I am so excited about the day. The entire day is going to be so much fun. Of course, any time with Adam is fun. I have never been to Mule Days, but it is famous state-wide. Why they still call it Mule Days, I don’t know. People ride their horses in town—not mules.
I wait for Adam to text me that he is on his way. It is getting close to time for the parade to start. I will not ask him if he remembers our plans. I refuse. He needs to want to remember our plans. I should not have to remind him. This should be something he has looked forward to. Actually, I know he has. He has mentioned it each time I have seen him. He has texted me about it. I may refuse to text him about it, but that does not mean that I will not text him to see what the fuck is going on.
Me: It is a beautiful day.
That should all but spell it out for him. I feel so lame. I know, I know. There are women out there who would immediately take the bull by the horns and ask him why the hell he is not here. Well, I am not that type of woman. I want to be pursued and treated like a delicate flower. Damn it!
I stare at my phone. He has read my text, but he does not respond. Maybe I am acting girly. I am pretty sure that I am. I am pissed. First, he is not making any acknowledgment of our plans for the day—the entire day. Then, he reads my text without response. Oh, hell no!
I ask Blair if she is available. She is, so I head to her house. I need some serious help. Someone has got to talk me off this ledge that I feel I am on.
On my drive over to Blair’s house, my mind races out of control. That son of a bitch better have a damn good reason. How dare he stand me up? Then, I think about all the build up to this day. He was so excited…now what?
I make a mental list of all things that may excuse his behavior. Death. That is on the top of the list. By death, I mean his own. Yes, I would excuse his rudeness if he were dead.
If a family member died, I may excuse that. However, a simple text would be nice. Sickness…maybe…it would have to involve paralysis. If both his hands were immobile, yes, I would be understanding.
Quite frankly, I can think of nothing else that would keep him from letting me know that he is breaking plans. Rude. That is what it is…fucking rude. What? Do my plans not count? Does my time not matter?
I tell Blair of the situation in a blubbery, snot-riddled fashion. “He probably just forgot,” she says sweetly.
“What the fuck? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is this your ‘everything will be okay’ speech? If it is, it sucks.”
“Men suck. We both know this. They are innately selfish bastards. They cannot help the fact that they have not evolved as we have.”
“Add to the fact that you wanted that Neanderthal type. Bam. You got him. You just weren’t thinking about all that entails.”
“I will not text him. I will not remind him. I will not be his afterthought.”
“I don’t blame you. In the meantime, I just bought an awesome margarita machine that I have yet to try out. Want a virgin margarita?”
“Ummm…no. I will take a regular one with an extra shot or two.”
“I guess I am babysitting you today…”
“Don’t sound so thrilled.”
“You know I will always be here for you. I’ll give you margaritas through an IV if you want.”
“You are such a friend.”
My phone alerts me of a text.
“It is Adam,” I say. I look down at my phone. I fight the urge to throw it across the room. I count to ten. That does not work. Who the fuck thinks that works?
I show my phone to Blair. “As funny as the meme is—and it is hilarious—that shows that he is fucking clueless. I wouldn’t expect less from a man,” states Blair.
We walk into her kitchen. What a kitchen. She wanted a chef’s kitchen, and she definitely has one. Everything is stainless steel and black. It is utilitarian, commercial-looking. She is a badass cook, so it fits her.
She hands me my drink. “Keep them coming,” I say in between gulps. She slices a lemon and lime and prepares my next one.
Two really large and stout margaritas later, Blair enthusiastically says, “We should go to Mule Days together!”
“Yeah!” I say a bit too loudly. “Fuck him.”
“That is right. Fuck him!”
“But I am drunk,” I remind her.
“Most of the people at Mule Days are drunk.”
“Finish your drink, and let’s go.”
We make the drive to Benson, and we cannot find a parking spot. The pimply-faced boy manning traffic in one field tells us that there is no more parking available.
I point in the direction of a spot behind a large truck. “What about that one?” I ask.
“It is reserved,” he answers.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Eighteen,” he answers. No doubt he is a virgin. He has that look.
“I’ll make you a deal. You let us park in that parking spot, and I will not only let you look at my tits, I will let you feel them.”
I point to my tits that are straining against my too-tight T-shirt that Blair assures me is appropriate for the festivities. She may be right.
He looks all around. “No one is around,” I assure him. “She won’t mind, will you?” I ask Blair.
“Not at all,” she answers.
I reach around and undo my bra. I cross my arms in front, with the bottom of my shirt in my hands. I look at him questioningly.
“I would like to feel them,” he admits.
“We have a deal?”
“Deal,” he agrees.
He stares at them, licks his lips, and hesitantly cups them. He squeezes them.
“So pretty,” he says.
“One more minute,” I say. He takes his time, indulging in the rarity of the moment.
Blair butts in, “Minute is up. Nice doing business with you.”
He stands up and mumbles a “thanks.” I readjust my clothing.
“You are crazy,” Blair says laughingly as she pulls into the coveted parking spot.
I am going to have sex with this hot, hot, hot man who is standing naked in front of me. According to his preliminary application, he is twenty-two. Yep. He is twenty-three years younger than me. He is a year younger than my daughter. I am old enough to be his mother, but right now, I am going to be his lover.
I am so nervous. It has been a long time. Too damn long. Let’s just talk about his cock—his marvelous cock. It is standing at attention and dripping with pre-cum, all in anticipation for me. That right there blows my mind. This epitome of a sex god is hot for me.
“I think it is time for you to get naked,” he suggests with a seductive grin. He takes my finger and uses it to smear the pre-cum. “See how hot you’ve gotten me?”
The hell with the fact that gravity is a bitch and stretch marks are the curse of the devil. I am going to fuck this guy like mad. When I am finished with him, I am going to have him begging for every MILF we have as a client. After all, let’s face it. Several things get better with age, and women are one of them.
I quickly undress, and he sheathes himself with one of the condoms that are in a ceramic dish on the end table. I push him into the plush leather couch. Lula Mae had casually covered the couch with a blanket before she left. I wonder how many of these men she has fucked right here. The blanket, the condoms…yes, I bet she fucks damn near every one of these men. What a job perk.
“It has been a long time,” I whisper. “I am counting on you to make up for that.”
He bites on my ear and whispers, “Challenge accepted.” He grabs my hips and thrusts into me. There is no warning, no gradual acceptance of the intrusion. No, this man knows I need to fuck.
He slams me hard up and down his cock. My clit rubs against him with each downward thrust. It doesn’t take long for me to throw my head back and release all my angst.
He doesn’t stop or even slow down. He continues to pound away with such enthusiasm that I expect for him to come at any time. I had forgotten how great younger men are. I now understand cougars and aim to be one. Fuck, yeah. I get it.
He pushes me off him. “Bend over the arm of the couch,” he orders.
I gladly do as he says. He puts one leg on the couch and the other on the floor, grabs my hair, and fucks me relentlessly from behind. He slaps my ass with a force I have never known. It hurts in a way that is meant to bleed over into pleasure.
This is how men are supposed to fuck. This is the savage lust I have searched for. He bends down and bites the back of my neck where it meets my shoulder. I know that he has left a mark. It will be a mark that I proudly wear as a remembrance of this sexual awakening.
“Like it rough?” he roars. He grabs my hair tighter and pulls me back toward him. “I want you to say it. Say you like it rough.”
“I like it rough!” I yell out as a wave of an orgasm consumes me. I know that everyone in the office can probably hear me, but I do not care.
His fingertips dig into my skin. He ferally growls. His dick escapes my pussy, he pulls off the condom, and I feel warm wetness on my ass.
He picks me up and sets me on his lap. We are face to face, and it is sweet. It is the emotional aspect of sex that so many men ignore. I lay my head on his shoulder. He smooths my dark hair. I have needed this for so long.