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CougarGirl
Star
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2013
This is a true story, so don’t expect it to be erotic or to find lots of sex in it, although I’m juicing up as I’m thinking about writing it.
Why bother telling you then? Good question. The idea came to me because I had to tell Karen. Well, I didn’t have to, but she’d asked so … But I’m getting ahead of myself. Karen and her partner Walter are our neighbours. They moved in about three years ago and we hit it off right away. We’re all busy professionals, but Walt and John (that’s my husband) both enjoy fishing and Karen and I just enjoy each other’s company. There’s not a weekend goes by without Karen popping in for a chat or me going round for a coffee and gossip.
It was about three weeks ago, on a Sunday afternoon, when Karen put her head into the kitchen door. John and I were both there and she asked if it was a bad time to call. We both said ‘No’ simultaneously and John made himself scarce as soon as he decently could.
‘Are you sure it’s OK?’ Karen asked when he’d gone. ‘You’re sure I wasn’t interrupting?’
‘Of course, it’s OK,’ I assured her, but she didn’t look convinced.
‘Really, we’ve known each other long enough now to be honest, haven’t we?’
I assured her again, but she still wasn’t satisfied.
‘If it’s a bad moment, you only have to say,’ she persisted.
I was beginning to get a bit irritated. Why didn’t she just come out and say what was troubling her?
‘Come on. Karen, just spit it out. What did you think you were interrupting?’
She blushed and spluttered. ‘Well, you know, it’s just that, I know what it’s like to be caught at a bad moment.’
I had no idea what she meant and no more patience to try to persuade her that she was welcome. After a short silence, she stumbled on. ‘It’s just that, Walt has noticed it too, whenever we see you two it’s like you’re in the middle of, about to or just finished or … doing it,’ she ended abruptly.
‘It?’ I was puzzled for a second until the penny dropped. ‘Oh, you mean sex? What ever made you think that we were having sex in the kitchen?’
She sank back into her chair and ran her hands through her hair. John liked that gesture; I’d seen the way he watched her when she did it, exposing the smooth flesh of her armpits and letting her hair cascade back down her neck.
‘It’s just,’ she grinned, ‘that you two always do seem that way. Walt commented on it and then I began to notice it. It’s like you guys are always up for it. I wish my marriage was like that,’ she sighed.
So I told her my story, our story, how John and I made our relationship come alive again.
***
It was pure chance. One of those seemingly minor incidents that have unexpected consequences. I’d had a quick breakfast and was gathering up the newspapers for recycling – John just tosses them aside after he’s read them – when some fell off the pile. As I stooped to pick them up, I spotted that he had been completing one of those life-style questionnaires. You know the sort of thing – a series of multiple questions with a score attached to each answer for you to add up. This one was about sex. How healthy is your sex live? John had scored 4 out of a maximum of 30.
I was studying his answers when I became aware of him looking over my shoulder.
‘What’s all this about?’ I demanded, turning on him.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ he replied sheepishly. ‘Why do you ask? Which answers have I got wrong?’
Always up for a challenge, I checked through the questions. No, I couldn’t fault his answers. He was right. Yes, we did have sex on average about two or three times a month. Yes, the longest we had gone without sex in the past year had been eight weeks last summer. Yes, we always followed the same routine. Yes, yes, yes. Then I came to the final question: how would he would describe his level sexual satisfaction. Out of the options offered, he had ticked ‘frustrated’.
‘Haven’t you got something better to do than this rubbish?’ I asked, changing tack.
‘No, not unless you fancy …’ He reached out and tried to pull me towards him. I wriggled free and stepped back.
‘Don’t try to avoid the issue,’ I snapped.
‘What issue?’ he asked innocently. ‘And why are you getting so angry? It’s just a bit of fun, isn’t it?’
‘No, that’s the point and that’s why I’m angry. This isn’t a bit of fun, is it. You’re just being selfish. It’s not like we’re newlyweds any more. And you know how busy we both are. Take last summer, I was exhausted working 14 hours a day and more on that big contract at work. When did we have the time?’
‘I know all that.’ He was trying to placate me; I recognised the tone. ‘I was busy too.’ Like I thought, trying to placate me. ‘I’d just have liked a few minutes, that’s all.’
‘A few minutes.’ I could not believe I was hearing this. ‘That just makes my point. You’re being selfish. You may only need a few minutes, but I need much more. I need to relax for a start, and I just can’t spare the time as often as I used to before I was promoted.’
I threw the papers into the recycle box and stormed off to work.
It was later that morning, when I was in the middle of a complex risk analysis for a meeting with my client that afternoon, that the thought hit me. I put my pen down and pushed my chair back. No, I had been wrong. John wasn’t being selfish. Just the opposite. He had never tried to force himself on me or pressure me into sex. He knew I needed to relax first. He knew it took me a good half an hour or more to get fully warmed up. He was prepared to suffer frustration out of consideration for me. If anyone was being selfish it was me. I was the one who hadn’t recognised, or even thought about, how he was feeling. I was the one who wasn’t prepared to satisfy him without worrying about myself. Something had to be done and it was down to me to do it.
I texted him, asking if he could get home at lunchtime – we both work close to our house. His answer came back within minutes: ‘Yes, why?’ I didn’t answer his question. ‘See you there,’ I replied.
His car was already in the drive when I pulled in. The door opened as I approached and he stood there looking worried.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered, pulling off my jacket and tossing it over the bannister as I set off up the stairs.
‘Then why summon me home?’
‘Because,’ I kicked off my shoes and left them on the stairs, ‘I want to fuck.’
He stood at the bottom of the staircase staring up at me. I don’t usually use the F word or the C word for that matter. I tend to say ‘have sex’ or ‘make love’ or ‘inside me’.
‘Sorry?’ He couldn’t believe this was happening.
‘You heard what I said.’ I had reached the landing and was unbuttoning my blouse by now. ‘I want to fuck. Are you going to join me or shall I take care of myself?’
As I walked into our bedroom, I heard him bounding up the stairs. By the time he burst into the room, I was down to my bra and panties.
‘Well,’ I berated him as I unfastened my bra, ‘are you up for this or not? I’ve got an appointment at 2. Either use your chance or lose it.’
In any other circumstances, I would have laughed at his performance as he fumbled and struggled out of his clothes, almost falling over as his feet became trapped in his trousers. Finally we were both naked, me lying on the bed, him standing in the midst of his scattered clothing.
‘Well,’ I tried to sound casual, ‘now that you’re ready, let’s get on with it.’
‘Bbbut,’ he stammered, ‘what about you? You won’t be ready in time.’
‘I don’t care about being ready,’ I snapped, ‘I just want to fuck. Now are you up for it or not?’
I wish I could have taken a photo of the look on his face as he climbed onto the bed, his cock waving before him, and dropped between my legs. Instinctively, his fingers reached to my lips to check if my juices were flowing.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I told him as I pulled him down onto me. ‘I’m flooding, just fuck me will you.’
He didn’t need any further encouragement. He sank into my cunt and set off at the gallop. Within a couple of minutes, he was lying on top of me panting as his cock slowly softened and slid out of me, taking a huge blob of cum along my thigh as it went.
I hadn’t cum and hadn’t expected to, but I didn’t care. It had been fun and the big smile on his face was the only satisfaction I needed. We lay together for a few minutes and then he shot off the bed.
‘Look at the time,’ he gasped as he began to gather his clothes, ‘we’ll both be late.’
I checked the clock. He was right. I might just have time to get back before my client was due.
I had retrieved my panties and was sitting on the bed to pull them over my feet, when John stopped in the middle of our bedroom and said, ‘Thank you.’ His tone was so intense. This was no perfunctory expression of gratitude. It was deeply and genuinely felt. I kicked my panties away and walked over to him. ‘No,’ I said putting my arms round his neck and pulling his mouth down, ‘no, I am the one who needs to thank you, for being so patient and so considerate.’ We kissed and I staggered backwards until I toppled onto the bed pulling him on top of me. To my surprise, I felt his cock stiffening and probing at my pussy, Soon we were rocking slowly, oblivious to the passing minutes. This time we both came.
There was no hope of making my appointment on time. I jumped two red lights and broke every speed limit to get back, but it was already ten past two when I ran into my PA's office.
‘Is she late by any chance?’ That was my only hope, but Sally shook her head.
‘She’s been here twenty minutes and has had two cups of coffee.’
‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ I told her, ‘then show her in.’
I had just had time to check my clothes, glance at my notes and adopt what I hoped was a relaxed but professional posture when the door opened and Sally ushered my client in.
She was middle-aged, at least a decade older than me, tall and elegant with a stern expression.
‘’I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ I said as I held out my hand.
‘Traffic heavy, was it?’ Her eyes looked out of the window at the nearly empty street.
My answer was out before I had time to think about what to say or what effect it might have on her and on her relationship with my firm.’
‘No,’ I said simply, ‘I’ve been fucking and lost track of the time.’
There was a momentary pause, just long enough for me to imagine losing her contract, being demoted or even dismissed, and having to find a new career. Then she burst out laughing.
‘I knew it, as soon as I saw you.’
‘How?’
‘You’ve got what my husband calls the James Bond look.’
‘And what,’ I asked, ‘is that?’
‘You looked like you’ve just been shaken and stirred.’
‘Actually, that isn’t the James Bond look, that would be shaken, but not stirred.’ I felt I could tease her a bit.
‘I know,’ she was still smiling, ‘but you look like you’d had both.’
And that was that. I didn’t lose the contract and we’ve become good friends. As for John and me, we decided that we would do something together, something for each other, every day. Not full-on sex necessarily, but something, however small. Just a cuddle, a bit of oral, a touch as we pass. It’s become so much a matter of routine that we were no longer aware of it or of the effect it was having on us. That was what Karen and Walter had noticed.
‘Don’t ever worry that you’re interrupting,’ I told her, ‘we’ll be all the more ready for it when you’ve gone.’
Why bother telling you then? Good question. The idea came to me because I had to tell Karen. Well, I didn’t have to, but she’d asked so … But I’m getting ahead of myself. Karen and her partner Walter are our neighbours. They moved in about three years ago and we hit it off right away. We’re all busy professionals, but Walt and John (that’s my husband) both enjoy fishing and Karen and I just enjoy each other’s company. There’s not a weekend goes by without Karen popping in for a chat or me going round for a coffee and gossip.
It was about three weeks ago, on a Sunday afternoon, when Karen put her head into the kitchen door. John and I were both there and she asked if it was a bad time to call. We both said ‘No’ simultaneously and John made himself scarce as soon as he decently could.
‘Are you sure it’s OK?’ Karen asked when he’d gone. ‘You’re sure I wasn’t interrupting?’
‘Of course, it’s OK,’ I assured her, but she didn’t look convinced.
‘Really, we’ve known each other long enough now to be honest, haven’t we?’
I assured her again, but she still wasn’t satisfied.
‘If it’s a bad moment, you only have to say,’ she persisted.
I was beginning to get a bit irritated. Why didn’t she just come out and say what was troubling her?
‘Come on. Karen, just spit it out. What did you think you were interrupting?’
She blushed and spluttered. ‘Well, you know, it’s just that, I know what it’s like to be caught at a bad moment.’
I had no idea what she meant and no more patience to try to persuade her that she was welcome. After a short silence, she stumbled on. ‘It’s just that, Walt has noticed it too, whenever we see you two it’s like you’re in the middle of, about to or just finished or … doing it,’ she ended abruptly.
‘It?’ I was puzzled for a second until the penny dropped. ‘Oh, you mean sex? What ever made you think that we were having sex in the kitchen?’
She sank back into her chair and ran her hands through her hair. John liked that gesture; I’d seen the way he watched her when she did it, exposing the smooth flesh of her armpits and letting her hair cascade back down her neck.
‘It’s just,’ she grinned, ‘that you two always do seem that way. Walt commented on it and then I began to notice it. It’s like you guys are always up for it. I wish my marriage was like that,’ she sighed.
So I told her my story, our story, how John and I made our relationship come alive again.
***
It was pure chance. One of those seemingly minor incidents that have unexpected consequences. I’d had a quick breakfast and was gathering up the newspapers for recycling – John just tosses them aside after he’s read them – when some fell off the pile. As I stooped to pick them up, I spotted that he had been completing one of those life-style questionnaires. You know the sort of thing – a series of multiple questions with a score attached to each answer for you to add up. This one was about sex. How healthy is your sex live? John had scored 4 out of a maximum of 30.
I was studying his answers when I became aware of him looking over my shoulder.
‘What’s all this about?’ I demanded, turning on him.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ he replied sheepishly. ‘Why do you ask? Which answers have I got wrong?’
Always up for a challenge, I checked through the questions. No, I couldn’t fault his answers. He was right. Yes, we did have sex on average about two or three times a month. Yes, the longest we had gone without sex in the past year had been eight weeks last summer. Yes, we always followed the same routine. Yes, yes, yes. Then I came to the final question: how would he would describe his level sexual satisfaction. Out of the options offered, he had ticked ‘frustrated’.
‘Haven’t you got something better to do than this rubbish?’ I asked, changing tack.
‘No, not unless you fancy …’ He reached out and tried to pull me towards him. I wriggled free and stepped back.
‘Don’t try to avoid the issue,’ I snapped.
‘What issue?’ he asked innocently. ‘And why are you getting so angry? It’s just a bit of fun, isn’t it?’
‘No, that’s the point and that’s why I’m angry. This isn’t a bit of fun, is it. You’re just being selfish. It’s not like we’re newlyweds any more. And you know how busy we both are. Take last summer, I was exhausted working 14 hours a day and more on that big contract at work. When did we have the time?’
‘I know all that.’ He was trying to placate me; I recognised the tone. ‘I was busy too.’ Like I thought, trying to placate me. ‘I’d just have liked a few minutes, that’s all.’
‘A few minutes.’ I could not believe I was hearing this. ‘That just makes my point. You’re being selfish. You may only need a few minutes, but I need much more. I need to relax for a start, and I just can’t spare the time as often as I used to before I was promoted.’
I threw the papers into the recycle box and stormed off to work.
It was later that morning, when I was in the middle of a complex risk analysis for a meeting with my client that afternoon, that the thought hit me. I put my pen down and pushed my chair back. No, I had been wrong. John wasn’t being selfish. Just the opposite. He had never tried to force himself on me or pressure me into sex. He knew I needed to relax first. He knew it took me a good half an hour or more to get fully warmed up. He was prepared to suffer frustration out of consideration for me. If anyone was being selfish it was me. I was the one who hadn’t recognised, or even thought about, how he was feeling. I was the one who wasn’t prepared to satisfy him without worrying about myself. Something had to be done and it was down to me to do it.
I texted him, asking if he could get home at lunchtime – we both work close to our house. His answer came back within minutes: ‘Yes, why?’ I didn’t answer his question. ‘See you there,’ I replied.
His car was already in the drive when I pulled in. The door opened as I approached and he stood there looking worried.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered, pulling off my jacket and tossing it over the bannister as I set off up the stairs.
‘Then why summon me home?’
‘Because,’ I kicked off my shoes and left them on the stairs, ‘I want to fuck.’
He stood at the bottom of the staircase staring up at me. I don’t usually use the F word or the C word for that matter. I tend to say ‘have sex’ or ‘make love’ or ‘inside me’.
‘Sorry?’ He couldn’t believe this was happening.
‘You heard what I said.’ I had reached the landing and was unbuttoning my blouse by now. ‘I want to fuck. Are you going to join me or shall I take care of myself?’
As I walked into our bedroom, I heard him bounding up the stairs. By the time he burst into the room, I was down to my bra and panties.
‘Well,’ I berated him as I unfastened my bra, ‘are you up for this or not? I’ve got an appointment at 2. Either use your chance or lose it.’
In any other circumstances, I would have laughed at his performance as he fumbled and struggled out of his clothes, almost falling over as his feet became trapped in his trousers. Finally we were both naked, me lying on the bed, him standing in the midst of his scattered clothing.
‘Well,’ I tried to sound casual, ‘now that you’re ready, let’s get on with it.’
‘Bbbut,’ he stammered, ‘what about you? You won’t be ready in time.’
‘I don’t care about being ready,’ I snapped, ‘I just want to fuck. Now are you up for it or not?’
I wish I could have taken a photo of the look on his face as he climbed onto the bed, his cock waving before him, and dropped between my legs. Instinctively, his fingers reached to my lips to check if my juices were flowing.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I told him as I pulled him down onto me. ‘I’m flooding, just fuck me will you.’
He didn’t need any further encouragement. He sank into my cunt and set off at the gallop. Within a couple of minutes, he was lying on top of me panting as his cock slowly softened and slid out of me, taking a huge blob of cum along my thigh as it went.
I hadn’t cum and hadn’t expected to, but I didn’t care. It had been fun and the big smile on his face was the only satisfaction I needed. We lay together for a few minutes and then he shot off the bed.
‘Look at the time,’ he gasped as he began to gather his clothes, ‘we’ll both be late.’
I checked the clock. He was right. I might just have time to get back before my client was due.
I had retrieved my panties and was sitting on the bed to pull them over my feet, when John stopped in the middle of our bedroom and said, ‘Thank you.’ His tone was so intense. This was no perfunctory expression of gratitude. It was deeply and genuinely felt. I kicked my panties away and walked over to him. ‘No,’ I said putting my arms round his neck and pulling his mouth down, ‘no, I am the one who needs to thank you, for being so patient and so considerate.’ We kissed and I staggered backwards until I toppled onto the bed pulling him on top of me. To my surprise, I felt his cock stiffening and probing at my pussy, Soon we were rocking slowly, oblivious to the passing minutes. This time we both came.
There was no hope of making my appointment on time. I jumped two red lights and broke every speed limit to get back, but it was already ten past two when I ran into my PA's office.
‘Is she late by any chance?’ That was my only hope, but Sally shook her head.
‘She’s been here twenty minutes and has had two cups of coffee.’
‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ I told her, ‘then show her in.’
I had just had time to check my clothes, glance at my notes and adopt what I hoped was a relaxed but professional posture when the door opened and Sally ushered my client in.
She was middle-aged, at least a decade older than me, tall and elegant with a stern expression.
‘’I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ I said as I held out my hand.
‘Traffic heavy, was it?’ Her eyes looked out of the window at the nearly empty street.
My answer was out before I had time to think about what to say or what effect it might have on her and on her relationship with my firm.’
‘No,’ I said simply, ‘I’ve been fucking and lost track of the time.’
There was a momentary pause, just long enough for me to imagine losing her contract, being demoted or even dismissed, and having to find a new career. Then she burst out laughing.
‘I knew it, as soon as I saw you.’
‘How?’
‘You’ve got what my husband calls the James Bond look.’
‘And what,’ I asked, ‘is that?’
‘You looked like you’ve just been shaken and stirred.’
‘Actually, that isn’t the James Bond look, that would be shaken, but not stirred.’ I felt I could tease her a bit.
‘I know,’ she was still smiling, ‘but you look like you’d had both.’
And that was that. I didn’t lose the contract and we’ve become good friends. As for John and me, we decided that we would do something together, something for each other, every day. Not full-on sex necessarily, but something, however small. Just a cuddle, a bit of oral, a touch as we pass. It’s become so much a matter of routine that we were no longer aware of it or of the effect it was having on us. That was what Karen and Walter had noticed.
‘Don’t ever worry that you’re interrupting,’ I told her, ‘we’ll be all the more ready for it when you’ve gone.’