Coffee Date
I've been on a dating site for almost a year now (I know that because it was a New Year resolution!) and have tended to go through phases of actively looking, or else not looking at all.
Quite often men's photos are almost as old as the men themselves! And the conversation skills can tend to be non-existent when they don't have access to emojis! So I get bored with crude and obscene messages or dick pics on there (both of which is what I come on HERE for!).
Anyway, I agreed to a coffee date last week with a younger man who looked like his photos, was intelligent and interesting. Quite a surprise given the usual numpties on there and I was impressed that he had obviously read my profile before messaging me and seemed genuinely curious about me and my life. (I was also quietly thrilled that he was attracted to me).
We chatted briefly online before agreeing to a date (after all, that's what it is designed for). I insisted on a coffee date in the first instance, primarily because it is easier to excuse oneself earlier from a coffee date if it isn't going particularly well; but secondly because too much alcohol (I do drink more quickly than is good for me when I am nervous) has a tendency at times to part my legs. . .
So we agreed to meet at a small, friendly coffee shop in Hale Barns, about a 15 minute drive for me. I arrived in plenty of time, parked up – and only then found to my horror that the shop was closed for a week to accommodate the owners' holiday. I quickly messaged Martin. He took the news in his stride and completely unflustered, simply suggested that I visit him for coffee as he only lived a five minute walk away.
I found it easily enough, a traditional but extended Georgian semi with a neat front lawn. As I fastened the garden gate behind me I'd swear I saw the neighbour's curtain twitch and looking slowly around, I had the distinct impression that more that one pair of eyes were trained on me. Over zealous Neighbourhood Watch perhaps?
Martin opened the door on the second chime. Stood there in a plain white poplin shirt, jeans with a brown leather belt and brown brogues, he looked the very essence of smart, casual suburban man. His lovely, welcoming smile exuded a warm and genuine welcome. He invited me straight through to the kitchen, a tastefully modernised room with a beautiful view of the rear garden.
A cafetière ready, he chatted easily whilst waiting for the kettle to warm up. He asked if I had run the gauntlet of prying eyes and I told him about the curtain twitch next door. “Aah, that's Gerald.- a 72 year old widower. Having seen your legs he'll undoubtedly still be masturbating furiously behind the curtain!” He laughed as he poured the coffee and did not pause to allow me to become uncomfortable or embarrassed by that comment. Instead, he offered me a slice of lemon drizzle cake made by his ex-wife. They are still on very good terms apparently. For my part, I was pleased that in order to say what he did about his neighbour, Martin too must have seen my legs and formed his own favourable view of them. And it crossed my mind that if his ex-wife was as good in bed as she was at baking, they would still be together. . . . .
We moved through to the living room and Martin invited me to sit on the sofa – a large and comfortable piece of furniture whilst he sat the other side of a large oak coffee table. The room was immaculately decorated and furnished in what I would term a classic style. I was unsure whether to feel relieved that he wasn't attempting to be a sleaze bag and crawl all over me, or disappointed that he was treating this coffee date as exactly that.
Again, we chatted about family, his work, our experiences of the dating line. We must have talked for about an hour – light hearted, whimsical and so easy! I had already resolved to see him again. Not only was he young, tall, handsome and intelligent, he had a self assuredness about him that never strayed towards arrogance, and was very attractive.
After I had declined a second coffee he stood and asked if I minded if he joined me on the sofa for a quick kiss before I left. I had no objections at all! He sat in close to me and we tentatively embraced as our lips met and our tongues danced together. He had one arm and hand cushioning the back of my head and as I warmed to my task of kissing him, I felt his other hand gently cup my breast through my top. Not breaking from our kiss, I covered his hand with my own and pressed forcefully against my breast. My! It felt good!!
Seconds later, he broke from our kiss and told me I had made him feel uncomfortable. Under my breath I cursed myself for being so forward and blushed as I apologised. He looked me in the eye as he grabbed my hand to show me how uncomfortable I had made him. He pushed my hand flat against the crotch of his jeans and I felt his hard, stiffness. “Perhaps you might want to come upstairs and put right that wrong?!
He was now standing, with his hand outstretched to take mine. His groin was directly in my eye line. I took his hand and followed him wordlessly up the stairs. I stood at the foot of the bed whilst he drew the curtains (even though we were not directly overlooked) and looked around the room. It was very simply decorated and the only furniture was a king size bed, a side table and a set of drawers. I guessed from the lack of a wardrobe that this was a spare room. The duvet cover, sheet and pillow cases were freshly laundered and ironed.
“Now, where were we?” he said airily. He pressed gently but firmly on my shoulder, almost inviting me. “It might be better if you were on your knees”. He slid of his belt as I traced the contour of his cock with my hand. He undid his jeans button and allowed me to unzip him and pull his jeans to his knees. I resumed tracing the contour of his cock, this time through his briefs and this time with my teeth.
I pulled his briefs to his knees too and his cock sprung to attention. It was beautiful. Standing proud and stiff and only millimetres from my lips. I didn't need a second invite, I sucked the knob into my mouth as my hand massaged his balls. Martin grunted as I wrapped my tongue around the head and massaged it.
He pushed my head away momentarily to allow him to remove his jeans, briefs, shoes and socks. He sat on the side of the bed and lay back as he pulled my head back to be confronted with his stiffness. His cock was now jutting up towards his chin. I closed my fingers firmly around the base so that it was now pointing at the ceiling and resumed my oral caresses.
The first time I heard Martin swear. . . “Fuck!! You are amazing Brenda! Oh God!! Suck it you gorgeous bitch”. He now had both hands on my head and was fucking my mouth as it bobbed rhythmically up and down his shaft. My hand had increased pace to match my mouth. “Do you want me to cum in your mouth?” I tried to mouth “Mmmm mmm” without breaking from my duties. He clearly understood. “Oh yes, you are a little cum slut aren't you? I knew the first time I saw your photo that you'd be a cum slut”.
I thrilled to his words and for a second wondered if Gerald next door had shot his load yet, desperately imagining getting between my legs. I settled to my task with renewed vigour. Mouth, tongue and hand working in unison. “Oh shit!! Oh fuck!! I'm cumming! Take daddy's cum sweet baby! Milk daddy dry”. It sounded strange given that Martin is 15 years my junior but no less exciting for all that.
He shot his load and it hit the back of my throat with surprising force. I tightened my lips around his knob to vacuum seal my mouth so that I didn't spill a drop. Martin suddenly sat up and said “Kiss me, darling”. He kissed me fiercely, his tongue searching out the last remnants of his cum.
You are fucking amazing Brenda – thank you!”
I was still on my knees as he started dressing. “Are you sure you don't want another coffee before you go?”
I again declined and followed him downstairs. He opened the front door and ushered me out. “I'll ring you to arrange for us to get together again”. He oozed charm and efficiency in equal measure in getting me out of the door in double quick time.
Not quite the coffee date I was expecting – though probably a lot closer to the one I was wanting.
Martin hasn't phoned yet but I can't wait for him to. After all, next time is his turn to work. I want to feel the powerful, frantic lunges as he drives that big, stiff dick in and out of me. . . .
And yes, I want to enjoy being a cum slut!
Quite often men's photos are almost as old as the men themselves! And the conversation skills can tend to be non-existent when they don't have access to emojis! So I get bored with crude and obscene messages or dick pics on there (both of which is what I come on HERE for!).
Anyway, I agreed to a coffee date last week with a younger man who looked like his photos, was intelligent and interesting. Quite a surprise given the usual numpties on there and I was impressed that he had obviously read my profile before messaging me and seemed genuinely curious about me and my life. (I was also quietly thrilled that he was attracted to me).
We chatted briefly online before agreeing to a date (after all, that's what it is designed for). I insisted on a coffee date in the first instance, primarily because it is easier to excuse oneself earlier from a coffee date if it isn't going particularly well; but secondly because too much alcohol (I do drink more quickly than is good for me when I am nervous) has a tendency at times to part my legs. . .
So we agreed to meet at a small, friendly coffee shop in Hale Barns, about a 15 minute drive for me. I arrived in plenty of time, parked up – and only then found to my horror that the shop was closed for a week to accommodate the owners' holiday. I quickly messaged Martin. He took the news in his stride and completely unflustered, simply suggested that I visit him for coffee as he only lived a five minute walk away.
I found it easily enough, a traditional but extended Georgian semi with a neat front lawn. As I fastened the garden gate behind me I'd swear I saw the neighbour's curtain twitch and looking slowly around, I had the distinct impression that more that one pair of eyes were trained on me. Over zealous Neighbourhood Watch perhaps?
Martin opened the door on the second chime. Stood there in a plain white poplin shirt, jeans with a brown leather belt and brown brogues, he looked the very essence of smart, casual suburban man. His lovely, welcoming smile exuded a warm and genuine welcome. He invited me straight through to the kitchen, a tastefully modernised room with a beautiful view of the rear garden.
A cafetière ready, he chatted easily whilst waiting for the kettle to warm up. He asked if I had run the gauntlet of prying eyes and I told him about the curtain twitch next door. “Aah, that's Gerald.- a 72 year old widower. Having seen your legs he'll undoubtedly still be masturbating furiously behind the curtain!” He laughed as he poured the coffee and did not pause to allow me to become uncomfortable or embarrassed by that comment. Instead, he offered me a slice of lemon drizzle cake made by his ex-wife. They are still on very good terms apparently. For my part, I was pleased that in order to say what he did about his neighbour, Martin too must have seen my legs and formed his own favourable view of them. And it crossed my mind that if his ex-wife was as good in bed as she was at baking, they would still be together. . . . .
We moved through to the living room and Martin invited me to sit on the sofa – a large and comfortable piece of furniture whilst he sat the other side of a large oak coffee table. The room was immaculately decorated and furnished in what I would term a classic style. I was unsure whether to feel relieved that he wasn't attempting to be a sleaze bag and crawl all over me, or disappointed that he was treating this coffee date as exactly that.
Again, we chatted about family, his work, our experiences of the dating line. We must have talked for about an hour – light hearted, whimsical and so easy! I had already resolved to see him again. Not only was he young, tall, handsome and intelligent, he had a self assuredness about him that never strayed towards arrogance, and was very attractive.
After I had declined a second coffee he stood and asked if I minded if he joined me on the sofa for a quick kiss before I left. I had no objections at all! He sat in close to me and we tentatively embraced as our lips met and our tongues danced together. He had one arm and hand cushioning the back of my head and as I warmed to my task of kissing him, I felt his other hand gently cup my breast through my top. Not breaking from our kiss, I covered his hand with my own and pressed forcefully against my breast. My! It felt good!!
Seconds later, he broke from our kiss and told me I had made him feel uncomfortable. Under my breath I cursed myself for being so forward and blushed as I apologised. He looked me in the eye as he grabbed my hand to show me how uncomfortable I had made him. He pushed my hand flat against the crotch of his jeans and I felt his hard, stiffness. “Perhaps you might want to come upstairs and put right that wrong?!
He was now standing, with his hand outstretched to take mine. His groin was directly in my eye line. I took his hand and followed him wordlessly up the stairs. I stood at the foot of the bed whilst he drew the curtains (even though we were not directly overlooked) and looked around the room. It was very simply decorated and the only furniture was a king size bed, a side table and a set of drawers. I guessed from the lack of a wardrobe that this was a spare room. The duvet cover, sheet and pillow cases were freshly laundered and ironed.
“Now, where were we?” he said airily. He pressed gently but firmly on my shoulder, almost inviting me. “It might be better if you were on your knees”. He slid of his belt as I traced the contour of his cock with my hand. He undid his jeans button and allowed me to unzip him and pull his jeans to his knees. I resumed tracing the contour of his cock, this time through his briefs and this time with my teeth.
I pulled his briefs to his knees too and his cock sprung to attention. It was beautiful. Standing proud and stiff and only millimetres from my lips. I didn't need a second invite, I sucked the knob into my mouth as my hand massaged his balls. Martin grunted as I wrapped my tongue around the head and massaged it.
He pushed my head away momentarily to allow him to remove his jeans, briefs, shoes and socks. He sat on the side of the bed and lay back as he pulled my head back to be confronted with his stiffness. His cock was now jutting up towards his chin. I closed my fingers firmly around the base so that it was now pointing at the ceiling and resumed my oral caresses.
The first time I heard Martin swear. . . “Fuck!! You are amazing Brenda! Oh God!! Suck it you gorgeous bitch”. He now had both hands on my head and was fucking my mouth as it bobbed rhythmically up and down his shaft. My hand had increased pace to match my mouth. “Do you want me to cum in your mouth?” I tried to mouth “Mmmm mmm” without breaking from my duties. He clearly understood. “Oh yes, you are a little cum slut aren't you? I knew the first time I saw your photo that you'd be a cum slut”.
I thrilled to his words and for a second wondered if Gerald next door had shot his load yet, desperately imagining getting between my legs. I settled to my task with renewed vigour. Mouth, tongue and hand working in unison. “Oh shit!! Oh fuck!! I'm cumming! Take daddy's cum sweet baby! Milk daddy dry”. It sounded strange given that Martin is 15 years my junior but no less exciting for all that.
He shot his load and it hit the back of my throat with surprising force. I tightened my lips around his knob to vacuum seal my mouth so that I didn't spill a drop. Martin suddenly sat up and said “Kiss me, darling”. He kissed me fiercely, his tongue searching out the last remnants of his cum.
You are fucking amazing Brenda – thank you!”
I was still on my knees as he started dressing. “Are you sure you don't want another coffee before you go?”
I again declined and followed him downstairs. He opened the front door and ushered me out. “I'll ring you to arrange for us to get together again”. He oozed charm and efficiency in equal measure in getting me out of the door in double quick time.
Not quite the coffee date I was expecting – though probably a lot closer to the one I was wanting.
Martin hasn't phoned yet but I can't wait for him to. After all, next time is his turn to work. I want to feel the powerful, frantic lunges as he drives that big, stiff dick in and out of me. . . .
And yes, I want to enjoy being a cum slut!
4 months ago
