The Day Before
1
The Day Before
What was I thinking of? I am 39 years old with a string of failed relationships behind me. Two years of self-imposed sexual abstinence and here I am waking up in a stranger’s bed. So much for all that fucking ‘Law of Attraction’ literature I’ve drowned myself. I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something pretty shocking in a previous life.
I scan the room through the slits in my eyelids. Slowly at first. Fearful of what they might reveal. The dull ache of last night’s excesses still playing havoc with the signals my eyes are transmitting to my brain. Without daring to look, I tentatively probe the bed space beside me. Utterly charming! Last night’s dalliance had taken flight.
My eyes switch to the bedside table. Just maybe a note by way of explanation for the void that exists beside me. To hell with it. All that ‘sorry I had to dash’ business can save until later. Subconsciously my other hand starts to caress parts of my body. Ouch! Everywhere I touch seems to ache. No surprise! The most sensitive areas are my ‘lady bits’. Is it possible they are still pulsating? It must have been one hell of a session. The flashbacks from last night clearly beginning to win the wrestling match with the alcohol haze clouding my thoughts. Do I really want to be reminded already? Quick, think of something else.
Deep breaths. I relax my arm so that it rests onto my chest. What? My skin feels like it’s peeling off. For a moment it sends my head into a spin. Argh, I remember now. Of course, my favourite party trick. Ushering him forward to thrust his cock between my pert breasts and at the very last minute; lifting my chin to avoid threads of his warm spunk streaking my face. I know better than to keep my eyes open, just in case he was a long-range shooter. It seems most men secretly love scribbling their initials with their fluids, almost like signing off some sort of contract. Job done? Not on the first date my lovely. Maybe another time, if he’s a good boy and performs as I want him to. Dusting off my pert breasts, I momentarily convince myself that maybe there are advantages to not having had any kids yet.
It had been 2 years since my last failed relationship. I had taken a vow of chastity in the vain hope that by some magic unquantifiable force, Mr Right would be encouraged to pop by. I have lived the near perfect life, clean and pure (in the eyes of many) and yet nothing. Not even a sniff from a half decent bloke. Yes, there had been offers but then why wouldn’t there be? Me a high-flying Executive at one of Europe’s largest banks. Many a co-worker; married or not, fancied their chances with the single, smartly dressed and charming Head of Human Resources. Hell, I deserved a blow-out surely. Perhaps it was the excitement of meeting up with my cousin Christina again after all these years. The prospect of consuming the raw energy from our impending trip to Iceland may have triggered my curious too. I can’t think about that now. I’m in need of another couple of hours sleep and then home to pack before my flight tomorrow.
I close my eyes and sleep starts to take over me. I desperately try not to think about last night, clearing my mind in the hope that the switch into slumber will finally flick. Hopeless! The whole memory comes flooding back like an existential Tsunami. I catch my breath.
It had been a while since I’ve been out socially. If you can call it that. Certainly not in the company of prospective suitors anyhow. I had also been too busy with work to hang out with my girlfriends with most of them offering me only an hour here or there at most. Too busy for cocktails and flirting in the wine bars these days. Husbands or not.
For some bizarre reason I had decided to try ‘slow’ dating. There had been a fair bit of fuss amongst the ‘youth’ in the office about it. From what I could gather from the snippets of conversation that I tried desperately to pretend I was not listening into, it was a cross between online dating and speed dating. In years gone by, I had sampled both varieties with mixed results. Both seemed awash with players and those who were already in relationships. Look, I’m head of HR for heavens sake, I can smell the bullshit from a mile away. I did enjoy shooting them down though, once I’d tangled them up in their own webs of deceit.
I filled out the application online. I found a semi good-looking pic of myself wearing a sharp business suit and then another with me wearing a tailored blouse. That should get some attention I thought especially with my ample cleavage bursting out. I posted it and I waited to see if there was any interest. Having read the blurb on the website the process appeared to involve making five choices from the available attendees. If there was a match, then you would get to spend 10 minutes with them at the chosen venue. If no match, then you keep on making selections until the deadline, which was 30 minutes before the start time. Oh the excitement levels of a whole venue full of first dates. Imagine getting on well with your ‘slow’ date only to watch them move on to the voluptuous blonde sitting on the other side of the room. Hardly what I had in mind whilst watching the endless carousel of fairytales as a child.
I played it cool. I browsed profiles to see if anyone caught my eye. I saw a few attractive men, so I clicked the flirt button on their profiles. I dismissed the ones with pictures that included holding a big fish or stroking a drugged-up tiger. It all feels a bit too clinical and very shallow. I’m just after a good time I remind myself. And of course, it’s important to make sure everything is in good working order, just in case I get lucky during the holiday.
A few days had gone by and matches were being made. I had managed to secure four 10 minutes chats at the venue. I hadn’t been particularly blown away by my matches and I began to think it was a waste of time. Let’s just hope that the stories I’d heard around the office about these events being a hotbed of promiscuity weren’t all fiction. I distinctly remember falling asleep and then bizarrely waking up at 3 am. Not like me, I can normally sleep for England. My golden rule is to never look at the phone for fear of getting drawn in and disturbing my sleep pattern. The message light on my phone was blinking.
It was my final match. His name was Benjamin but liked to be called Ben. He was a few years younger than me with short spikey blonde hair. His pic was smoking hot! He was wearing a tight, ripped white t-shirt, black jeans, with white boxers just edging over the top of them. Tasteful ankle length boots too I thought. That pic really turned me on, even at that ungodly hour. His messages were a little innocent and a little sexually teasing. It’s was clear he was horny but also looking for a relationship. Hmmm! I bet that’s what he messages to all the ladies in his attempt to dangle the proverbial carrot. What did I have to lose? If nothing else, I can lay back and think of Elias, my Swedish Adonis.
My message pattern was dominated by Ben. No room for the other four. We messaged back and forth for a few days. Our messages started out flirty but got dirty, really fast. This was a sure way to make the most of the allotted 10 minutes with both of us knowing exactly what we wanted.
The venue was a hotel bar close to where he lived. Convenient. If we ‘clicked’, I’d guess this would have the advantage of heading back to his for the night. Of course, I may just be wooed by one of the other 4. Who knows? By the time Saturday comes, I was a horny mess. All I can do was think about Ben. Cold showers weren’t helping. Sex is always on my mind, especially with Elias. Ben would hopefully be a good proxy. It was so hard not to touch myself while rereading all Ben’s messages.
When last night finally arrived, it was time for me to get ready. I showered, got dressed and was about to head out. I double checked my outfit to make sure it was alright. I wore a tight, short dress, black in colour, sheer nylons, and high heeled boots. Check. A little perfume. Check. Off to the hotel, I go. I made my way to the bar and surveyed everyone in there. I was pleasantly surprised when I spotted Ben. He looked even better in person than he did in his photos. He seems approximately the age he said in his profile and he’s not wearing Cuban heels to give him that extra 2 inches up to 6 foot.
He is wearing a very tight black stylish shirt. It is short-sleeved, his muscles were bulging. My eyes flitted South and I caught a glimpse of his handsomely sized package. He looked amazing. I walked up to him, he hadn’t noticed me at that point. I put my hand on his back and said hello. He turned around and thankfully looked just as pleased to see me. This was against the ‘slow-dating’ rules.
After a week of messaging, we both had one thing on our mind. We both wanted each other. I put my hand on his back and slowly moved it down and grabbed his ass while he faced the bar engaging with the barman. I wanted to give the impression I was in control and in that way demand he give me a good fucking. I needed that so much. He smiled at me and gave me a wink. We agreed to move from the bar to a booth, leaving the ‘slow’ dating procession as far away on the other side of the bar as possible. How naughty I thought.
Ben had one hand on his drink and the other hand on the top of my thigh rubbing it gently. His hand went down to the bottom of my dress and slowly pulled it up. His hand slipped between my thighs and slowly rubbed my panties, which were getting really quite wet. Mmmm that feeling. The look on his face told me he was desperate to discover my smouldering pussy beneath.
His rubbing on my panties became more hurried. We were in a back corner so we were out of the way, no one could see our hand movements. Ben unbuttoned his jeans and stuck my hand down his boxers. I gripped his cock tightly, slowly at first, then picking up the pace of movements. Purposefully flicking my hand back and forth. He was a good size (which is always a relief). His cock seemed to grow at least another 2 inches as I wanked him. He released a little moan. A good sign.
I suggested going somewhere more secluded, my pussy lips were on fire. I took my hand out of his pants and the waft of pure pheromone snaked up my nostrils. I flicked my index finger of the top of his shaft scooping up a globule of his excitement as I did. I popped the finger tantilisingly in my mouth. He was tasty. He gave me a kiss. We finished our drinks and headed out the door, hand in hand.
We walked out of the lounge and down a long hallway. It was after 10 pm. It seemed quiet. Ben was rubbing my soaking pussy while I grabbed his firm ass. I spotted a quiet recess in the corridor and pulled him in. We kissed and he pulled up my skirt past my hips, sliding my panties down at the same time. After that, his hand went straight for my wet pussy. Probing it hard, Ben bent down and started to explore me with his tongue. Finding my clit, he sucked hard making me almost shriek out in pleasure. Fingers and mouth together please me every time.
I gestured him up and then, without hesitation, I release the monster cock for the second time. God, he feels good. My finger finds the tip of his cock and then I work my way slowly down his shaft. The very thought of where that length needed to be had my pussy in spasms. He moaned loudly, he was ready for me. We both looked into each other’s eyes with that certain knowing look. He didn’t object when I suggested going straight back to his place.
I suddenly wake with what feels like a hot flush. That would be just my luck. Early onset menopause? I turn my head and notice a beam of sunlight directed towards my cheek. I sigh with relief. My head suddenly feels much clearer, so I muster the courage to look at my phone. I notice that I’ve been asleep for another two hours. The haze and alcohol induced fear has finally lifted.
I scan the room for a second time, this time noticing the door to what I hoped was an en-suite. I’m going to have to grab a shower. I’m conscious I must smell like a naughty girl’s bedroom plus with the white flakes occasionally fluttering onto the bed sheets, it would take the walk of shame to a whole new level. Hopefully Ben has some nice balm in the bathroom so I can soothe my battered bits.
I push forward into a crouching position, purposely shaking some of Ben’s residue onto the sheets. A little reminder for him later.
I make my way to the shower and turn on the water. As the water cascades over my curves I’m left pondering how shallow this whole ‘one night’ thing can make you feel. I’m better than this. I’m nobody’s casual fun or dirty little secret. Best try and put this one out of my mind and look forward to purifying my mind and soul amongst natural wonders in Iceland.
I’m so excited to see Christina again and to meet Eric for the first time. I smile as I get a flash back to that late 80s comedy film ‘Eric the Viking’. I wonder if he looks like a Viking? Eric appeared wonderful, after having consumed all the gushing texts from Christina since we picked up contact again. It was a challenge to keep her focused on the arrangements for the trip. How lucky she was to have found the love of her life after her failed marriage. Heaven knows what went on with her marriage to Olas, but I’m sure I can lend an ear should she wish to share. My sisters were dying to find out all the gossip, but I had teased them with the ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’ line.
I’m feeling positive again after my shower and with my cosseted thoughts about the exciting trip tomorrow, I throw my dress on and head for the door. As I open the door, the draft dislodges a note that flutters to the floor behind me. It must have been on the hallway table. That’s where it belongs. I shrug as I hastily shut the door behind me.
