I’ve always had an aversion to older women. I suppose it goes back to my youth, and the conflict I had with my need to control and having that control taken from me. A lot of this stemmed from the fact I was at odds with myself. I was controlled and reserved, yet I was curious and I liked to push boundaries. I could be bold, but I could also be quiet.
“You’re a mystery to me,” I was once told by Beth, a much older woman.
Beth was a nurse that worked nights, and who as long as I had known her, she had a long line of boyfriends and one-night stands. She was also the mother to my best friend’s girlfriend. Ana and Mark had been dating seriously, well as serious as you can be in high school, for about a year. It was kind of a foregone conclusion they would get eventually get married.
The nights that Beth was at work, we hung out played games and got drunk and stoned. Beth never seemed to mind. She had her own demons. Vodka being the primary one. Me being another.
Beth always seem to have this cloud of sorrow that followed her around. It wasn’t a cloud you could see, but it was like a mist that flowed through the room when she would enter. It left me feeling chilled and emotionally drained. It was like she could consume all the happiness and good will from a room. Truth is, even though it was apparent she had let herself go, she had been a beautiful woman. Hidden behind her course weathered features, there was still a hint of her beauty. In a lot of way Ana was very much the spitting image of her. Fiery red hair, voluptuous breast, and a nice round ass. The two weren’t tall, but they weren’t short. Ana was kind of the opposite, instead of sucking the energy out of a room when she walked in, she actually infused it. She was a ball of energy, and sometimes I would watch both mother and daughter and try to extrapolate the reason the two were so different.
I knew Beth had a rough go with men. As long as Ana could remember there was a long procession of lovers that came and went. It was almost like Beth couldn’t be alone, as if she had to spend the night alone, that wouldn’t survive. Perhaps she needed the reassurance and security of knowing someone was there, that their mere presence was validation and showed someone cared.
Looking back, Beth damaged me as much as she was damaged, but in different ways. It wasn’t immediate, not like I took stock of how my affair with her shifted my worldview. And it wasn’t her alone that accomplished this feat, but when she fucked me, I felt like a caged rat. As if the walls were closing in on me. That’s the first time I had ever felt that.
I was a mystery to Beth, but one she had no interest in solving me. She was merely in it for eight inches of flesh and a brief fling of passion.
Years later I came across a book that described demons and fantastical creatures. There was one that stuck out in particular, the succubus. They were often times beautiful women that lured men into sexual trysts and in the process left their mates diminished. I felt diminished after each of my encounters. I couldn’t help but think of Beth.
When your young it’s easy to move on, to put things behind you. I put Beth behind me when I graduated high school. Ana and Mark went off to college, and I went into the military. I had instances where older women would show interest, but I politely declined or shied away all together. As I explored and learned about myself, I came to realize I needed certain things. I needed control, and to be able to exert my dominance.
I associated youth with submissiveness. Women my age or younger had no desire to dominate, and for the most part they were content to be directed. Many of them were learning just as I was. When I finally learned and understood my dominant nature, I opened things up. I finally understood my aversion to older women. It wasn’t the age, as much as it was the motivation behind the persons action. Looking back on my time with Beth, perhaps had I been more confident of my abilities I could have controlled the situation. I could have controlled her and exacted a different outcome and feeling than I had felt.
Years later with Sandy, Emily’s mom, I had been the target of some manipulation by her. As part of a surprise her daughter was setting up, Sandy went to what she knew best to lure me out of my office and out to the parking lot. She used her body, and the hint of sex. Her promiscuity repulsed me at the time and I had let it be known. At the time I thought it was a complete lack of control of herself that led her to behave in such a way. I deduced that she must take the path of least resistance, that her approach to life was make the easiest choices and just go with the flow. I had seen much of this behavior mimicked in Emily. I had taken Emily on as a project. I had pushed her to take ownership of her sexuality, to be mindful of how she employed it. It was during my time with Emily, that I could to understand that was some level of control happening within Sandy, however it was very benign and very much in the background. Sandy was an emotional butterfly. She flittered and fluttered from guy to guy, the winds of emotion her guide. She was a feel-good person, driven by her baser instincts. There was a hint of control there. Not much, but it was there.
I had been rude to Sandy. I felt like I had to be direct, but perhaps I let some of the emotion from my own past bleed through and taint the word “Whore” when I called her that. She was promiscuous and she was easy, and honestly, I was offended by her amateurish attempt to seduce me. I was young then, I was cocky, and I was an asshole.
Aside from that one night, and in the few seconds after I called her a “Whore,” she didn’t let it register. She treated me the same as she always had. It was like she had completely scrubbed it from memory. She also didn’t change much. I came upon her with two of Emily’s friends in the back of a SUV outside one of the local dive bars. The second-row seating had been leaned back, her boobs were pushed up out of her bar, and she was bouncing up and down on this young guy’s lap. The young guy was completely fixated on the ample white mounds flapping just inches from his face. He was too young to get in the bar, but just old enough to get in Sandy.
My curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I had to look as I passed. I didn’t linger. I just kept on into the bar. She must have seen and a few moments later, she had brought me a drink.
“Crown?” she asked as she put the drink in front of me.
I nodded.
“Putting on shows?” I asked. “I can put you on camera and stream it for all to watch.”
Sandy curled her lips, and took a moment to respond.
“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked.
“I don’t like nor dislike you,” I answered. “You bought me a drink, so you’re in the positives with me.”
Sandy had been a math teacher in a previous life, or ten years before at some school out West. I figured she would get the positives reference. There seemed to be a hint of recognition in her eyes as I lifted my glass, tipped it towards her and took a drink.
“I can’t ever figure you out,” she offered.
“You can’t figure me out, because you can’t manipulate me like most other guys,” I countered.
“You think I manipulate?”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
She didn’t respond. She let out an exasperated breath.
“Emily told me about you,” she said.
“Is that why you’re concerned with me?”
Sandy shook her head.
“You think I’m a monster,” she said in a tone I knew that was designed to draw pity.
“No,” I said. “But if were talking, you can cut out that woe is me shit. I don’t like nor dislike you. That little thing you do that works on most guys; I could give fuck all bout. You’re a whore. I think on some level you’re okay with that, and that’s cool. What I don’t like is the pretension that I want to fuck you when you offer me nothing that I can’t get from someone else, that I can get younger, and with less miles on the tires.”
I went hard on her for a reason. I needed to see how she took it. Everything I said was true, and unlike that night in the parking lot I was in complete control, so it was also deliberate. I watched the features of her face wash away; the fake smile was gone and her eyes downcast. She grabbed for her drink, and I cupped my hand over it and prevented her from picking it up. She fidgeted and looked uneasy. It was like I had cut off her lifeline. She looked up at me.
“You’re done with that,” I said.
She nodded.
As we pulled up to my house, I was thinking about how I should play things. I hadn’t intended to bring her home, but her willingness to be directed had turned me on. I kept going back to memories of Beth. Her older worn body, the loose skin and stretch marks. Sandy bore some of the similar features, though she tried harder to hide it. My purpose for Sandy wasn’t to fuck her, it was to expose her in a way she hadn’t been exposed before. She stood in the center of my living room, her clothes in a pile before her. I had fixed me a drink while she undressed. I sat back onto my couch and just watched to see how she responded. She was quick to try and use her arms to cover herself as much as possible, but I had admonished her and she dropped them to her sides as instructed.
Sandy was a curiosity to me. She was strong, yet she was weak. She was strong-willed, yet she was easy to convince. Easy to convince to be sexual. Sex was the key. It was the greatest currency she had, and she spent it like a meth head spends their last dollar on a bump. Enthusiastic and almost giddy.
“Are you happy?” I finally asked.
I took a sip of my Crown.
“I think I am,” Sandy offered.
“What makes you happy?”
“My kids,” she answered.
“Emily?” I asked.
Sandy started to answer but paused. She knew there was something more to the question and she was trying to figure out what it was. Truth be told, it was another test. I didn’t intend to ask her, but her mentioning her kids sort of naturally led me to Emily, who I had a very intimate familiarity with, both physical and mentally.
There were cracks in the façade that Beth was putting forth. Her front was crashing in on itself, and she realized she had opened the door and invited me to step in. I knew Emily had told her about us. I knew she had to be somewhat responsible for our Prom Night date, since she had been the one that lured me out so the girls could sneak into my office. Now, after several years she and I had come full circle. I was about to get answers that I didn’t know I wanted back then.
“You think I’m a bad mother,” she started. “I guess I am. I guess I got so comfortable with who I was, not happy, but comfortable. I guess that sort of rubbed off on her.”
“I’m not judging you,” I said. This wasn’t about judgement. It was about truth and answers for me. “She’s doing good for herself. Married, a kid on the way.”
Sandy beamed a massive smile and then perhaps because she was feeling more comfortable with me, she moved to cover herself again.
“No!” I barked.
She immediately dropped her hands to her side.
“We are going to be completely open and honest,” I said. “And you are going to do what I say.”
Sandy smiled and shook her head in a girlish way that I found familiar.
“Like mother, like daughter,” I said.
Perhaps it was a low blow, today I could have gotten the information a bit more subtly, back then I was more about a brute force approach. There wasn’t a lot of room for subtlety, that’s the sort of thing that comes with experience and wisdom. Despite my brashness, Sandy and I were on the same page. I had seen her naked dozens of times, all my friends had either fucked her or gotten head from her. I let it be known that were going to be no pretenses or fakeness. Though she tried to slip back into the familiarity of those childish games here and there, by and large she had stayed true to the intent of the night. The intent of my probing of her.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I like you, always have,” she answered.
“Why?”
“My God, when you walk into a room, there’s this presence, it’s not so much sexual, as it is,” she paused and thought. “I just want to drop my panties for you, and do what you say.”
“You drop your panties for everyone though,” I prodded. “What makes me special?”
I could see the thought process in her face. I motioned to her to come sit down by me. She complied and I handed her my drink. She took a sip and tried to give it back to me.
“I might stick my dick in you, but I’m not drinking after you,” I Informed her. To my surprise she smiled. It struck me then, that all the guys, all the attention, it was all to fuel some internal desire. She was a whore because she chose to be. She liked the conflict of feelings that welled in her after the deed was done. She liked the negative connotation of it all. Sure, the sex felt good sometimes, but it was just the currency to get to that feeling. To call her a whore was a compliment.
Sandy took another drink and then put it down on the coffee table. She turned to me, her chest was bright red and her chest was beating like a revved-up fire engine.
“I like it,” she said. “I like feeling their hands on me, feeling like I’m giving them something they need. I like pleasing. Then after I like the feeing of being dirty, and being used. Those feelings, those are for me.”
Bingo! That was the key, and I was pretty sure this was the first time she had actually articulated it or explained it. She was all about the feeling.
“I like when you watch me,” she said. “Sometimes, I pretend I’m putting on a show for you. I pretend others are you, or that they will tell you.”
I considered what she said and I was quiet. Which I’m sure for her was a new experience since I was rarely left with nothing to say, but I wanted to be calculated in my response. I wanted to put her words, feelings, and thoughts into the Bo Blender and see what came out. It was more a process than a reaction.
“I like to be seen by you,” she offered and put her hand on my leg.
“You don’t touch me,” I said as I brushed her hand off. “I touch you.”
She nodded and understood the breach of unspoken protocol.
“Have you ever had a submissive?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Almost,” I answered.
“Emily’s dad and I were in bondage and such,” she said. “He wasn’t very powerful though; he was kind of weak. I guess you spend long enough with one thing, then you gravitate to the other. I like strong men who take what they want.”
This confession made sense. During her marriage she probably had to initiate any sort of connection whether it was physical or mental. In a lot of ways, she was the opposite of me. She craved a lack of control, and I craved the control. Although, I hadn’t been married to Beth those years before, those interactions had left a mark, it had put me on a path of self-discovery. I was dominant, but I still wasn’t quite sure what that meant other than I craved control and without control I suffered. Sandy and I were on opposite ends of a spectrum, and we couldn’t deny who we were. She had spent years denying and it had warped her. I wouldn’t allow my experiences to warp me.
“Stand up,” I said.
Sandy complied.
I grabbed her by her throat and I spit in her face. She smiled and licked off what little she could reach with her tongue. We were simpatico, but in different ways. I had control and she liked that, no she burned for it.
I squeezed my hand harder and her smile grew and so did I. I was fully erect when I forced it inside her. She was loose, and worn out. I didn’t care. This wasn’t about the act, it was about the dominance, about me taking what I wanted and giving it to her however I chose.
Sandy grabbed both sides of the coffee table and braced her self as I railed her from behind. I pushed inside her as hard I possibly could. I would be the one she remembers out of all the others. I would be the one tomorrow she would smile about, instead of lament. She would know I was there and my absence would haunt her.
The stretched muscles of her vagina offered me little resistance. Even with my bare cock sliding in and out of her I couldn’t garner enough friction to build up anywhere close to climax.
“Your pussy isn’t working,” I said. “Get on your knees.”
Sandy spun eagerly and dropped to her knees. My cock when into her mouth so hard it forced to gag and recoil. I didn’t give her long to recover before I had her by the back of her head and was using her mouth and throat much like I had used her vagina. Rough and hard. Her mouth offered plenty of resistance, and I could push farther into her throat than I could with most women. I was taking advantage of those years of experience. It was then I had a thought.
I pulled out, my balls were getting tighter and I could feel the pretext of a climax. I continued to stroke my cock inches above her face.
“Open your mouth,” I ordered.
She complied.
I sprayed my load across her face and into her hair. Very little actually made it into her mouth. She scraped what she could off and started to look around for something to wipe it on.
“Eat it,” I commanded.
“I don’t,” she said.
“You do now.”
She licked me off her fingers. When she was done, I leaned down and using my index finger I lifted her chin. I could see a thin film from my saliva earlier and the cum I just deposited on her face.
“Leave it,” I said. “And get dressed.”
We had only been at my house for a couple of hours and people were making their way to the after-hours bar. In the parking lot lights the sheen of my fluids was still visible on her face. She seemed to wear it like a badge of honor.
“You’re a whore right?” I asked.
“Amongst other things,” she answered.
“So, I can just pick a random guy and you’ll fuck him?”
She considered what I had said and nodded.
“You pick him,” she said. “I’ll fuck him.”
The way Sandy said it so as-a-matter-of-factly send a wave of excitement through me. There was something about the fact I could dictate who she fucked. I had the ability to make someone’s night, and that felt powerful. I hadn’t felt power quite like that before. I was hard once again and Sandy noticed.
“You need a little help?” she asked.
I declined. I wanted to put this new found power to use. I wanted to explore this whole presence thing. I made a point to let her walk in the bar first and then I followed a few minutes later. She had gotten me a drink, but I think she understood my meaning by wanting to explore. She left the drink on the bar for me and I surveyed the patrons standing around.
The man I chose for her was old even to her. I knew him to be a massive pervert. Always making inappropriate jokes and copping feels whenever he could. I knew he was more bark than bite, and had no qualms about Sandy’s ability to manipulate him. When I identified him, she shook her head, like he was worst option available.
‘I feel like this is a test,” she said.
“I guess that makes me the teacher and your old ass the student,” I countered.
She laughed.
“Old huh?”
I nodded.
“Let’s just hope I don’t give Pervy Peter here a heart attack,” Sandy said. She then kissed me on my cheek and made her way over to her intended target. My cock was rock hard, the sight of her walking across the bar excited me. She was mine in a way, but in a way, she was everyone’s. I like that contradiction. I liked the power.
It didn’t take long for Sandy to win Pervy Pete over and the two left on their predesigned coupling. I felt like I had just hit a walk-off homerun in a little league game. I felt triumphant. I made my way to the back bar and ordered another Crown. There was a hint of recognition when the bartender came back over with my drink.
“You’re Bo right?” she asked in hushed voice.
“Yes ma’am, I am.” I answered in a deep confident voice.
“You don’t know me,” she said softly. “I know you.”
“How so?”
“I was friends with Kira and Emily,” she answered.
The recognition clicked and I had remembered her being one of the girls in the Prom party that had rented a limo.
“I know what you like,” she offered as if the recognition in my eyes had emboldened her.
“What’s that?” I mused.
“A girl that likes to be told what to do. I like that.”
I smiled.