We had met very recently. He was 11 years older, but who cares when the sex is good, right? I had been to his condo in Cambridge a half dozen times, and I loved it. It was kind of like the East Side of Providence - but bigger and with more potential. This place definitely had potential.
For example, beautiful, thick, wall-to-wall carpeting. The first time I went to spend the night, we didn't even make it up the carpeted stairs leading to the first floor before we started shedding our clothes and climbing all over each other.
Hey, it was a sexy condo.
I don't remember much about it, physically…like, did it have sofas; and if so, where? I do remember a galley kitchen where he fed me my first (and last) spoonful of caviar. And I vaguely recall a huge bed which we most likely used quite often.
I loved his neighborhood. The first weekend I spent there, I got up early, put on my running shoes and ran for about an hour, scoping out the place. Cute little shops and restaurants (or bistros, depending on what was served and the price).
We got into a routine. I drove to Cambridge right after work on Friday. We'd spend Friday night and much of Saturday in that huge bed that I don't quite remember. Sunday mornings, he would go to a quaint (everything in this part of Cambridge was quaint) little diner, with the newspaper, and read, while I went for a run. When I was done, I would join him at the diner, where we would have the biggest fucking breakfast ever. After awhile the wait staff began to order his food when he stepped in the door, and, without even asking, an hour later, have my breakfast ready. They began to know us.
There are two other things that I remember with absolute clarity.
The first: we were driving to Boston to see a play, and I asked him to stop at a small restaurant along the way so I could use the ladies room. And use the ladies room we did. He picked me up, pulled off my panties and took me right on the sink, in front of that ubiquitous restaurant sign: All employees must wash their hands after using the facilities.
Um…no comment.
The second: after leaving the restaurant, we continued our ride into Boston, passing Harvard. But I wasn't done with him yet. Not by a long shot. I leaned over, unzipped his trousers and put his flaccid cock in my mouth. It didn't stay that way for long. I devoured him while he was driving and the naughtiness of what we were doing added to the passion. I sucked him as he continued to drive his car (a stick shift, which didn't make things easy) into Harvard Square. We passed a bus, and the folks sitting on the left hand side must have certainly gotten a great view.
Shortly thereafter he sold the condo and moved to Cape Ann.
I didn't see him again for 15 years.
For example, beautiful, thick, wall-to-wall carpeting. The first time I went to spend the night, we didn't even make it up the carpeted stairs leading to the first floor before we started shedding our clothes and climbing all over each other.
Hey, it was a sexy condo.
I don't remember much about it, physically…like, did it have sofas; and if so, where? I do remember a galley kitchen where he fed me my first (and last) spoonful of caviar. And I vaguely recall a huge bed which we most likely used quite often.
I loved his neighborhood. The first weekend I spent there, I got up early, put on my running shoes and ran for about an hour, scoping out the place. Cute little shops and restaurants (or bistros, depending on what was served and the price).
We got into a routine. I drove to Cambridge right after work on Friday. We'd spend Friday night and much of Saturday in that huge bed that I don't quite remember. Sunday mornings, he would go to a quaint (everything in this part of Cambridge was quaint) little diner, with the newspaper, and read, while I went for a run. When I was done, I would join him at the diner, where we would have the biggest fucking breakfast ever. After awhile the wait staff began to order his food when he stepped in the door, and, without even asking, an hour later, have my breakfast ready. They began to know us.
There are two other things that I remember with absolute clarity.
The first: we were driving to Boston to see a play, and I asked him to stop at a small restaurant along the way so I could use the ladies room. And use the ladies room we did. He picked me up, pulled off my panties and took me right on the sink, in front of that ubiquitous restaurant sign: All employees must wash their hands after using the facilities.
Um…no comment.
The second: after leaving the restaurant, we continued our ride into Boston, passing Harvard. But I wasn't done with him yet. Not by a long shot. I leaned over, unzipped his trousers and put his flaccid cock in my mouth. It didn't stay that way for long. I devoured him while he was driving and the naughtiness of what we were doing added to the passion. I sucked him as he continued to drive his car (a stick shift, which didn't make things easy) into Harvard Square. We passed a bus, and the folks sitting on the left hand side must have certainly gotten a great view.
Shortly thereafter he sold the condo and moved to Cape Ann.
I didn't see him again for 15 years.
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