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It was my son’s 21’st birthday, and we were out bar crawling. San Diego has a great downtown district called ‘The Gasslamp”. It’s filled with bars and sidewalk cafe’s for five blocks square.
My son and I were sitting in one of them, having a triple IPA beer each. One of the other things about San Diego is their love for craft beer.
“What about her?” I asked my son.
“I’d give her a five, maybe a six.” he replied.
“But she’s drop dead gorgeous.” I objected.
“Dad, she looks like a teeny bopper.” He said. “I don’t care how good she looks. I can’t get past her immature, self-centered attitude.”
“You’re a wiser man than I was at your age.” I said, “But, what age woman are you looking for?” I asked him.
“I want a woman like mom.” he replied without hesitation, “She’s kind and warm and I can trust her.”
“But Tom,” I questioned, “Your mother is 48. Certainly you’re not looking for women that old?”
“Dad, I don’t care about the age. But, I want what I want.” he said straightforwardly.
“Son, when are you going to let go of what happened?” I asked him. He’d been terribly embarrassed when he was turned down for the prom, by a girl he thought was warm and kind and trustworthy. Not only that, but the word about the turn down had gone around on SnapChat. I guess all the girls had been making fun of him. But, he was 21 now, That was three years ago. I’d taken him to the Gasslamp because according to all sources, that was where the ‘babes’ hung out. I gave up.
“It’s getting late, what say we have a final beer somewhere quiet and then call it?” I asked him.
“Fine by me.” he said, downing the last of his beer.
I paid the bill and we walked off around the corner. A block away, I spotted a sign advertising an Irish Pub.
“That looks promising.” I said pointing to the sign.
Since we were in an Irish pub, I ordered myself a Jameson’s. Tom junior had a beer. We found a booth at the back, where we could survey the place. There were the usual three or four men, nursing their beers and watching T.V. Two other booths held couples, but there was one booth with three girls, all shooting Tequilla.
“What about them?” Indicating the table with the three girls. “They seem to be having a good time. Maybe they’d let us join them.”
“Give it up, dad. They are so totally childish.” he replied, trying to shut me down. “I want someone mature.”
“Son, people do grow up. They probably don’t act at all the way you say in normal life. They’re partying tonight and have probably already had too many Tequilla’s. Even a mature woman will act silly with enough drinks in her. Do you want a mature who doesn’t drink, or what?” I argued with him, though I knew my argument was weak. Those girls really were acting like little children.
“I don’t care if she drinks, but if she drinks so much that she acts like those girls, I wouldn’t want to be with her. I want a woman like… her.”, he said pointing to the front door.
A woman was just coming in the door. She looked a lot like my wife in the face, but with a trimmer body. After Martha had born our son and younger daughter, she’d kind of let her figure go. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties.
This woman wasn’t much on top – either that, or I couldn’t tell, because of the loose long sleeved pull-over sweater she was wearing (it gets cool when the fog rolls in), but the shorts she wore (a standard in SD), were a skimpy, high on the thigh number, showing off a fine behind – mature or otherwise. She did wear bangs (unlike my wife) which made her look younger still, so maybe she was older than my estimate.
She came in and sat in a booth by herself. That’s a good sign, I thought unconsciously. A single woman in a booth alone, always turns my eye.
“OK. So go talk to her.” I said.
“Dad!” he protested, “I can’t do that. Whenever I try to talk to a girl, I get all tongue tied. I can’t even talk. My brain freezes.”
“Even with a mature woman like your mom?” I asked.
He just nodded emphatically.
“Everyone gets stage fright.” I said. “Just picture the person you’re talking to as being naked. That’s what actors and public speakers do.”
“Dad. If you make me talk to her, I swear, I’m running away.” he protested vehemently.
I gave in again. “All right. Sounds more serious than I thought. If I go and invite her over, and if she accepts, will you talk to her then?”
“Well sure,” he said. “Once you’ve broken the ice, I can talk. But, you’re still gonna stay here, aren’t ya? I need help with keeping the conversation going, too.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I told him, getting up and heading for the woman’s booth.
“Excuse me,” canlı bahis şirketleri I said to her. “My name’s Tom Short, and my son, sitting in that booth over there, is Tom junior. I was wondering if you could help me out?
“What do you need?” she asked.
“Well, It’s my son, actually.” I replied, “See, he’s terribly, terribly shy. I’ve been trying to get him to talk to girls his own age all night, but he says he only feels comfortable talking with older women, and frankly, I think he has trouble even doing that. Would you mind coming and talking to him for a little bit? He just turned 21 and it’s his birthday. I’d be happy to buy your drinks, if you do.”
She sized me up. “First, my name is Margaret,” she said holding out her hand.
“Pleased to meet you.” I said.
“Second, I’m not sure what good it will do. But since there’s no one else interesting in here, and since you’re buying. Sure, I’ll join you.” she said, sliding out of the booth.
“Mind if I try some top shelf stuff?” She asked. “They’re kind of pricy.”
“Margaret, If you can get my kid at least a little way out of his shell, I’ll buy you the whole bottle.” I said emphatically. “Regardless, I’m sure you’ll do better than you know, and I will be ever so grateful to you.”
“How grateful?” she asked, “You’re a pretty good looking man, yourself. I was actually out tonight hoping to meet someone like you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m married.” I said, showing her my wedding ring.
“Damn.” was all she said.
“You really know how to boost a guy’s ego, though.” I said, trying to smooth things over.
By now, we’d reached the booth.
“Son, this is Margaret…” I started.
“Hall”, she finished for me.
“This is Margaret Hall. Margaret, this is my son, Tom Junior Simmons.” I finished the introductions.
“Pleased to meet you m’am.”, my son replied, shaking her hand.
“My! And so polite, too.” Margaret answered.
“What can I get you?” I interrupted.
“I’ll have a Glenlivet, rocks.” She said. “I do love single malt scotch.”
I went to fetch her order. When I returned to the table, it looked like Margaret and my son were thick as thieves already, laughing at some joke.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, putting the drink in front of Margaret, and sitting down opposite Margaret and Tom.
“Oh nothing.” Tom said, with a little smirk still on his face. “Margaret was telling me a story about when she was my age. I never heard it from a girl’s perspective before. Did you know she was turned down for the prom, too?”
“He doesn’t seem to get that girls his age are just as screwed up as he feels he is. Actually, some girls, women, stay screwed up their whole lives. I was just telling him he needs to learn how to spot ’em. And, he is right to back away, if he’s not comfortable.” She said. She had her hand on his thigh, patting it to emphasize various words.
So Margaret’s siding with him, huh? I thought. Well, that would bring him out of his shell.
“So what about you and mom?” Tom asked. “Were you crazy as teenagers, too?”
“I don’t know about your mom during high school. You’ll have to ask her yourself, because I didn’t meet her till college. But for me, yeah. There were some crazy years while I was getting a grip on my hormones. But I was popular in high school, playing football and running track. I wasn’t aware of ‘female peculiarities’ (I put my fingers up in the quote symbol) till I went to college. It took me five tries to get your mom to go out with me the first time. Just to go out for a burger after a football game. Your mom was very fickle when she was younger.
“You kept trying even though she turned you down?” Tommy asked.
“I did, and then after we had a couple dates, she was chasing me.” I said, rather proudly.
“What about now?” Margaret asked. “Does your wife still chase you?”
I turned to Margaret. “Ever been married?”, I asked.
“I’ve had no time. Business run’s my life. I’m only in San Diego for a business conference, then I’ll be off to Seattle, to get a new office up and running. Home is in Phoenix, but I’m rarely there. Anyway, that’s the long way of saying that I’ve never been married.” She replied.
“I also told your son I wouldn’t be here longer than tonight, so if he screwed up talking to me, no one would ever know,” She laughed, and surprisingly, Tom laughed with her.
“Back to the question.” I said. ” Married life is different. Sure we went through the honeymoon period, and that was followed by a nice, long and comfortable freshly wed period. But after twenty plus years of marriage, chasing each other around the house doesn’t happen much. There’s two kids to consider. And paying the canlı kaçak iddaa mortgage, too.”
“Sounds droll.” Margaret said.
“Not really. There’s a whole lot of satisfaction in raising a fine son.” I replied, looking at my son.
“So pride replaces sex?” she asked, pointedly.
“I’d be lying if I said it did. But sex takes a secondary priority after the children come.” I replied. There was no way I was going to mention the year just passed without either of us being interested in sex.
“What about you?” I asked, trying to get the subject off me and my marital affairs. “You say you’re so busy. What priority does sex have in your life?” I asked, kind of challengingly.
She was quiet for a minute. “Get me another drink, and I’ll tell you.” She finally said.
When I returned with her refill, Margaret and Tom had their heads huddled together, talking somewhat intimately. As, I dropped the drink in front of Margaret, their heads came apart. I handed my son another beer. I was still sipping my Jameson. So I sat back down with my drink in front of me. I looked at Margaret inquiringly, letting her choose when to start talking.
She looked at her watch, and then took a deep breath. She said, “My sex life does take a back seat to my job. I was out tonight, frankly, looking to get laid. I take my moments when I can.”
She took another deep breath. “So here’s the deal. I was just telling Tom junior this while you were getting drinks. It’s getting late and I have to be at the conference in the morning. I don’t need to go to sleep yet, but I will shortly, and I’d really, really, like to go to bed sexually satisfied. So, I’m inviting both of you back to my place for a three-way. Sorry to be so blunt, but my time is limited. I promise, I will help Tom junior out of his shyness all I can. Having sex with a woman, especially virgin sex, usually cures all that. I guess you’d say, I’ve been a cougar on more than one occasion, so I’ve seen the results. Anyway, Tom junior is sweet and nice and polite, but I have the hots for you, Mr. Hall.” she babbled out.
“So here’s the deal. You come back to my hotel room for a three-way, or I leave now. I’ll go back to my room and masturbate, as I do most of the time. I’d rather have you two. But you both need to make up your minds now. I already have Tom junior’s OK.”
She finally ran out of gas, just sitting there and looking at both of us.
I thought long and hard. I could relate to her masturbation statement, I’d been doing it for over the past year,. And knew how much less satisfying it was. And, I agreed with her that getting Tommy laid would eliminate a lot of shyness. Was I willing to commit adultery for my son? Not fair, I thought. In all honesty, I was severely hot to get laid too. I can’t put this all on Tom. OK. I decided to bite that particular bullet.
“Let’s go.” I said, finishing my Jameson. Margaret and Tom were eager to leave and headed out before me. I stopped to pay the bill, then caught up.
Putting my arm around Margaret’s shoulder, opposite my son, and on top of his arm, we strolled down the sidewalk. Well, walked hurriedly, Margaret dragging us along.
“Which Hotel?” I asked.
“It’s the Hyatt, right over there.” she said pointing down a long block and across the trolly tracks.
We scurried along, making small talk as we went. On entering the Hotel, we made out like we were a family retuning for the evening. By the time we made it to Margaret’s door, she already had the floppy pullover off. Upon entering, she pushed us both onto the bed, and then began unbuttoning her blouse sexily, as she swayed her hips.
She stopped, and went over to the dresser, picking up an iPod, and touching the surface. A slow blues number began to play. Then she danced sexily back to the end of her King size bed. Unbuttoning as she came. She removed her blouse sexily, exposing one braless AA sized breast at a time. Then, both, then the blouse was gone into a corner. Her sandals followed.
She leaned over, teasing Tom junior. Her pert little nipples staying a couple of inches away from my son’s seeking tongue, no matter how he jerked his head. Then, she let him have both, hugging his head to them. She let him grab, touch, kiss, and squeeze, then danced away, returning to center stage.
She bent over to a particularly seductive Sax solo, pulling her already unbuttoned shorts over a finely tuned ass. They slid down her shapely, long and slender thighs, before falling to the floor.
I was fixated on her ass. Though she still had on her red thong, there was nothing covering either cheek over her volley ball sized ass cheeks. They jiggled as Margaret started teasing Tommy with her tits. I reached canlı kaçak bahis out and grabbed ass cheek. She looked over at me, and danced her way over till she was in front of me. She grabbed my hands, and brought them to her hips, placing them over the waistband of her thong. She pushed my hands down encouragingly, then moved her hands away and began massaging her breasts. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of each side of Margaret’s waist and slid he thong slowly down and off. When I sat back up. I was staring at a hairless pussy, with just the beginning of her pussy slit exposed. She danced back to Tommy, giving him a clear view of her snatch. As the song ended, she slowly crawled onto the bed, pushing my son before her, till his head was lying on the pillows at the head.
She went to work on his pants. Unclasping the belt, unzipping the fly, and tugging them down, as my son lifted his ass off the bed. His underwear went with the pants, and they both ended up in a pile beside the bed. Then Margaret went to work on my son’s already rigid member.
She turned her head to look at me. “Come eat me.” She said, invitingly, before returning to her ministrations on my son’s cock. I slid my head between Margaret’s wide spread legs till I was looking up at her pussy.
Her pussy reminded me of a closed clam, with nothing but a line visible, till I encouraged the clam to breath. Inside, I was delighted to see a silky moist, and brightly pink interior. Her inner labia were petal like, not too different from the fringe around the edge of the clam’s muscle, though much pinker.
I licked at the nubbin of her clit. Then, licked the length of her slit, pausing to stab my tongue into the hole that was where the clam muscle would be (I promise. This is the end of the clam analogies). I repeated the process, as Margaret’s ass moved in time to the Jazz tune that had now replaced the blues number. We almost made it to the end of the number before I heard my virgin son shouting.
“Ohhh God, I’m cumming.” He screamed, while Margaret swallowed and released his cock.
“MMMMM, good baby.” Margaret said in response. “Give me all you got.”
I went to work on Margaret’s pussy hole, stabbing it unmercifully with my tongue. She drove her hips down, rotating her pelvis in time to my thrusts. We kept this up till Tommy was quiet once more, though still breathing heavy.
I couldn’t see her though, as she said, “Fuck me daddy. I’ll get your son’s cock back to working order.”
I scrambled to get my head out from beneath Margaret’s pulsating cunt and up into a kneeling position behind her ass. I slid in with resistance, she being well lubricated. The feel was satin soft, though her pussy had enough friction to cuck at the skin of my dick as I pulled it from her pussy, to deliver her another blow. More like velvet, I thought, pushing home.
So there my son and I were, in a Hotel room spitting a MILF (ignore the Mother part). Newspaper title gets any bigger? I thought. There was no thought of the mother and wife left back at home. We kept at her, till the pulled off my son and said to me. “He’s ready. Let me turn around so he can fuck me. I want to suck your cock for a while.”
I pulled out so she could turn around, then offered her my cock, which was twitching in beat to my heart. She swallowed me, and immediately had my seven inches all the way in the back of her throat. I looked down and watched her lips wrap around the base of my shaft, sucking at the skin as she pulled he mouth back, off my cock, then she plunged down again. I heard little huffing sounds coming from her other end. I picked up my pace in her mouth, till I matched the huffs from the other end. They were quite fast. Then I slowed down and gave control back to Margaret.
She would lean forward onto my prick, then slide backward, impaling my son’s dick. We worked in unison. This went on for possibly as much as five minutes before my son was spewing his sperm. This set me off, and that set Margaret off. We filled Margaret with father son spunk from both ends of her body.
When I was finished, I slid back and lay on my back. Margaret got off the bed, and immediately began handing out clothes. Damn, I thought, no time for after glow (or finding out if Margaret would be in town some other time). We barely had our clothes on before we were out the door. She was full of apologies, but I knew she wanted to keep the whole thing anonymous.
And that is the story of how I became an adulterer and my son lost his virginity. Huh? What happed after that? Well. Tom Jr. and I took a lot more hunting and fishing trips together. At least three day trips, if not a week. Instead of hunting or fishing, we’d head for a town or city we hadn’t been to, where we’d play the father son gambit. My wife never did want to make love, and I think she was happy when we were gone – no more pressure. We finally divorced.
But keep a look out for us. We may be coming to a town or city near you.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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