I Am Having An Affair
Sooo . . . .
It was one of those days when my self-esteem needed to play princess dress-up. His text was simple: "Good Morning Beautiful, how I wish I could wrap my arms around you today...."
. . . And just like that - JUST LIKE THAT - I"m alive w/desire . . .
I had wishes too. I wished he could join me for lunch. And my fairy godmother had evidently gotten back into town sometime late the night before because, damned if the fates didn't magically align to deposit his text in my phone at 11:45am. Chipotle? 12:30p? Hella YES! I exited my toyota sienna pumpkin coach at 12:40p having battled a managerial dragon or two to make it out of the office alive. (Arrrgh!! Employee issue NOW? Really? REALLY?!!) Pshaw!! Baby, I'm a-comin!!
The line at Chipotle snaked its usual mile, but I'd know my boy-toy anywhere! Head and shoulders above the rest, his gorgeous head bent over his phone . . . texting . . . me. And ludicrously -- I'm suddenly shy. Uncertain. I haven't seen him in so long! A month feels like eons. Will he still want me??? Aren't I too old for him?! His instant grin and reflexive pulling me into his arms banish my doubts. God this man is HOTTTT!!! I mumble embarassed excuses to faceless others as he pulls me through the line to him. PDAs (public displays of affection) are SO uncool -- how the heck are his lips devouring mine in a busy Chipotle line?!! Indecorous. I can't allow it!! But I do.
And when his head finally lifts to flash me that mischievous grin, it's a good thing he's holding me, 'cause that damned recurrent affliction where my bones turn to rubber is happening again. As he spins me around and folds my back into his warm chest, I feel his hands under my coat, under my blouse, under my bra! IN CHIPOTLE. And I protest. Truly I do! But I . . . can't . . . think . . .straight. I surrender to his expert touch, melting back against him and briefly closing my eyes as his long fingers light fires, under cover of my coat, all over my already burning flesh. I feel him stiffen against the curve of my backside, tilted ever so slightly by the 3-inch heels of my boots. He's pressed against me in the busy line. Almost imperceptibly, I undulate. It's instinctive. I need this man. With one hand, he tangles his fingers in my hair, pulls my head back . . . warm lips suckle & singe the curve of my exposed neck. We're next. And I can't focus.
Chipotle - To Go! On the way back to my car, he never lets go. We stop to grab deep, hungry, kisses 3x? 5x?. We stumble into the car laughing. I am protesting this inappropriate public behavior. Holding me at arms length, he makes steady eye contact and describes, sexily, deliberately, EXACTLY what he's going to do to my thighs, my toes, my deepest, darkest, places, with his tongue . . . in my office conference room. On the conference table. I am now insanely wet. I don't recollect any longer, WHY exactly we cannot simply have each other then and there, in broad sunny daylight, in the Chipotle lot. I start the car and drive like my life depends on it. Because it does.
At his place, lunch is forgotten. Our clothes are off almost before we are in the door. As we grapple in breathless ardor, I murmur against his ear that I've shaved for him. This delights him. He demands to SEE. I'm suddenly modest. I struggle & writhe, but he's stronger. Exposed. Spreadeagled for his inspection, I am turned on beyond belief. Wanton. He doesn't leave me waiting long. South of the border, his lovely, long, tongue teases me as I scream his name and hold his head. Aie Caramba!! He picks me up bodily and impales me on his throbbing member, entering me fully as I wrap my legs around him and sink my teeth in his shoulder. He backs me against a wall. We fall on the sofa. Me on top. We roll to the floor. Him on top, then Me - him - us - all a-tangle. His athletic, 6'3" frame owns me decisively. Overtaken by desire in its rawest form, he flips me over, lifts & pulls my hips. God, he's strong! We reach loud climax doggy-style. I sing out his name, he hoarsely harmonizes mine. When it's over, we collapse breathless. Sated. I hurt so GOOD!!! Sexless marriage? *grin* Not me!
Best. Lunch hour. EVER. Bar none.
It was one of those days when my self-esteem needed to play princess dress-up. His text was simple: "Good Morning Beautiful, how I wish I could wrap my arms around you today...."
. . . And just like that - JUST LIKE THAT - I"m alive w/desire . . .
I had wishes too. I wished he could join me for lunch. And my fairy godmother had evidently gotten back into town sometime late the night before because, damned if the fates didn't magically align to deposit his text in my phone at 11:45am. Chipotle? 12:30p? Hella YES! I exited my toyota sienna pumpkin coach at 12:40p having battled a managerial dragon or two to make it out of the office alive. (Arrrgh!! Employee issue NOW? Really? REALLY?!!) Pshaw!! Baby, I'm a-comin!!
The line at Chipotle snaked its usual mile, but I'd know my boy-toy anywhere! Head and shoulders above the rest, his gorgeous head bent over his phone . . . texting . . . me. And ludicrously -- I'm suddenly shy. Uncertain. I haven't seen him in so long! A month feels like eons. Will he still want me??? Aren't I too old for him?! His instant grin and reflexive pulling me into his arms banish my doubts. God this man is HOTTTT!!! I mumble embarassed excuses to faceless others as he pulls me through the line to him. PDAs (public displays of affection) are SO uncool -- how the heck are his lips devouring mine in a busy Chipotle line?!! Indecorous. I can't allow it!! But I do.
And when his head finally lifts to flash me that mischievous grin, it's a good thing he's holding me, 'cause that damned recurrent affliction where my bones turn to rubber is happening again. As he spins me around and folds my back into his warm chest, I feel his hands under my coat, under my blouse, under my bra! IN CHIPOTLE. And I protest. Truly I do! But I . . . can't . . . think . . .straight. I surrender to his expert touch, melting back against him and briefly closing my eyes as his long fingers light fires, under cover of my coat, all over my already burning flesh. I feel him stiffen against the curve of my backside, tilted ever so slightly by the 3-inch heels of my boots. He's pressed against me in the busy line. Almost imperceptibly, I undulate. It's instinctive. I need this man. With one hand, he tangles his fingers in my hair, pulls my head back . . . warm lips suckle & singe the curve of my exposed neck. We're next. And I can't focus.
Chipotle - To Go! On the way back to my car, he never lets go. We stop to grab deep, hungry, kisses 3x? 5x?. We stumble into the car laughing. I am protesting this inappropriate public behavior. Holding me at arms length, he makes steady eye contact and describes, sexily, deliberately, EXACTLY what he's going to do to my thighs, my toes, my deepest, darkest, places, with his tongue . . . in my office conference room. On the conference table. I am now insanely wet. I don't recollect any longer, WHY exactly we cannot simply have each other then and there, in broad sunny daylight, in the Chipotle lot. I start the car and drive like my life depends on it. Because it does.
At his place, lunch is forgotten. Our clothes are off almost before we are in the door. As we grapple in breathless ardor, I murmur against his ear that I've shaved for him. This delights him. He demands to SEE. I'm suddenly modest. I struggle & writhe, but he's stronger. Exposed. Spreadeagled for his inspection, I am turned on beyond belief. Wanton. He doesn't leave me waiting long. South of the border, his lovely, long, tongue teases me as I scream his name and hold his head. Aie Caramba!! He picks me up bodily and impales me on his throbbing member, entering me fully as I wrap my legs around him and sink my teeth in his shoulder. He backs me against a wall. We fall on the sofa. Me on top. We roll to the floor. Him on top, then Me - him - us - all a-tangle. His athletic, 6'3" fr
Best. Lunch hour. EVER. Bar none.
By:
Colormevibrant
Age:
46-50
,
Female
