The Field of Dreams, Wet Ones

I pushed myself up a little lifting my bottom from the bed as I dropped my hands to my lap. Looking deeply into your eyes I slowly pulled the back of my skirt upwards away from my bottom.

We both looked down at the same moment. Simultaneously our eyes saw the same sight. At exactly the same time our gazes alighted on the vision you'd specifically asked me to create.

I slowly lifted the hem of the thin, black, crepe skirt up revealing my upper thighs to you. It went higher uncovering the bottoms of my stocking tops and further until we both saw all of the lacy tops.

Knowing that the room service would be here soon I, perhaps, should have stopped there. Maybe it would have been fairer on you to give you just that glimpse but leave the full monty until we would not be disturbed. Keep something for later. But I couldn't. It may well have been fairer to do so. It may in some ways have been kinder on both of us for we certainly wouldn't be able to finish what I'd started until after the waiter had been and gone. But it felt impossible for me to stop. I felt compelled to go on. I felt as though I was being driven to show what I'd created for you, my young lover. I wanted your approval. I wanted to arouse you by flaunting myself at you. I wanted you to see my stocking tops, my legs stretched out in the dark nylon. I wanted you to see the thin patch of skin between my stockings and my panties. My French knickers. My burgundy coloured silk lingerie chosen specifically for you and this occasion. I desperately wanted you to see all of that for I wanted to please you so badly. But most of all I wanted you to fuck me and fuck me very soon indeed.

The room service waiter was even younger than you and wasn't experienced enough really. Not experienced enough to avoid staring. To avoid glancing from me to you. From clearly showing that he was wondering what was going on. Why a woman with a very crumpled skirt was in a room in the early afternoon with a man young enough to be her son?

It didn't matter though. Nothing like that really matters when the promised end result is so intoxicating. A moment or two of embarrassment in return for hours of what I knew was going to be sexual ecstasy was agood bargain.

As I stood there, though, leaning back against the window ledge watching the waiter uncork the wine I glanced from him to you and smiled encouragingly as I raised my eyebrows in a sign of frustration, other things were going through my mind.

Obviously my impending betrayal of my husband and breaking of my marriage vows. Naturally the cheating and excuses I'd already made about today and, tentatively, tonight as well. Not surprisingly also those I'd have to make if this became a regular occurrence. There was, along with those thoughts, the guilt, the concerns and the worries. I really didn't think I could ever stand the traumas of a divorce. Although we were parted at the moment it was just as if he was on one of his frequent business trips and we hadn't mentioned it to the children. The idea of parting permanently filled me with dread so the thought that Richard might find out about this and us weighed on my mind as well.

As the boy fumbled unskilfully with the corkscrew, I also thought about us. The age difference. The differing levels of experience and also the vastly different frequencies we had sex and the recovery periods. I hadn't been with a man that could recover within, at the shortest, an hour for years. On top of that I hadn't been with anyone that could "service" me three, four or more times in a night since I was teenager, and only once then. I was genuinely worried as to whether my body that was so inexperienced at multiple lovemaking would take it.

And then that made me think about my body.

I'd been concerned about it ever since we'd agreed to meet. Sure I'd shown you a number of photos some of which were fairly recent and yes you'd replied with wonderfully flattering remarks. But then photos if well taken can also flatter.

A young, attractive guy like you would have a choice of girls I imagined. You could pull them in clubs and pubs and I guessed you'd have a stream of stick-like, thin, model looking fillies at your disposal. Girls with firm, taught, slim bodies. Slender legs, wonderfully narrow waists, unbulging hips and amazingly flat tummies. Lovers with pert, upright breasts and equally firm, tight, pert bottoms.

How would you take to the sight of me naked was a concern? Would the slight bulge of my tummy, that was the result of me not being as conscientious after childbirth as I should have been, upset you? How would you react to the extra weight on my bottom and the slight love handles, well certainly a handful or so of flesh that I carried, on each hip? And most of all would my somewhat sagging, full and, at times, almost pendulous breasts be a turn off for you.

I knew that some men didn't like large boobs and found them to be sexually unattractive. You'd told me differently. You'd said you liked large breasts and that you had visualised your mouth on mine, as indeed I had, so many times. But men can be odd, they can be funny like that. They can be strange about such aspects of a woman. And nowhere is this more likely to be an issue than with young men, or so I've read. Young and sexually immature men so lack confidence when alone with a woman. All the bravado they show in front of their mates, "I fucked the arse off that," often vanishes when it's just him and an experienced woman. And more so I guess with a much older woman as well. They are so sensitive, their feelings are fragile and the easiest thing can bring on that dreaded moment of "brewer's droop."

Would it be like that with us, I'd thought several times? Would something happen when you took my bra off and saw that my boobs were nowhere near as erect and upright as the girls you'd probably been with or those you'd ogled at in magazines or on the net? Would I simply frighten you to the extent that you suffered from the dreaded temporary impotence or the equally awkward premature ejaculation. I am rather a half glass empty person and do tend to look at the down as opposed to the upsides!

God did it frighten me though? I'd seen your gorgeous body. Fit, flat and firm. Taught and lean. Hard and agile. All the lovely adjectives that describe beautiful, male bodies, and in my mind they are not contradictions in terms; a man's body can be just as beautiful as a woman's, it's just that not many are! All those terms applied to yours. But not mine. Sure I had a reasonable figure. But that was so much more reasonable when clothed. It was not so much when naked unless I was with an equally time ravaged man. You were not that and, as the waiter at left the room, I felt embarrassed that soon our nude bodies would be laying side by side and that your gaze and hands would be sweeping over me. Oh the vanity and insecurity of a woman in her forties.

What would you think?

The door was hardly completely shut when once more I was in your arms. I still had the bottle of wine that I was about to pour when you grabbed me, when your arms went round me, your hands dug into my back, your mouth clamped on mine and our bodies were crushed together. My breasts were flattened against your firm chest. Your hands ran down my back and excitingly over the two mounds of my bottom that I was silently willing you to grab and squeeze. Our bodies were touching from lips to toes. Our chests, our tummies, our thighs and our feet were all in contact. And nowhere was that contact more thrilling than on the soft swell of my stomach. Nowhere was there more of a thrill than on that stretch between my pubic mound and my naval. Nowhere was the feeling of you so pronounced and so significant. For pressing hard and firm and so enticingly into that soft flesh was your gorgeous erection.

I couldn't help losing my somewhat ladylike persona and squirming myself against it, so wonderful did it feel.

"Oh God Jon," I sighed. "Oh my God almighty that feels so wonderful. I've dreamed about this so much."

"So have I," you muttered thickly as your hands once more so welcomingly found my breasts.

We kissed and squirmed against each other for some time as you squeezed and stroked, caressed and rubbed my boobs through the thin materials of my dress and bra. I was becoming more and more aroused. More and more excited. More and more thrilled by you and more and more in frantic need of satisfying the enormous pangs of sexual want that were rushing through me.

I loved it when I felt your hand sliding up underneath the back of my skirt. I enjoyed the sensation of your hands on the back of my thighs, between my legs and on that strip of skin between my stocking tops and my panties and I revelled in the feeling of your hand cupping the cheek of my bottom through the silk and squeezing it. I simply adored the gasp of pleasure when you realised I was wearing stockings.

"Oh Cat yes, so fucking yes," you moaned rubbing the stockings and slipping your fingers slightly inside the tops.

Fiercely, almost, I tore at the buttons of your shirt, quickly undoing them to your waist. Frantically, nearly, I ran my hands over your firm, smooth and almost hairless chest. I cupped your breasts as you cupped mine and I pinched eagerly at your nipples showing you exactly what I'd want from you later.

I exploringly slid my hand between us. With a degree of concern for I didn't want you to think I was being too forward I reached downwards between our bodies. Tentatively I rubbed my hand along your impressive length and encouraging hardness. The feel of that on my hand and the realisation that soon it would be in me sent a shudder of such lust and desire through me that I knew you would have noticed it.

All hell seemed to then break loose. All reason, thought and planning went out of the window. Any reservations or ideas of slow, languid sex vanished as we tore at each other. Your zip and belt came undone and your shirt came off. The zip on the back of my dress slid down from the neckline to just where the crease in my bottom began. The top at the front was pulled down and your trousers feel to the floor. My breasts were open to your gaze and touch through the burgundy coloured, lace bra and your penis to mine through the thinness of your boxers. Your hands were everywhere on me and mine on you. You were on my boobs, my bum, my thighs and my pussy all through the various materials as mine were on your cock and balls also through materials. But not for long I guessed.

"Oh yes," you moaned, "oh yes, yes, yes. This is fantastic. You're fantastic," you went on sucking my nipples through the bra as you slid your fingers along my pussy lips, the silk of the panties feeling so erotically luxurious on that super sensitive place of such femininity.

"It is Jon, it is my darling," I replied, thoughtlessly really pumping at your erection for I wondered whether that might cause the premature ejaculation that I'd read about in Cosmo as being a scourge of first time sex between young men and older women.

I could feel that you were, as many men do, fumbling at undoing the clasp on my bra. Nimble, steady fingers at such times are not natural are they? Reaching behind I'd just flicked it open with the expertise of a woman when I heard my mobile burbling.

"Leave it," you suggested, but I knew I couldn't. Mums just can't ignore such things.

Holding my bra up and pulling the top of my dress around me as I at last found the phone in my handbag I flicked it phone open and saw that indeed it was my daughter calling.

The sound of her voice. Her hope that I was having "a nice time." The pleasure and love in her voice as she spoke to me were all ghastly reminders as to what I was doing. Standing in a hotel room my clothing in disarray as I was about to fuck a man almost young enough to be my son. Making my daughter believe the lies I'd told about being on a training course for two days and one night. The sheer deceit and the sordidness of it all got to me as she talked about her day and asked so considerately about mine. I was panicking, becoming anxious and torn up inside about what I was doing. My emotions were in turmoil as I finished on the phone and turned to you. Seeing you sitting on the bed in just your boxers was just too much.

It all hit me at once. I felt the tears welling up and although I tried to fight them I couldn't. They started rolling down my cheeks as I began sobbing.

"What's happened? What's the matter?" You asked standing up and moving to take me into your arms.

"Nothing Jon, nothing and everything," I whined holding my head in my hands and moving away from you to avoid your embrace, completely forgetting about the top of my dress and my bra being unclipped. "I'm sorry darling, I'm so sorry," I sobbed noting that my bra fell away from me so that I bared my breasts for you for the first time. As that happened I half wanted you to grab them, squeeze them and take their flame tipped ends into your mouth. But the other half, the mother and wife half knew that couldn't happen.

I did my bra up and pulled my top up .

"Jon, I just can't do this."

"Why, is it me?"

That brought a slight smile to my face for it sounded so innocent and tender. I reached out and touched your cheek.

"No my darling it's completely me."

"It's your daughter and your marriage vows isn't it?

"Yes, hearing her voice brought the enormity of what we're doing home to me. I am so, so sorry darling."

"Cat I understand, I completely understand," you so considerately said amazingly adding, "And in some ways I'm relieved."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "How do mean relieved?" Didn't you want me?"

"Yes of course I wanted you and still want you but I was feeling guilty about coming between you and Richard."

I couldn't help smiling at your unintentional double entendre. "Now that does conjure up some vivid thoughts," I smiled adding meaningfully, "having you cum between us."

You laughed back as we looked at each other rather mournfully.

"Tell you what Jon, let's go for a walk and just chat shall we?"

I went into the bathroom with the overnight bag I had brought with me. I slipped into the jeans and crisp white, button right up the front blouse and returned to the bedroom where I carefully hung the DKNY dress on a hanger in the wardrobe. I slipped into a pair of loafers and was ready.

We walked round the grounds of the hotel talking continually and getting to know each other so much better. I began to understand you and reinforce my opinion that you were not just trying to get into my knickers. There was so much more to you. So much more depth and vision, understanding and consideration. So much more thought and feeling, emotions and tenderness. So much more, I shivered as I realised it, to like and to, no, no I told myself I couldn't think further.

It seemed natural to hold hands. It seemed right and proper to stroke the palm of your hand with my finger as we walked. There was nothing salacious or vulgar about it, nothing particularly suggestive, come on or seductive. It was tender, warm and loving and overall very nice. Just what I needed. I relaxed more. I felt more comfortable with you. I felt more attracted to you. Attracted now in more ways than one.

*

There were no messages waiting for me from Richard when I got home. Not a word, not even one to ask about the children. I was annoyed, very annoyed. It seemed to me to sum up all the problems of our marriage over the past eight or nine years, his intense concentration on his job as as a corporate lawyer. Concentration to the extent that it left little time for the children and me and hardly any for us to enjoy the bedroom.

In bed, my mind just couldn't stop thinking about the afternoon and my body couldn't stop reacting to what had happened. It also couldn't avoid responding to what might have happened had that phone call not arrived. And of course the inevitable happened. Throwing the bedclothes back I laid on my back, my knees raised and legs parted as my fingers rotated my clitoris until I made myself cum just as I now so wished I'd let you make me cum this afternoon.

We talked frequently over the next two days mostly on messenger. With the pressure off about meeting we got on better and easier. Our new found liking as opposed, well in addition, to lusting for each other seemed to create a different mood between us, one with less haste, less need to go forward, less need I suppose to fuck. We chatted and discussed everyday things, our families, how Richard was still acting like the bastard he was and of your search for girl friends. The use of your cam didn't seem appropriate and, although underlying my deeper feelings for you there was still a raging degree of fancying you like hell, we behaved impeccably.

"Just for a drink, or coffee," you said as we discussed meeting again.

It was a lovely country pub set in the gorgeous Kent countryside. The sort that foreigners imagine are everywhere. Just outside Canterbury where you lived I'd driven down in the morning and had met you at lunchtime on the Thursday, some ten days since we'd been in the Marriott just down the road.

I was still living apart from Richard. He had returned from the States the day after our Marriott meeting, but had gone back, this time to LA, just yesterday.

It was great to see you again. We once more got on so well. Chatting was relaxed and easy although there was an undertone of tenseness. Something neither of us could address but we both knew was there. A feeling, an emotion. A mood that we were now both scared to tackle. As much as we tried there was that sexual rawness about our attraction to each other. It was there all the time. In every glance, in the tone of our voices, in the body language and in the way we looked at each other. As we sat close eating our sandwiches and sipping beer I could feel it all bubbling to the surface.

We were sitting on those low stools that pubs sometimes have round fairly low tables. That meant we were close together and that our knees often touched. Fortunately I wasn't wearing a skirt but a pair of thin, cotton mid calf length trousers so I didn't have to worry about modesty in the rather uncomfortable position.

"Jon, let's go outside."

"We haven't finished."

"Just leave it, let's just go we can always come back later."

Outside we stood looking at each other.

"Come on let's just walk and talk Jon, it was so warm in there wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Once more holding hands as if that was the most natural thing to do we wandered down the narrow road. We talked about this and that until we came to a gate in a field. You leaned back against it and I climbed up and sat on it. I felt a little like a kid. I was so unused to walking around the countryside that the smells and the quietness were so unusual and different for me that I felt disorientated for a while.

"Let's walk in the field." I suggested. "Will that be ok with the farmer?"

"Yes as long as we don't harm his crops he won't mind."

"Come on then," I gushed feeling adventurous and very youthful. Feelings incidentally that were very rare for me nowadays

Just like two kids or teenage sweethearts we climbed over the gate and ran alongside the field along a grassy path that ran down a hill away from the gate. Still holding hands and laughing and joking we ran far further than I'd thought we would or than I liked to do. For large breasted women running is not a particularly comfortable pursuit so as we rushed down the hill my boobs were bouncing all over the place.

Wheezing from being so out of condition I cried.

"Oh shit I have to stop."

"And I thought you were fit," you laughed leaning your hand on the tree that I was leaning back against."

"So did I, but the gym's not much preparation for running like that."