I met her at a Starbucks. She was 47, in the process of getting divorced and had 3 children. She was cute. She'd never been to college. She'd never moved out of the town she was born in. The highlight of her life was a short trip she'd taken to New York City to meet one of her brothers. She'd worked at Home Depot for years. And worked an extra job on weekends at Sears. But she was cheerful. She felt she had it good.
She'd been married for 22 years and had asked her husband to leave about a year ago. Since then she's been 'finding' herself and experimenting. She'd had a very constrained life. At the time of her separation, she'd only been with 2 men in her life. After the separation, she had a feeling of liberation, and said she wanted live for herself, especially now that her children were grown up. She'd been with 5 men since her separation, and they'd introduced her to all kinds of physical pleasures she hadn't known before. She started smoking pot, and admitted to having done so before our date that morning. She was clearly reliving her teenage years too.
Even before we met it was clear that she liked me. I was exotic. The only non-white man she'd been with was a much younger Mexican colleague of hers. Theirs was a purely sexual relationship and neither had any other expectations of each other. She was excited to meet me, but also nervous, which was probably why she'd smoked weed. She sent me a photo of her bust (fully clothed, though) that morning. She was attractive.
Within a few minutes of meeting her, I knew that it was only a matter of time before we started messing around. And that happened within a few minutes. With our drinks we walked over to my car. I put my hand out to hold her hand. She leaned forward, wanting a kiss. I obliged. She said I was a good kisser. I kissed her neck and she loved it. 'No hickies, please,' she said, but did nothing to prevent me from giving her one.
We drove around a bit and then came back to the parking lot within a few minutes since you can't make out while you're driving. I parked in a dark spot in an underground structure and we made out unabashedly.
She was clearly insecure and loved it every time I even gave her a small compliment. She said she loved my accent. She loved my skin. She loved the way I kissed her. She said she wanted to please me. We were far away from my place, and a couple of her children were at her place, otherwise we'd have gone to bed with each other. She was willing and eager. In the event we stayed in the car, and she touched me all over before bending over and sucking my penis. It was very pleasurable. I sucked her thick, pink nipples and she moaned in delight.
Even as we made out, I felt wretched. I had nothing in common with her. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable or smart. She had no idea of what happened in the world. She acknowledged that she found NPR to be beyond her comprehension. She listened to a music radio station that I would never have tuned into my lifetime. She had no idea what it meant to cross cultures and boundaries. She wasn't articulate. We had nothing to talk about other than sex. And for most of the time we spent with each other, that was precisely the topic of conversation.
And, yet, I continued to engage her in carnal pleasures. It was my dick thinking for me, not my brain. She was good at what she did. She wanted to please and said so. As I ejaculated in my underwear (since I don't like to do so in a woman's mouth), I felt miserable. I don't think she realized that I'd ejaculated. Just as well, as it provided me with a fig-leaf of respectability to end our date on. She asked when we'd meet next. She was willing to come over to my place. We made plans to meet in a week, but I knew it was a lie. I'd have to find a way of getting out of it, because I didn't want to encourage this any further. Sure, she was expecting nothing more than sex from me, but I couldn't do that. At least if I thought I could offer a hand in friendship I'd have no problem in exchanging that for sex. But I knew we didn't have any of the ingredients even for a tenuous friendship.
On my drive back I wondered why I had allowed myself to get physical with her even as my mind told me not to do so. It then occurred to me that both of us were seeking the same thing: validation for ourselves in the arms of strangers, validation that we could lead exciting lives by becoming thoughtless teenagers all over again in our middle age. And, yet, it's hard to desist. You're addicted to the pleasure and the high it provides. Even though the high is only temporary, as it was in this case.
When I reached home there were already three photos of hers waiting for me in my inbox. They were all various poses of her large breasts. But I turned my eyes away.
The rest of day I continued to feel miserable and lay in bed, aimlessly wandering from one random thought to another, accomplishing nothing all day. At numerous times I promised myself that I'd never get into these empty sexual encounters again. But I know that I will. It was only a matter of time before I feel the urge again, to seek out the thrill of seducing another woman. For it's like a narcotic, and as a friend says, I'm addicted to it.
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