For most people, their golden age is in their teens. Or their early twenties. Either way, it’s when they experiment, when they get all their wet and wild ambitions out of their hair. It was kind of the same for me. Mid-teens I was a complete handful. Out late, partying hard - it was sex, drugs and rock and roll all the way. Then it stopped. I met a man who turned my head 180 degrees and suddenly I couldn’t see the fun in staying out until all hours, getting soaking wet with no coat and having to hold somebody’s hair back whilst they threw-up down some back alley. Suddenly the all-night parties and the random sex didn’t hold the attraction it once did. All I wanted was to be in the arms of my lover, safe and
warm and with the added advantage of sex on tap!

This was fine and my twenties drifted past with the occasional excitement of a wedding, career development and new homes. Somewhere just after I turned thirty, though, it occurred to me that this might just be it. By then, the sex was formulaic - if I touch you here and kiss you there I know you’ll be panting - and less regular than it had once been. I still loved my, by now, husband, but it didn’t mean it was enough. I felt like I had in my teens. Partying became common place again and if he didn’t feel like it, I’d go on my own. That, however, is where the trouble started.

When you often go out with the same group, to the same bars and clubs, listening to the same music, eventually you have to notch the excitement level up a bit further. When it gets really dangerous is when more than one of you is in the same boat. It can start off harmlessly, but just like any addiction, you have to up the dosage, live further on the edge to get the same level of kick. That’s where it began.

Where, of course, it actually began was waiting for a taxi. It’s always waiting for a taxi, a bus, a tube. It’s the realisation that your night is about to end and you are back to the humdrum for another week or two. It’s like the panic you feel at the school disco when the last record comes on and nobody seems to be coming your way to ask for a dance. You're devastated that “he” didn’t come over and if “he” can’t see what “he” is missing, your sure as hell going to show him - probably by snogging his best mate.

So, waiting for the taxi, just the two of you, the panic descends again. The thought of curling up under the duvet with your one and only overtaken by the hormonal excitement of a quick grope and necking session, watched by the taxi driver who you know is getting a kick not only over the peep show in the back of his cab, but also from the knowledge that he’s dropping you off at two addresses (and probably picking you up, with your husband/wife, the following week).

With us, lustful kissing in a taxi turned, before long into blow-jobs down a back lane and then sex in the park. All very drunken, the embarrassed looks when we next met - with partners - always the same. No rules of engagement, so each time we went out the anticipation of whether it would happen - or whether one of us would bottle it and slope off early to avoid a scene - was the same. Never that there was a scene. We were too polite, too afraid for that.

The conversations that broached the subject were soon curtailed and so neither knew where we stood. That was until our two random companies happened upon the same hotel, on the same night for two very different occasions. His was a conference, mine a dinner. Both included copious alcohol and the opportunity, for the first time, of the whole night together. Yet, as I packed my bag, I still didn’t know whether it would happen. Oh, I packed the good lingerie - the suspenders, lace bra, French knickers and silk stockings - but I convinced myself I’d have done that regardless. The fact that I’d taken an age over my preparations in the hotel room - and that I’d picked up as I went along - was what I’d always have done, wasn’t it?

The dinner went on forever. Small talk and bad hotel fare. Worse, there was no sign of him. I didn’t even know whether he was actually there. A whole day and no sign. I didn’t know any of his colleagues - and I was sure as hell his wife did - so there was no chance of asking after him. I just had to sit it out. The pre-dinner drinks, mixed with a bottle of not too bad white wine and the evening began to fly by.

When we moved on to the bar afterwards, I was having such a good time, any thoughts of an encounter had slipped from my mind. Then I saw him, with his colleagues, also having a blast. I was determined not to make the move. If he wanted it, I was worth it. He could come to me. Did I get louder and slightly more flirtatious with the young man who’d been begging my attention all night? Did I end up sitting on a sofa next to him, talking quietly enough that he had to place his body tightly against mine to ensure he heard every word? Possibly so. Whether he’d seen me, I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t looking and couldn’t feel any stares being shot.

When my companion excused himself I took out my mirror and started to carefully re-apply my lipstick. When I felt the sofa next to me give and a body next to mine, I didn’t immediately turn. When I did it wasn’t the young man who’d expended all the energy on me. It was him.
“You’ve certainly been a hit this evening - everyone’s talking about you on my table!”
“So,” I countered “you’ve come over to put me back in my place, have you?”
He leaned closer into me.
“The only place I want to put you in is my bed, with me, all night.”
“Maybe I’ve made other plans. Maybe I’m sick of waiting, sick or wondering, sick of your inability to decide whether we’re going to do this and make it regular.”

I could tell he was taken aback and I was almost - but only almost - sorry I’d blurted it out. Yes it’d been how I was thinking since day one, but perhaps it wasn’t the time or place. Worse, my lap-dog was quickly approaching, the look in his eye wondering whether he’d already been usurped after all his efforts.
“Of course I want you. I always have. I always will. I’m in 211 - waiting on you.”

And with that, he got up, nodded at my young friend and made his way back to his table. I could tell from the laughter and cat-calls that greeted his arrival that they thought he’d blown it. We’d obviously had a dozen eyes on us and I was suddenly relieved I’d acted how I had. There would be no reports back - either to their wives or, through them, to his - about the random woman he’d picked up. More importantly, there would be no link to me, the person she sat next to at dinner every couple of months.

“Was he bothering you?” I was brought back from my thoughts.
“No! My God, if you get to my age and can’t brush off a drunken business-man in a bar, your not fit for much. Where were we..” And though the conversation continued and I was attentive and polite, my heart was beating faster and with one eye I watched for his exit.

As I tapped quietly on his door, twenty minutes after he left the bar, I straightened my skirt, and ruffled my hair. I’d re-applied my lipstick in the toilets downstairs and made sure I had that extra spray of perfume in just the right places. He took his time to answer, but when he did I could see he’d been waiting nervously. The room looked like no-one had been in it that day. Every cushion on the sofa was in place, the pillows were still plumped and the bottle of wine from the bar remained unopened and the glasses untouched.

“I was just beginning to wonder if I’d really pissed you off that much. Whether I’d blown my chances completely.” He said as I pushed past him into the room. His tie was off and I noticed he was paddling around with nothing on his feet.
“I could have been elsewhere, but I thought if we don’t do this now, we may have to wait another fifteen years before we get the chance”. As I smiled he pulled me into his body, his hot breath on my neck as he whispered “Never. Your the woman I always wanted. If that means sharing you, I can cope - as long as you feel the same.”

I kissed him, full on the mouth in response. His firm lips pushed back against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. It was urgent and passionate, but felt different from the other times. There was no hurry. This could take all night.

As his hands moved from the nape of my neck, down my back and fell lightly onto my buttocks, my stomach lurched. He pulled me in even tighter, pressing his growing erection against the very top of my thigh, slowly grinding himself into me, never once breaking his contact with my lips. I felt myself getting damper every time I felt the tip of his cock against me and knew I had to have him.
I broke free and completely unselfconsciously slowly undid each of the buttons on my blouse, stripping for him, his greedy eyes taking it all in.

With my top safely stowed over the arm of the sofa, I reached around undoing the button and zip on my black, pencil skirt, allowing it to drop and stepping out of it. I still had on my 3 inch heels, giving me much needed extra height. However, it wasn’t these that my lover was staring at, it was my breasts, barely contained within my black, lace platform bra, the nipples so hard now each movement was sending bolts through my body.

As he stood there, dumb-struck, I started to play with my left nipple, pinching it through the lace, moaning slightly as I felt my cunt growing wetter and wetter. He was back on me in a second. His mouth hungrily sucking through the lace, desperate to feel my soft skin in his mouth. As he worked, concentration furrowing his brow, I slowly undid his shirt and removed it gently, before unclipping his buckle and allowing his thick, hard cock to finally break free through his gaping zip.

“I think it’s time I started to take care of that” and as I fell to my knees, I ensured his trousers came with me. He wasn’t wearing underwear and I could already see a glistening of pre-cum on the very tip of his cock. However, it was his balls that I moved to first, gently taking each in turn into my mouth and licking them slowly.

As he groaned and ran his fingers through the very top of my hair, I wondered how much of this he could actually take. Releasing him, I moved my tongue delicately the full length of his shaft, licking away the pre-cum across the slit of his cock, making him shudder. I waited a second before taking his glans in my mouth and sliding down his cock, waiting for the moment when he hit my throat and I would need to breath in to stifle the nausea. That overcome, I moved rhythmically up and down, every now and again flicking my tongue across his tip, making him groan and buck slightly. He wasn’t far from orgasm - I felt the surge of blood harden his cock until it was ready to burst - but he withdrew.
“Now that just wouldn’t be right, would it? After all, it should always be ladies first? Anyway, I think we’ve done this in enough uncomfortable places” and with that he bent down and lifted me onto the softest mattress I had ever felt.
His hands worked their way slowly up my thighs, tracing the outline of the top of my stockings un-hooking the clasps of the suspender belt holding them in place. Slowly he rolled down the right stocking, planting kisses down the inside of my thigh and calf, before repeating the procedure with the left.

Undoing my suspenders, he dropped them to the floor, next to the neatly rolled stockings. Kissing slowly across my stomach he lifted me gently, and struggled slightly to undo my bra. I laughed - a nervous, expectant release. He looked up at me “Three hooks - you devil!” and with that the bra was sailing across the room, his body against mine and my left nipple deep in his mouth.

As my mind slid away, I felt myself groaning every now and again, the touch his tongue flicking my nipple, exploring it’s taste, its contours. Satisfied he now knew it, he moved over to my other breast, my nipple aching for its encounter. As he nibbled my groans became louder, deeper and more intense. I felt my hips start to sway, rubbing his cock against the lace of my knickers.

The intensity of the feelings shooting through my body surprised me. It had been so long since sex had seemed so fresh. For the longest time, I was locked within myself, enjoying the sensations rolling over me, at the edge of an orgasm but hauling myself back to ensure my enjoyment continued.

Finally, he moved towards my cunt. As I lifted my hips and he slowly pulled the now sopping wet lace away from me I knew I wanted him inside me. He, however, had other ideas. Again the gentle kissing around the top of my thighs, which this time had me gripping hold of the bed-cover for grim depth. “Just take me”, I wanted to scream, but the agony of it all became too delicious. As he parted my lips and licked my clit for the first time, I nearly came. I pushed myself against his mouth and finally he started to increase the tempo. His long, slow, playfulness was now replaced with a more urgent, rough anticipation as my juices enveloped each of his senses in turn. He groaned loudly, my whole body vibrating with him, and I could take no more.

“If I don’t get that hard cock deep inside me now,” I growled “I think I’m going to explode!”
“Dramatic as ever..” was all he said before lifting my legs and thrusting his cock as far as he could into me. I could feel the blood pumping and his balls taught as they banged against my arse. There was no time for a slow build. We were both too far along for that. However, as his pace quickened, his mouth came back to mine, sharing the sweet taste of my juices, our tongues as urgent as the rest of our bodies.

In those final few moments before he came, I was already starting my orgasm. I felt my stomach harden, my thighs clench and my inner muscles clamp around his cock as if their very life depended upon it. Our mouths broke away as, in unison, we moaned, deep orgasmic tones. Finally, I felt his hot cum rush into me to meet and mix with my own. We were both hot, sweaty and exhausted. Fifteen years of expectation had finally been realised, and as his lips met mine again, I wondered why we had waited so long.
“I could use a shower..” he said “I presume you’ll join me?”
Nothing could have stopped me. Not then and not now.