in my head—he's not willing to go out, but would like me to come to his place? As with many, other unfortunate events in my life, I ignored those clanging bells, and dressed to meet him, more intrigued by the thought of meeting a new man than concerned about protecting my heart (or physical well-being, for that matter). And again, if I must say so myself, I was a freakin' knockout. I carefully applied my make-up, focusing on my eyes and lips, and I styled my hair into soft, flowing waves. Being a late fall evening, I wore a slightly snug v-neck sweater that emphasized my pretty cleavage, and the chill in the air pinked up my cheeks and gave my eyes a glistening look, all of which I knew implied "Healthy Midwestern Girl" to this somewhat conservative, typical Indiana guy. I arrived at his condo, and he greeted me at the door with a smile and a red rose. "You're beautiful," he said. I could tell he was nervous. He gave me the tour of his little bachelor place, introduced me to the antisocial cat, and offered me a glass of wine. I winced as he handed me the glass if White Zinfandel, and I tried not to say "Friends don't let friends drink White Zin," but I took the glass graciously and sipped it slowly. Ok, so he wasn't as cosmopolitan as he tried to seem. He was still cute, if a little short for my taste and just a bit on the chubby side. Fortunately, I like a guy with a little heft to his frame, so I was definitely feeling an attraction. And I was horny as a goat, considering that sex with Will was getting less and less frequent and less and less exciting. Bryce led me to the basement rec room, where we watched a cable show we both really liked and sipped his box-o-wine. He was polite and kept his distance for the first half hour, but then he put his hand on my knee and scooted toward me. He teased me a little—which, of course, I secretly loved, by pulling so close to me that his arm and chest pressed my left breast, and then he took my chin in his hand and just looked at me. I swallowed hard, wondering what he had in mind. He leaned in for a kiss—just a gentle brush of his lips on mine, really. He did this for several seconds, which seemed more like hours, as I ached to have him kiss me roughly and passionately. I just love hard kissing—especially with a man I'm not into personally. If it's just sex with little emotional connection, then I at least want it to be a memorable sex act. I started to lean into his kiss, nudging my breasts against his arm. I slipped my arm around his neck and cupped the back of his head, holding his face close to mine to show him that I wanted a harder kiss. We kissed for several minutes, and then I could tell he was getting aroused by the way he was shifting on the couch. The kissing got more intense and he started groaning into my open mouth. I gave off a few little whimpers and moans to let him know I was enjoying him. With no warning, he pushed me down onto the couch, roughly shoved up my sweater, and starting massaging my tits through my rose-colored bra. He groaned loudly as he shoved a hand under my bra cups and starting squeezing my full breasts hard. "Your tits are so big," he moaned into my mouth, "...for a girl your size." "Can I suck on them? Please?" Thrilled that he was finally getting into it, I grunted my standard "God, yes." He pulled my thin sweater up, but not all the way off, so that my hands were tangled in the sleeves above my head. I was getting hotter and hotter, loving the way my hands were restrained, as he started to lift and lick my breasts. Again, he teased. He stayed away from my sensitive and by-then aching nipples for what seemed like 15 minutes, but which was no more than a minute, as he licked and squeezed the flesh of my breasts slowly and completely. Finally, he swooped down onto my nipple and sucked it roughly as he twisted the other nipple in his fingers. I moaned loudly (but did not come, I noted, like I did when Will played with my tits), but then I jumped as he actually bit my nipple. "Ouch!" I yelled. I was more surprised than hurt (but that one nipple was fairly tender the next day). "I'm, sorry," Bryce said huskily between sucks and licks. "I thought you'd like that...." "Just be a little less bite-y?" I asked. We continued to kiss, and he was gentler with my breasts. He threw in a few, "God, you're hot"s and then, of course, being the typical horny online guy that he was, Bryce went stampeding for my clitoris before I was really ready. But within a moment or two, his assertive kneading of my mound and ass got me revved up again. OK, so he wasn't Will. I didn't feel this desire to be possessed by him like I did when I was with Will; but Bryce was there, he was cute, he kissed great, and I was quivering like a Jell-o salad. "Love the one you're with..." and all that. So I went with it. Bryce huskily asked me to go upstairs with him. He smiled charmingly (but not with that boyish charm that Will possessed, I noted), and I followed him up to the first and then the second floor. We got to his bedroom, where he wrapped his arms around me, grabbed my ass, and rubbed me between the legs from behind. As he sucked on my neck, he lifted my leg and practically tossed me onto his bed. Before I knew it, my clothes were off, and he had his fingers pumping in and out of my pussy. At first it kinda hurt...he was pretty rough, and I wasn't quite as wet as I like to be for a full-finger assault. All of a sudden, I started thinking, "What am I doing here? I don't know this guy....I don't even particularly like this guy!" I started to panic...I squirmed under Bryce in an attempt to extricate myself from him. But he must have taken my shimmying and head thrashing as signs of excitement, and so he got more aggressive with his kissing and the finger fucking. I calmed myself with a deep breath as I turned my head from his. Then I closed my eyes and thought about Will. As Bryce thrust his three fingers into me roughly and diddled my clit with his thumb, I recalled my first time with Will....the intensity, the attraction, and the desire to please each other that we both experienced. It took a minute, but with visions of Will pumping in and out of me, asking me how I liked to have his thick cock stretch me open, I came all over Bryce's fingers and his bed. Oops. I guess I had forgotten to tell him about the squirting thing I do....that I tend to make a mess and that he should put a couple of towels down. "Good God!" he yelled. "What was that?" "Did I forget to mention that I'm a squirter?" "Yeah, I would have remembered that. Damn, my comforter's soaked..." I felt embarrassed and more than a little chastised by this pompous fart of man. "I'm sorry," I said, and then I looked into his eyes to see if he was really mad or was just taken off guard by "Jenny's Wet 'n Wild Ride." I think he saw that I was afraid that I'd pissed him off...so in his one moment of genuine gentleness the entire night, he leaned down and kissed me, and said it was all right...he had never experienced a squirter before, although he'd heard about it. He said it was very hot...and then he asked if he could try it again. Before I knew what was happening, Bryce removed his pants and boxers, and was ramming his cock into me hard. He held my hands above my head, something that normally sends me over the edge. But he was a little scary, almost like he was punishing me for soiling his precious comforter. The tighter he gripped my wrists, the more determined I was to get something out of the ordeal. So I closed my eyes, and I imagined that he was Will: Will holding me down because he knows that I like it (and that I trust him); Will looking into my eyes and smiling, his eyes flashing as he approaches orgasm; Will urging me to come for him...to stroke my own clit for him as he fucks me so that I splash on and around his cock. "Get me wet, baby" my fantasy-Will said. "I need a shower, baby; gush all over me." So as poor Bryce jammed away at my now-tender pussy, I felt the rumbling deep behind my clit...the beginning vibrations of a monster orgasm. In my mind's eye, it was Will, and not this buffoon Bryce, who was enjoying the slick warmth of my precious pussy. I bucked my hips hard against him, as "Will" grunted out his orgasm into my clenching cunt. With one last thought of Will and his large arms, beautiful hair, and soft lips, I clenched my eyes shut and bucked my hips hard, streaming a gush of fluid all around and past Bryce's cock. As at least eight ounces of my pussy juice covered Bryce's abdomen, chest, and darling comforter, I screamed out, "Oh, God, Will, yes!" Oops. Needless to say, I quickly got up and got dressed. I kissed Bryce on the cheek, my eyes never meeting his. "Um, thanks, Bryce. That was, uh, awesome. I better get going," I said, and then I left him sitting there looking dumbfounded in a pool of my pussy juices. I ran down the steps, out his door, and to my car. As I turned the key in the ignition, I busted out laughing. "Thanks, baby doll!" I yelled to a non-present Will. Even when he was not with me, he was with me; how do you fight that? I was determined to get that boy back in my bed, back inside me, and back to feeling like he couldn't live without me.