Pedro E.
There is a lot I don't always remember from past lovers. I don't always remember the size of their dicks or how they made me come or how they taste or what did they do that was so different from others.
But I remember the places I've been in with them. I remember the smell of dusty rooms and the taste of cheap beer and how the women in the room next to ours screamed while they came.
I can't say much about where I met Pedro E., except for two things: he's from the south of Bogotá, which means dirt poor. And he's 60. If I did say something, I'd get both him and me in very serious trouble: this is one disclaimer I prefer to break.
After some talking, we went to play pool at a locale close to where I live and had a couple of beers. He tried to get closer to me but I rebuffed him because all I could think was He's not your age. He's from a different strata. You can get in deep shit. No no no.
He kept bringing me gifts and being nice to me. One night, my hands were cold and he grabbed them and started to warm them. The movement he made, the fact we were alone and how he looked into my eyes I do remember.
So do I still remember my breath catching in my throat and my panties getting wetter as he rubbed warmth into my palm. I shy away from human contact sometimes, as I fear I will get burnt by it-that night, I couldn't believe something so simple was turning me on more than anything I had felt in such a long time. Maybe because it was so simple it caught me. I'm not a fancy girl, but I'm not impressed by anything so easily either.
He took me for lunch one day on the other side of where I live and it was a very mom and pop kind of place. I realized I was more scared than hungry, because there was no turning back then. He said let's walk a bit and we ended up around the love motel area, sat down and had a couple of beers. He started to touch my arms and we began to look at each other knowing that we didn't need to be drinking beer in a dingy salon. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone. Ok. I got to choose the place and I had my preferred brand of condoms with me. Go me. We walked into the one that looked the least derelict (I lie. I did some research and that one was a little cleaner but no ceiling mirrors. It would have been better to fuck in another one, I'll tell you why) and he paid for everything while I avoided looking into the face of the women who were at the cashier.
We walked in the room and he kissed me. Not with passion, but hunger. He's shorter than me, so it wasn't easy. The bathroom got flooded after we went in, but I didn't care. All I wanted was him on top of me then, kissing me all over. He kept praising my tits, said he could just wrap himself in them if he wanted to. My eyes. My kisses and my skin.
He said I was so beautiful and that I tasted lovely. He told me he had paid for sex and I kept my eyes open because I didn't want his dick near me without a condom. I think he had an average dick but was unable to get it hard for a long while because of his age and the fact he was intimidated by me or so he said.
At one point, after I put his dick between my tits and got him harder and we FINALLY fucked he grabs my face and says "I love you". I said "hold it, Romeo" and paid no attention to him.
I don't love. I fuck. Sadly, he loves.
He couldn't come properly because I asked him to look at me when he was coming and that made him lose his focus. I tried to get him up again, but it didn't work. He showered and I got dressed smelling like pussy galore all over me but before I put on my stockings I asked him to go down on me, because I had to fake an orgasm when he was inside me and wanted to make my time in that shit hole worth it.
He was reluctant because he said he'd never done it but had a go (Is pussy eating something we do more when we have the means for everything else?). He was barely good at it, and I don't blame him: I hadn't shaved in weeks.
We left and he tried to kiss me and grab my hands, but I wanted nothing of it. I just wanted to go home and forget about him, but I didn't really. Sometime after that, he tried to ask me out again, but I refused.
if you're bad once, what guarantee do i have that you'll be better next time? That's why I don't go back to old flames, except when they are VERY good. I still go geratric from time to time, but like the older birds that choose what they eat, I also have a picky tooth.
I don't like tender meat, but meat -like everything else- goes sour.
But I remember the places I've been in with them. I remember the smell of dusty rooms and the taste of cheap beer and how the women in the room next to ours screamed while they came.
I can't say much about where I met Pedro E., except for two things: he's from the south of Bogotá, which means dirt poor. And he's 60. If I did say something, I'd get both him and me in very serious trouble: this is one disclaimer I prefer to break.
After some talking, we went to play pool at a locale close to where I live and had a couple of beers. He tried to get closer to me but I rebuffed him because all I could think was He's not your age. He's from a different strata. You can get in deep shit. No no no.
He kept bringing me gifts and being nice to me. One night, my hands were cold and he grabbed them and started to warm them. The movement he made, the fact we were alone and how he looked into my eyes I do remember.
So do I still remember my breath catching in my throat and my panties getting wetter as he rubbed warmth into my palm. I shy away from human contact sometimes, as I fear I will get burnt by it-that night, I couldn't believe something so simple was turning me on more than anything I had felt in such a long time. Maybe because it was so simple it caught me. I'm not a fancy girl, but I'm not impressed by anything so easily either.
He took me for lunch one day on the other side of where I live and it was a very mom and pop kind of place. I realized I was more scared than hungry, because there was no turning back then. He said let's walk a bit and we ended up around the love motel area, sat down and had a couple of beers. He started to touch my arms and we began to look at each other knowing that we didn't need to be drinking beer in a dingy salon. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone. Ok. I got to choose the place and I had my preferred brand of condoms with me. Go me. We walked into the one that looked the least derelict (I lie. I did some research and that one was a little cleaner but no ceiling mirrors. It would have been better to fuck in another one, I'll tell you why) and he paid for everything while I avoided looking into the face of the women who were at the cashier.
We walked in the room and he kissed me. Not with passion, but hunger. He's shorter than me, so it wasn't easy. The bathroom got flooded after we went in, but I didn't care. All I wanted was him on top of me then, kissing me all over. He kept praising my tits, said he could just wrap himself in them if he wanted to. My eyes. My kisses and my skin.
He said I was so beautiful and that I tasted lovely. He told me he had paid for sex and I kept my eyes open because I didn't want his dick near me without a condom. I think he had an average dick but was unable to get it hard for a long while because of his age and the fact he was intimidated by me or so he said.
At one point, after I put his dick between my tits and got him harder and we FINALLY fucked he grabs my face and says "I love you". I said "hold it, Romeo" and paid no attention to him.
I don't love. I fuck. Sadly, he loves.
He couldn't come properly because I asked him to look at me when he was coming and that made him lose his focus. I tried to get him up again, but it didn't work. He showered and I got dressed smelling like pussy galore all over me but before I put on my stockings I asked him to go down on me, because I had to fake an orgasm when he was inside me and wanted to make my time in that shit hole worth it.
He was reluctant because he said he'd never done it but had a go (Is pussy eating something we do more when we have the means for everything else?). He was barely good at it, and I don't blame him: I hadn't shaved in weeks.
We left and he tried to kiss me and grab my hands, but I wanted nothing of it. I just wanted to go home and forget about him, but I didn't really. Sometime after that, he tried to ask me out again, but I refused.
if you're bad once, what guarantee do i have that you'll be better next time? That's why I don't go back to old flames, except when they are VERY good. I still go geratric from time to time, but like the older birds that choose what they eat, I also have a picky tooth.
I don't like tender meat, but meat -like everything else- goes sour.
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