Dirty dreams can come true at any age

Harry was sitting alone at the bar when she walked in. It was not quite 10 a.m. and the place was empty except for Harry and a surly bartender hacking a bowl of lemons into sloppy wedges. Occasionally the muffled roar of a 747 or the murmur of hotel guests heading down the hall to the free breakfast would trickle in but mostly it was a dark soothing cave of tranquility, a place a man could nurse a beer and escape his life for a few hours. She swept past him leaving a whiff of jasmine in her wake. Something about her made his cock instantly hard.

What the fuck? He looked down at his lap. Sure enough, there was a tent there like he hadn’t seen since…well, since he was a younger man.

Baffled, he stole a glance at her over the top of his glass watching her settle into a booth at the back. Pretty enough but nothing special he concluded. She was what he thought of as classy: black pencil skirt, cream silk blouse and a discrete flash of gold as she pushed back her dark hair. Not a hint of cleavage or a French manicured talon in sight. She looked like all the women who hired him to renovate their kitchens and then complained about the mess and inconvenience.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. For some reason, after night of ignoring perfectly good internet porn his penis had decided to sit up and take notice of some random stranger, a stranger who was not Harry’s type at all. Nope, not even close, he confirmed taking another look. Too stylish. Too dignified. Too small in the chest area. And she was his age for chrissakes. When was the last time he had fucked someone his age? Oh yeah, his ex wife. And look how that turned out.

She summoned the bartender with an imperious wave of her hand.

Hope she didn’t order the wine, Harry shuddered watching the man shuffle away to get her drink. He took another sip of his lukewarm IPA wondering why someone like her was staying at the Restwell airport hotel never mind hanging out in it’s shabby nameless lounge.

The bartender brought her what looked like a double whiskey. She threw it back in one quick gulp signaling for another before the glass hit the table. As she waited she extracted a heavy cardboard box from the bag beside her and placed it on the table with a look of exasperation. Involuntarily intrigued, Harry tried to keep his eyes to himself but for some reason they kept being drawn to the corner booth and its single occupant.

Suddenly he found himself caught in her gaze.

He quickly switched his attention to a painting of a beached sailboat hanging just behind her but she was already giving him a smile and offering him the empty space beside her with a cool nod of her head.

Now what was he doing? Harry’s legs, it appeared, had also decided to develop a mind of their own. They slid him off the barstool and propelled him across the room. He had just enough time time to grab his jacked and hold it in front of him like some hormonal thirteen year old. He made a mental note to see his doctor when he got home in case this was some form of senile dementia setting in early.

“Hi,” he said praying he had not misread her gesture.

“Hello,” she smiled up at him and held out an elegant hand. “I’m Elaine.”

“Harry.” Her hand was soft and cool with slim fingers that were devoid of jewelry. The surprisingly firm grip sent a fresh jolt of inappropriate lust to his privates. He sat down and hoped he wasn’t about to embarrass himself.

“Can I buy you another beer?”

“Sure.” Why not, he thought. Try something new. The last time a woman bought him a drink was never.

By : thirstformisery

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