Meeting James - Chapter One - Sex Stories

Meeting James - Chapter One

... beautiful silver flatware, and opulent white linen tablecloths. I started to feel a bit underdressed for the occasion. “Two Hypnotiq’s please,” I said, smiling sweetly at the bar tender. He instantly turned around and began pouring the drinks. I smiled to myself as I slid my fake I.D. back in my purse, happy he didn’t question my age. I began scanning the room again, admiring the beautiful dresses that some of the women were wearing and noticed that more of the older women chose longer, more formal evening dresses, while women my age opted for the shorter cocktail dress. It must be a generational thing I thought and their more formal attire added a feeling of exclusivity to the event which I liked. It was fun to pretend I was royalty, or maybe a Hollywood starlet, if only for the evening. I was suddenly snapped out of my daze by a short, chubby, balding man who seemed to almost miraculously appear in front of me. “I’m not Fred Flintstone, but I can make your bed rock!” he exclaimed proudly. My jaw dropped. Did he really just say that? I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed for myself or for him. I tried to move my lips to form some sort of response, but no words would come came out. He broke my stunned silence by saying, “Do you work for UPS? I could have sworn I saw you checking out my package.” I could feel myself going from shocked, to embarrassed and then to mad. I started to say something clever like, “Did you come here with friends or are you the only thirty-five ...

... year old virgin here tonight,” when I felt a hand rest on the small of my back. I turned and looked into the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. “Are our drinks ready yet honey?” he asked smoothly, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. My knees instantly went weak. I barely noticed Mr. Cheesy-Pick-Up-Line’s look of disappointment as he skulked away. My rescuer looked perplexed by my choice of cocktails as he slid his credit card to the bar tender. “It’s Hypnotiq,” I replied, answering his unasked question, “and thank you,” I added. He smiled softly at me. “You looked like you could use the help“. I returned his smile, peering again into those deep blue eyes. The mix of gray and black hair gave away his age. Maybe 50 I thought to myself. He was wearing a black designer suit that fit him impeccably. And he was tall, six foot three I guessed, just a bit taller than me in these heels. He had a ruggedly handsome face that seemed to encompass a ‘boyish good looks’ quality. Maybe at one time, perhaps in his youth, the title of pretty boy would have fitted him perfectly, but the years had turned his boyishly handsome face into the look of a distinguished older man. “I’m James,” he said, as the bartender slid his credit card back to him, “and my fee for one rescue is a dance.” I smiled warmly at him and took his extended hand. He led me to the dance floor and almost effortlessly, I found myself securely in his arms. For the first time in my life I was happy that my parents had forced me to ...