Far from Trivial - Sex Stories

Far from Trivial

... wore his sandy blond hair in a neat cut. His build was lean but not muscular, and behind his glasses, his eyes were full of warmth.

"You're kind," he said. "I don't feel like you're going to brush me off if I approach you to say hello."

I gave him a puzzled look. "Of course I wouldn't."

"I know you wouldn't, but women my age? It's hard to get to know them in a way that's real. These days, with everybody online, and people quickly swiping left or right, first impressions aren't just important. They'reeverything." Mason let out a heavy sigh. "It takes just seconds for people to decide whether you're funny enough, or successful enough, or if you look good enough."

I couldn't help but grimace while also feeling relieved that I no longer had any interest in dating. "Sounds pretty bleak."

"It's brutal," Mason said. "And I don't have all that much going for me, anyway."

"That's nonsense!" Without thinking, I reached across the table and gave his hand a reassuring pat. "You're incredibly smart, and my impression of you while we've talked tonight is that you're a kind, likable person. You're a good-looking young man, too."

Mason's face brightened. "You think so?"

"Well, yes." I didn't want Mason to think I was hitting on him, so I sat back in my chair, putting more distance between us. He continued beaming while I took several sips of my drink.

"Soo..." he said, his smile growing playful, "Considering all that, would you be interested in spending time with ...

... me outside of this place?"

My eyes widened a little. He was flirting with me! Or trying to get laid, more likely. "How old are you, Mason?"

His smile only grew. "I'm twenty-eight, June."

"I'm thirty years older than you."

"So?" Mason leaned closer. "That shouldn't stop us from enjoying each other's company."

I tried not to roll my eyes, but it was difficult to hide my exasperation. "I'm not fucking you," I said.

His smile slipped a little, and I felt a twinge of guilt for using such a harsh tone. Yet he pressed on. As he spoke, his cheeks flushed. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"No?" I drained my glass and set it before me. "What did you have in mind?"

Mason was obviously nervous, straightening his glasses and then tugging at his shirt collar. He quickly looked around before meeting my stare once again. "I want you to sit on my face," he said, his voice barely audible above the noise of the bar.

My mouth dropped open. At first, I couldn't believe he was serious, but when his eyes took on a pleading look, I realized he wasn't joking. I also realized my body had immediately responded to his words. Since my divorce, I hadn't even been on a date, much less fooled around with anyone. To say I was having a sexual dry spell would be a huge understatement. I masturbated often in an attempt to satisfy my urge, but it wasn't the same. Now, this much younger man was practically begging me to sit on his face. Beneath my shirt, my nipples hardened, and ...