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bareback oo7: the fetish

In bareback cowgirl on August 24, 2010 at 9:59 pm

After the test run with Mr. Carlton, she decides to screw the attempt at having a valuable relationship with a member of the opposite sex this summer; throwing her arms in the air with defeat and falling backwards into a pit of sexual deviancy. The emotional anxiety of the whole situation with Mr. Carlton left her exhausted and ungratified. Sex is something she can handle with ease and grace. Sex, she decides, will be the theme of this summer.

Whilst out dancing with girlfriends on a Thursday night at Grace O’Malley’s, she decides it is about time to actualize one of her fantasies: older men. And as the night progresses, she finds herself repeatedly coming to the same area of the bar where a stocky, goatee’d middle-aged man is sitting, clad in a baseball cap and polo shirt. He carefully flirts with her, very respectfully, in a subdued and polite, ‘You’re-pretty-cute, but-are-about-half-my-age, and-I-know-there-is-no-way-in-hell-you’d-be-interested-in-me’ kind of way. But, he has stumbled into the right bar on the right night and she just happens to be a girl half his age who has made the executive decision to be into stocky, older men for the evening. And by drink #4 she has dragged this middle-aged man onto the dance floor and is pushing him against a wall, rubbing her body full of youth and vigor against his older, sun-beaten body. And yelled over ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ all she can hear in her ear is “You. Are trouble”, and so she kisses him. And, with her kiss acting as the signature on the permission slip he needed to go on a field trip, he kisses back. Forcefully. And when he asks her if she wants to go to a hotel room, she smiles playfully at him and nods her head, and next she knows she’s in a cab with this retired hockey player with a graying goatee, high on the adrenalin rushing through her veins, chasing the thrill.

She blushes with delight while she stands beside him at the front desk of the hotel, aware of the taboo they have both fallen victim to, and the lack of reaction the receptionist is trying to keep as she hands him their key.

When they reach their room he opens the door for her with a gentlemanly charm and follows her into the dark room. No time is wasted before he has her disrobed and pushed her gently back onto the mattress. His hands begin their journey back to taut skin and celestially perky breasts. He is rubbing and petting her body as if he has forgotten the feeling of youth like and must do whatever he can to engrain it in his memory forever. His lips are magnetizing to whatever crevice of flesh is nearest: the gap between her ear lobe and her cheek, the dip where her collarbones meet, her navel, the bend in her knee. “Everything is just perfect. Everything is just where it is supposed to be.”

She is only 20. Gravity hasn’t found her yet. But she is no swimsuit model, she doesn’t have a six-pack, or any sharp shadows from muscle tone. She is the skinny curvy type, with the boobs and the hips and the shapely thighs with the skinny ankles and high cheekbones and a soft, flat stomach, but never has anyone put her on this pedestal of idolism.

When he falls beside her, panting and exhausted, she asks the question they both know needs to be asked:

“So, how old are you?”

“…41.”

And she yelps with delight and her sweaty, naked body is clung even tighter against his. This reaction, was just that: a reaction. And she very rarely reacts. So she shocks herself a little bit when the indelible truth slips out, convincing her further than any valid reasoning of Richard Gere and George Clooney crushes could, that, yes, she had a fetish, and it was for men twice her age.

Equally curious, he asks “How old are you???”

“20!” She says much too loudly for pillow talk, still enthused from the alcohol.

His body freezes beside her before he says “Oh my fucking God. You have got to be kidding me. You are SO the topic of my locker room conversation tomorrow night.” And he bites her neck hard because he’s into that and then starts the beginning of round two.

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