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Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Confessions of a Southern slut, part 3

Posted By on Tue, Jan 21, 2014 at 9:30 AM

I was whining to my friends about spending the holidays sans boyfriend, so they decided to cheer me up with a night at the club. Short skirts and high heels have a way of making a girl feel invincible. 2013 was a year of heartbreak and defeat. I needed to exorcise some demons.

I walked in and instantly locked eyes with the kind of guy who makes me swoon. (Yes, even sluts swoon.) He was 6'2" with dark skin and broad shoulders. He was smiling and dancing and he motioned for me to join him. I made my way toward him and when he put his hands on my hips, I felt shivers. He was electric. I know that sounds incredibly asinine, but it's true. I had planned to be strong that night, but after one song, he had me wet and wondering exactly how perfect his ass was.

We danced and tried to chat but the music was so loud. I learned he was from D.C. and in town visiting frat brothers. He did IT for a law firm and had two kids but was never married. He DJ'd for fun on the weekends. He was 44. I didn't believe him. He was too hot to be 44! He lifted up his shirt to show me his perfectly cut abs. He took my hand and made me caress his chest. "Not bad for an old guy, huh," he asked. No, not bad at all.

Eventually my friends were ready to head out. He gave me the puppy-dog eyes and asked me to go back to his hotel room with him. We were at the EpiCentre and it was close... But no, I couldn't. The girls were my ride. I gave him my number and left. He had done his job. He had made me forget about my sucky year.

Before I made it to the car I got a text from him asking me to breakfast.

We spent the next morning trading stories at John's Country Kitchen. He had been to prison; I had been to Europe. He never married his kids' mother because she became a religious fanatic; my parents are religious fanatics. He loves old school rap; I have a weakness for Young Jeezy. He plays basketball three times a week; I love to watch men play basketball. He believed Saturday morning sex should last two hours and be followed by a huge breakfast; he said my two favorite words: sex and breakfast.

This guy had me turned on. He was messing with my expectations. I didn't like the fact that he was flying out that afternoon. On the way back to his hotel we made plans to stay in touch. He said he'll probably be back in town for CIAA. I said I hope I didn't have to wait that long for him to kiss me.

I guess all he was waiting for was permission, and for me to park the car. Once the car stopped, he kissed me, and I mean, KISSED ME, like he had been waiting to do it for days, which I guess he had been. His hand went down my shirt and cupped my breast. He pinched my nipple. I closed my eyes. He leaned down and slowly sucked it. I moaned. I was in heaven, and he knew it.

He grabbed my hair and pulled it back, exposing my neck. We stayed like that for a moment, like a lion and his prey. He had me in his grip and he was deciding exactly how to devour me. Then he took his hand and rubbed between my legs, first over my clothes, then under them. His hand was warm and I melted.

He proceeded to give me the finger-fuck of a lifetime. This man knew his way around a pussy. My orgasm was so intense that I climbed onto his lap, hugged him and sobbed. It was a huge release. I also felt bad because I thought he probably was going to feel cheated if we didn't have sex. I just didn't want to. I was satiated and it felt complete. I was done.

He was completely cool with that, or at least he said he was. We talked a bit more about staying in touch and seeing each other in a couple months. I walked him to the hotel elevator and he gave me a sweet kiss good-bye. I grabbed his hand and put it to my lips. I could smell myself on his fingertips. I licked each one and gave him a final kiss good-bye.

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