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I was new in town, a 22-year-old professional fresh out of college and recently relocated with no connections other than my Facebook friends, who were all over 1,000 miles away. My new job was great, and I had a fabulous condo overlooking the water, but I was still finding myself alone and unfulfilled. And it’s not like I didn’t have opportunities to go out – there were lots of evenings out after work, having drinks with colleagues, or the company box at the baseball games, but it still wasn’t enough.
Over the Sunday paper at my favorite local coffee house, I mapped out some activities for the next week that would get me out, cirulating with a different crowd. On Tuesday, I found myself at a benefit concert for the university hospital. Thursday, it was a neighborhood council meeting. And Friday, I met Jeff at a horticultural lecture at the Washington Arboretum. I wasn’t particularly interested in the lecture, I had to admit, but I thought it might be a nice chance to meet a different type of person, perhaps a bit more cultured crowd.
Jeff was, I guessed, in his late 40’s, with an athletic build, dashing good looks, and an impressive wardrobe to match. He was there alone, but seemed to know all of the important people, as he mingled effortlessly, chatting up the room. Very clearly, he was gay. But I still found myself sucked in by his charm, and we found ourselves talking for at least an hour over the open bar, until we were finally, politely, asked to leave.
“So, Emily,” he said as we walked through the dark parking lot to our cars, “I take it horticulture isn’t your passion?”
“Well, frankly, Jeff, I haven’t found my passion yet! I just know that I’m interested in experiencing more of the city’s cultural offerings?”
“I’d be happy to help. You know, I’m a season ticket holder for both the symphony and the ballet, and I’m always looking for new friends to accompany me!”
“I would love that. Here’s my number, please feel free to give me a call the next time you have a free ticket!”
It was less than a week later that I heard from him, and our first ‘date’ was a string quartet recital. I was excited, but just as uninformed as I had been when it came to the horticultural lecture – classical music was just as much Greek to me! But Jeff was great – patient in explaining to me everything from concert hall etiquette to interesting tidbits about the composers’ biographies. It was a wonderful evening, free of the stress of an actual date, with no sexual tension to get in the way of enjoying a beautiful night out.
A few weeks later, we spent an evening at the ballet. By this point, we’d had some nice phone conversations, met for coffee a few times (it turned out that he worked not far from my office) and I was beginning to value him not just as my own personal cultural mentor, but as my first real friend in town.
I told a few of my old college friends about him over e-mail, and was met with the expected “all the great ones are either gay or taken, huh?” to which I could only respond in the affirmative. But I truly didn’t think of him in those terms – not that he wasn’t attractive, as he certainly emek escort was. In fact, I often blushed when I felt his eyes move over my body when he picked me up for an evening out – before reminding myself that gay guys are often fashion buffs, and he was probably just admiring my little black dress.
Anyway, enough of that. After a few more nights out on the highbrow town, he invited me over to his place for dinner and some music – turned out he was secretly a fine cellist, though he didn’t advertise the fact until he felt truly comfortable with someone. I was honored that he had decided to extend the invitation, and didn’t hesitate to accept. Even though it would just be the two of us, I dressed up, not wanting to let him down, and bought a nice bottle of wine on my way over.
I waited for just a moment outside his door before he answered my knock, and was greeted with the usual complement of my appearance, his deep blue eyes taking in my blonde hair done up in a fancy up-do, my fitted black knit dress clinging to my curves, a colorful silk scarf draped over my shoulders.
“Wow, don’t you look great, Emily!”
“Thanks, Jeff! And wow, it smells wonderful in here, what have you cooked for us?”
“Ah, that’s a surprise. For now, please just make yourself at home. Can I pour you a glass of wine – that’s a wonderful vintage you picked out, by the way!”
“Sure,” I said, sitting down on his sofa as he disappeared into the kitchen. Everything about his home fit what I already knew of his personality. Clean and organized, but also full of interesting artwork, meticulously tended plants, shelves bursting with books. And then there was his cello, sitting on its side on the floor, next to a chair and a music stand overwhelmed with sheet music.
He returned, handed me a glass of wine, and without a word, sat down on that chair, picked up that cello, and began to play. I was immediately taken in, partly because the music was beautiful, but mostly by watching him play, his long limbs wrapped around the instrument, his legs moving with it with each phrase, his arm coaxing the sound out as he stroked it with the bow.
His words broke the silence, before I realized I had lost myself in the moment. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Oh, um, yes, Jeff! I’m sorry, I got a little lost there, the music was so beautiful!”
“You did look like you went into another world there for a minute, what were you thinking?”
“Well, frankly, I had no idea the playing the cello was so sensual. Um…”
“No, don’t be bashful, you’re absolutely right. Here, would you like to try it?”
“Oh, no, I would sound terrible – I’ve never played an instrument before!”
“No, I insist. It’s worth experiencing the feeling, if only just once.”
Not wanting to offend, I decided to go along with the idea, even though I was afraid I would elicit a sound more like strangling cats than like the Mozart piece he had shared with me earlier. He showed me how to sit in the chair, how to position the big instrument between my legs, my dress sliding up my thighs as I did so, and how to hold the bow and eryaman escort pull it across the string.
The first sound was actually worse than strangling cats, but he soon came to my rescue, standing behind me and taking my hand in his to show me how to guide the bow more gently, resulting in a sound somewhat resembling a musical note. I looked up at him and smiled, delighted at my small accomplishment, and blushed as his eyes locked on mine.
“So, Emily, are there any other feelings you’d like to experience tonight?”
“Um, I’m not sure I know what you mean?”
“You must think I’m too old for you, is that it?”
“Uh, you’ve lost me, Jeff. I mean, aren’t you…” I was confused, still convinced he was gay, but suddenly shy about saying it aloud. And his eyes, still looking deep into mine, betrayed a desire most certainly not platonic.
He didn’t answer, instead taking the bow from my hand and placing it gently on the coffee table. His hands now rested on my shoulders, rubbing first gently, then with some firmness, and I arched my back and allowed my head to fall back against his stomach. The cello still rested between my legs, forcing them apart and leaving my dress high up on my thighs. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I decided to play along.
Before I knew what he was doing, Jeff had loosened the clip from my hair so that my carefully designed up-do cascaded down around my shoulders. His firm hands now moved down to my breasts, cupping them through the fabric of my dress and massaging them gently. I sighed in response, and he continued, stopping only to take hold of the cello and set it aside.
I took the opportunity to stand up from the chair, although I kept my back to him, loving the feel of having his hands envelop my body just as they had the cello. He bent down and licked my earlobe, gradually tracing down my neck, as his hands were busy untying the fabric knot at the back of my neck. Once loosened, his hands easily found their way inside my dress, now cupping my tits skin-on-skin. I closed my eyes and soaked up the sensational feeling as his expert hands massaged me. Instinctively, I ground my hips into his, feeling his bulge press against my ass.
While he continued to fondle my breasts with one hand, his other reached down, stroking my thigh and gradually reaching towards my pussy. As my dress began to slip off my body, I encouraged him by spreading my legs, and moaned deeply when his fingers finally reached my clit and began rubbing it through my already-soaked panties.
I reached behind my back and began stroking his hard cock through his pants, as he continued to rub my clit and fondle my tits. One, then two, then three fingers found their way inside my panties, and he was now stroking me vigorously, pinching my nipples as he began to slip a finger inside my pussy. I moaned loudly and gave up my motions on his cock, letting my body weight fall into his as he brought me to new heights of pleasure.
After a few minutes, he guided me over to his large leather sofa, encouraged me to step out of my dress and panties completely, and motioned ankara escort for me to sit down. Kneeling between my legs, he kissed up and down my inner thighs for a few moments before finally reaching my clit again, this time with his tongue. Aside from one crazy experiment with my roommate in college, I’d never had such an expert tongue pleasure me, and I came very quickly.
Jeff stood up and undressed, tossing his clothes aside and revealing, finally, his impressive cock, which sprang free, already erect, as soon as he pulled off his boxers. He climbed on top of me in a 69 position, his cock dangling over my mouth, and began to lick my juices from my pussy lips as I took him into my mouth.
I was quickly moaning again as he licked back and forth across my pussy, his tongue now darting in and out, but my moans were soon stifled as he pressed more and more of his length into my mouth, and into my throat. I wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft and squeezed him with each of his thrusts, as his balls slapped against my skin and I squirmed in pleasure beneath him.
This was my first 69, and I was loving every second of it, as we pleasured each other for what seemed like hours, shifting positions occasionally for a new sensation. Once I found myself on top, I took advantage of the opportunity, dying to feel his cock buried deep in my pussy. After taking his entire length into my mouth a few more times, I pulled away and turned to face him, straddling him and slowly lowering myself onto his long, hard cock.
The feeling was incredible, as his cock pulsed inside of me, the biggest I had ever experienced. I alternated between rotating my hips in a long, slow circle and riding him fast and hard, shifting between the two just as I felt I was about to cum, to prolong the pleasure.
“Are you ready to cum, Emily? Do you want to feel what it’s like when I really fuck you hard?”
“Oh, god yes, Jeff, I want you to pound my tight little pussy until we both cum!”
He lifted me off of his cock and we both stood up, walked around to the other side of the sofa, and he bent me over it, my swollen nipples pressing into the cold leather as he reached down and aggressively spread my legs wide apart. I was completely vulnerable now, and I knew what was coming next.
In one fast, hard motion, he pounded into me, and I cried out in pleasure at the depth of his penetration. Before I even had a chance to breathe, he began thrusting faster and faster, bringing us both very quickly to the brink of orgasm. He let his weight fall against mine, pressing me harder into the cold leather as he reached around and grabbed my tits, kneading them hard as I came, finally overwhelmed by wave after wave of pleasure.
He continued to fuck me for a few moments more, before finally jerking and spasming inside of me and pulling out to shoot his load across my ass. I remained there, too tired and too happy to move, as he returned to the other side of the sofa and collapsed there, looking up at me with smiling eyes.
“So, what were you saying earlier, you weren’t sure what I meant?”
I smiled, embarrassed that I had ever thought he was gay. “Um, well, let’s just say I was wrong about you. Turns out, I’m the one who’s, well…. let’s just say I’m a whore to culture. Get it?”
“Yes, hard to miss a pun that bad. But hey, don’t call yourself a whore. A dirty little slut, maybe…”