Glory of the Mature Woman #5
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Posted:Dec 10, 2020 7:08 am
Last Updated:Dec 13, 2020 9:19 am
3564 Views
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Sigh! Where are these women in real life? Age never stops the desiring, the searching, to pursuit of happiness.
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Glory of the Mature Woman #1
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Posted:Dec 4, 2020 6:59 am
Last Updated:Dec 13, 2020 9:15 am
3177 Views
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I guess I was expecting too much to find such here. There was once a time that even on CL you could find such women. Now they seem extinct even here on A FF.
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It happened one night
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Posted:Nov 25, 2020 3:04 pm
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2020 3:54 pm
5517 Views
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“People want to read about what they desire the most and experience the least.” WW
This story is part fiction and part actual event. I willll leave it to you to guess where one begins and the other ends! Comments most welcomed.
PS The picture is real.
__________
It happened one night. Ms. Seiger was her name. She had told me that she had just recently divorced, moving here only weeks ago and she was desperate for a massage. Ms. Seiger had made an appointment for Saturday, 8PM. I got her address. She was twenty miles east of me, just off of US Rt 80.
As I pulled my bag out of the car, I could hear the music coming from inside the house. It was 2001 and the music that was playing was not of this world —it was angelic. Our correspondence at the time had only been via email. Normally I liked talk a new , if for no other reason than weigh who it was that had made the appointment. It was at a time just prior finally limiting my clientele women only —freshly bathed.
Being a masseur had at first availed me pocket while I was yet in college. Back then my had mainly been athletes who were in need of having some soreness worked out. Occasionally, by reference from a boyfriend or some such, I would entertain a young female on my table. Those occasions were rare but they were of such that they are still fondly remembered.t
It was October. The evening air was still summer warm. The leaves had begun to turn but not yet to fall. The house was new —one of those cookie cutter homes. Whoever had done the stonework out front had made a mess of it. If I had lived closer I might have offered to fix it for her, along with getting some descent shrubbery.
She had heard me pull in. The door cracked open. “Are you Scott?” a deep accented east European voice inquired from behind a chained door.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave my bag here and get my table.”
The door was unchained and open when I returned. Up uneven concrete steps and into the front room, she directed the back of the house and then down past the laundry room. There, just around the corner, she had turned the basement room into her spacious bedroom. I knew the layout. There were perfectly good rooms on the second floor. Why she hadn’t chosen them I could only, for the time being, guess.
She was older than I had anticipated. The music was opera. I didn’t recognize it but it was soothing and I liked it. As I set up, she undressed in front of me, laughing.
“My mother, when we were , use take all us out the front yard get sunlight. No clothes. Vitamin Deeeee!” She laughed again. “You American’s are funny about nudity.”
She proceeded tell her story. Once a member of the Red Guard, she sang soprano and had recently been accepted by the Chicago Opera. She did not look the fifty- she confessed be. She was tanned. There were no tan lines. Her blonde hair was tied tight behind her. She had strong shoulders, a flat midriff, muscular legs and full, taut breasts with dark umber, silver dollar sized nipples. I also quickly noted the thick bush of pubic hair wedged in between her legs. She was pretty but not quite what I would personally a head turner, least ways not with her clothes on. Then again, naked, she would turn every one’s head. I could divine no evidence of her body having suffered childbirth.
As the massage proceeded, she stopped her chatter and just oooed and awed as my hands proceeded to do their due diligence. Finally we got to the point in the routine where I asked her to turn over. Normally my towels would have been draped over her so as to offer some modesty. But there was for that custom with this woman. She just rolled over, looked at the ceiling for a a second or before closing them and leaving my wor
Mostly with women that I found attractive, I remained the consummate professional. the best of my abilities, I purposefully performed the duty of giving each their monies worth. Over the I had developed what worked and what didn’t. My own techniques different from most all of the modern run-of-the-mill massage therapies. My routine varied sometimes due subject matter. Large, obese and unclean people didn’t get much beyond what they for. And it was, sad say, mostly the obese women who, on occasion, would be the ones who reached out lay hold of my manhood.
Most people never consider massage therapy as having much physical labor it. Tips are usually only based on it being customary to tip your server. Occasionally it was to compliment my physique. But for the life of me, I don’t ever remember getting tipped because of how much effort I put into it. Done right, it is hard wor
We had gotten the point where I had make the decision as whether or not test the boundaries.
“Lena,” she whispered. “My name is Lena.” Lena then took my hand that had just finished working her quadratus lumborum, and gently slid it down between her legs.
It wasn’t the first time a woman had offered herself to me. Yoni was sometimes mentioned as an option. Though not an everyday occurrence, I’d given not a few women happy endings take home with them. However, Lena was going to be different. Up to this point, she had laid still and relaxed as I often tell my to do. After all, that was the whole point of a general massage. With Lena, there had been no air of emotion about her for me to read either wanting or not wanting something anything more than just a thorough full body massage. With my hand now resting between her widening legs, there was no question about it. Her knees drew up further and her legs continued to widen as she sighed one of those familiar sighs that told me an appreciable amount of time since someone, other than herself, touching her in all those feel good places.
Now it had been my experience that normally there were few women in their fifties of whom I would have even considered asking what I was about to asked her to do next.
“Lena, can you scoot down to the end of the table and rest your heels of your feet on the corner.”
When I host in my studio, I used a height adjustable roll around backless chair when such positioning was called for. Lena had a small foot stool which would serve the same purpose. Sitting between her legs like some imagined perverted gynecologist, I lifted her left leg and rested it on my right shoulder as I began supine hamstring wor Lifting it further while pushing the knee a little one side increased the hamstring stretch from knee its origin at the pelvis. Because we both now knew what options were on the table, my hand slides worked closer and closer her womanhood sending minute but perceptible tremors down her spine. First one leg and then the other until I grabbed both legs at the ankles and raised them high above as I sat on that little foot stool. With hesitancy, listening for objection, I leaned in.
Though there was a full, glistening bush above, the woman before had clean shaven everything beneath the pelvic bone. Unlike all too many others, unwashed and unpleasant, Lena was freshly bathed with thick, fully desirable dangling lips. With the first passing of my tongue only glazed across the top of her pursed lips. On second passing, however, I parted her magnificent curtains, revealing the sex pea hidden within. I then drew the entire ensemble into my mouth and savored the rare delight.
Bliss. I wasn’t quite sure which one of us was enjoying their Saturday evening the most. As I earlier mentioned, Lena was going to be someone I would not soon forget. Her skin was smooth with none of the normal aging. And though she was not a gym fit athlete, Lena was fit and wonderfully feminine. Finally, after many of going without, tonight I had discovered a woman to mouth my appreciation with muted moans between her naked legs.
Massage therapist, like doctors I suppose, see just about everything there is to see beneath people’s clothing facade. To some degree, I could handle the dimples and rolls of fat. I could even handle the occasional excessive body hair. However, one thing I never grew accustom to were the women who not only smelled like fish, but dead fish. With Lena, however, I could detect no odor at all beyond the light scent of oil which I had been massaging her with. More pleasant still was the fact that her womanly juices tasted sweet. No matter how long, how hard or how deep I sucked on her, the taste never lost its sweet flavor.
Lena’s legs began to quiver as they continued to rested across my shoulders. Soon in my going down on her, Lena had placed both hands atop my head. I sensed when she first did that, she had also leaned forward to watch me for a brief moment before arching her back while straining to drawing me in further as I salivated her itch before finally releasing me to fall back on to the table, losing all herself in the pleasure her body was experiencing.
There is always the question at this point as to whether or not the wished further physical intimacy after her climax. Those women who made it to this point in the game were usually satisfied with only tantric digital arousal. There were those few offered to perform their own oral desires on me.
Lena, however, after a mild quivering of thighs and a slight raising of her buttocks upon achieving orgam, simply laid still, her breathing slowly attempting to return to normal. Her eyes remained closed. Her legs dangled off the end of the table.
The desire within me was to continue the quest. However, because of mustache and goatee soaked thoroughly with her goodness, I excused myself to cleanup.
Returning back to the room, I half expected to find her dressed and ready for me to pack my stuff and leave. Instead I found Lena standing beside her bed with its covers pulled bac Her smile was sweet while withholding any indicating invitation. Eroded by times rivers, confusion would now always and forever be my epitaph. An hour and twenty minutes of physical exertion at the end of a long day had left with little of the much needed youthful energy for frolic and enterprise. I smiled back at my angel in waiting.
“Would you like massage you,” Lena offered. This was absolutely a first such an offer had been voluntarily offered . Though I had from time time traded massages with other LMTs, never had a offered me such a thing. So I found myself on my own table as strong East European hands expertly worked my spine as I too sighed and moaned.
It was always a guessing game. Some volunteered or expressed that it was their first time having a professional massage. Others sometimes volunteered their experiences. I hated comparisons but they were an inevitability. A retired army woman had once told me that her cousin owned the salon in town before adding the compliment that despite having employed her cousin several times, she had never received anything comparable to my techniques in satisfying her foot and leg problems. Lena’s hands told me that though she wasn’t schooled, she was experienced in the art of massage.
“My mother use to ask us girls to massage her,” she confessed in her heavy accent.
So came the moment when I was asked to roll over. My erection had, for the most part, abated. And, it seemed, it wasn’t feeling very cooperative in showing any signs of returning. Without notice, Lena continued by starting with the soles of my feet before progressing up my legs till the ebb and flow of her hands brought her close to my rubber pickle. There was the tinge of strengthening hope as she reached for the oil and began allowing a stream of it to coarse its way down either side of my sack as her free hand cupped it. Replacing the bottle on the stand, with both hands, Lena began to slowly stroke my swollen but not yet fully erection war baton.
It was all in the eyes. She was satisfied, unasking, unrushed, undemanding. Lena simply caressed my coc I wondered just how long long it had been since she last touched and/or enjoyed a man. She began began to hum.
Without asking, Lena got up on the table before straddling my hips. Continuing to hold my cock in hand she began to slowly and deliberately rub the head of it against her clit. She sighed as her eyes looked skyward, slowing moving the head of my cock back and forth across her wet slit before elevating it enough to press it into the womb of her liquid warmth. It was enough for . There I could sense her satin womanhood and regain the erection. Seazing the opportunity, Lena slowly worked it deeper and deeper into that little pocket of wonders till finally seating it fully. I sighed as my kegals pumped at my throbbing shaft within her. It did not go unnoticed.
“Ooooooh, that feels so good,” Lena confessed as she leaned forward, placing her left hand next to my head as she fingered herself. Slowly at first, her hips rose and fell on my lengthening manhood. As she had achieve before , soon, all too soon, I began to enter into my climax. The woman above both heard and sensed what was occurring. It seemed only encouraged her as she increased the rhythm of her rising and falling.
Though the actual climax is such a brief event, the strength of it often drains all physical strength in after glow. And so it was as I reached up capture my angel as I repeatedly drilled her lathered sex before finally erupting deep within her final doorway. Once again she began shake, quiver and sing both a cry and a rejoice before her own strength failed her as she rested her full body weight on top of . With her mouth breathing into my right ear, her body continued to quiver and her hips continued a muscular capturing of my coc We laid there in silence as the music coming from upstairs had ceased playing. Only deep breathing now filled the room.
I could feel my orgasm escaping her womb. I could feel her inner muscles continuing contracts till she finally rolled off side of while continuing capture her breath. I rolled over on my side, wordlessly asking for permission as I leaned down kiss her. Lena’s hand rose up between our lips.
“Don’t. Please?” was all she said.
A thousand things ransacked my mind and emotions. A kiss. Just one kiss seal the moment with appreciation and thanksgiving. But her hand pressed against my lips as she rolled off the side of the bed.
“I’m sorry. I know it is silly after what just occurred but I can’t.”
I had hoped that she would have ended her statement with a “not yet.” But it didn’t come. There was only silence as she gathered a robe from a corner chair and disappeared back into the house. Rising, I got dressed, folded my table and put everything else away into the bag before heading back up the stairs. Lena was not to be seen so I carried everything out to the car before returning to the open door. Just inside, still clothed in her robe, Lena waited for me with in hand. She smiled as she handed it me. I felt robbed.
Taking the , she crossed her arms and smiled once more before saying, “Thank you. I appreciate your time.”
And that was it. She wasn’t going offer anymore. So I responded.
“Well the pleasure was all mine. Feel free contact me if ever you should again require my services.” I found myself adding by habit, “and please, I would appreciate a good word from you your friends and colleagues. Actually, I get most of my from word of mouth.”
I thanked her again before closing the door behind me as I heard the dead bolt clic It was October and the night was yet warm. I drove back home with my windows down in silence as I replayed it all over and over in my mind.
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The *Ideal*
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Posted:Nov 19, 2020 8:37 am
Last Updated:Feb 23, 2021 9:58 pm
2559 Views
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When filling out my profile, there is a box that asks each member what *ideal* they are looking for. My question is, how many answer that by detailing what their *fantasy* is? I cannot speak for women but I would presume every man has an *ideal fantasy* woman that he dreams of. Maybe it is because I am older and have experienced a fair amount of life that I am more reasoned in what kind of woman would *ideally* suit me. So do not judge to harshly what I will now describe. Honestly, I am not all that fixed as to what sort of woman I will or will not gel with.
The love of my life was not even five foot tall. Everyone use to comment how cute of a couple we were. I liked the fact that she had to look up to kiss me. She was of Mexican heritage and had one of the most endearing laughs I have ever encountered. But I loved that she loved to makeout and have her breasts massaged.
Not all that many years ago I met a woman at the Worth waterworks park. She was taller than me, very large breasted, educated and not the least bit put off by our age difference. She was married to a man with serious health issues, an educator who, I was led to believe, only viewed her as his house keeper. I liked her because she proved to me that though she definitely was not unattractive, that it was really more about the person on the inside that counted. It also did not hurt that she had such fine breasts and would often send me a new picture of them as a holiday greeting. Driving distance and free time quickly became a hurdle. I do not recall but we did not actually meet but a half dozen times or so. No ones fault. We just sort of lost touch as often busy lives do.
Maybe because I am a guy, *ideal* is first thought of and defined physically. I will not discount that reality. However, at least for me, it is important only for the first few minutes. I have met women that I was highly attracted to physically but it did not take long to realize we were not an *ideal fit*. And I have met women where I was not immediately physically attracted to but of whom grew on me due to their spunk and shared likes.
I was jogging Waterfall Glen one day and happened to see this young lady wandering in the woods far off trail. Always being curious and horny, I decided to investigate. To this day I do not think I can describe to anyone. She was... ordinary in facial looks. I do not think she ever told me her measurements but they were HWP. She never wore bras. Loved exploring woods, meadows, cemeteries, etc. Her were her life and she was a great mother. I just loved how adventurous she was and how she went about injecting all that into her . But there was another side to that outdoor adventurism that really drew me to her....she loved sex out of doors. She loved being far out in a forest preserve or a prairie reserve and taking all her clothes off. Mmmm, I loved her more than a handful breasts and that old school thatch of pubic hair that she only mildly trimmed for short shorts. She was Argentinian.
I could go on but suffice it to say I really do not have any hard and fast *ideal* category other than for one in a negative sense. I simply do not have it within me to overlook obesity or for that matter, belly larger than boobs. From earliest childhood memories, mammaries have alway been required to be larger than belly, even if only moderately HWP. I do not know why that is so rooted in my OS. But it is and I have not been able to over write it. I simply love to love a woman's breasts.
Enough. Has this helped any? PLEASE, comment! I love a good conversation.
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