Girlfriend's Sexy, Slutty Daughter

"Alas, woe is me."

Seeing my life so clearly now, going from high school, to college, to the military, to a job, to marriage, divorce, and living with a woman I really don't even know and, apparently, don't even love, I suddenly realized that I've never lived any of my life in the way that I wanted to live it. No doubt, much like most men my age reaching the height of their insanity with some semblance of insightfulness of all the mistakes they made in their lives, but too old, too tired, and too broke to do anything about it, how sad is that? When stopping to look back and see all that I don't have and all that I could have had, had I made better decisions, with the temptation of her too much for me to deny, perhaps I would have had a chance with her now had I made better choices then. Alas, just too frigging old, with her being so incredibly young, I knew I didn't have a modicum of a chance with her. I knew it was all just a sexual fantasy that I'll be realizing, once home alone with my hand around my cock, while thinking of Ellen naked and having sex with me.

"Alas, it was never meant to be. Poor me. Woe is Drew."

Always with a woman that I thought I loved, until it was blindingly clear to me that I didn't, especially after having cheated on her, my life has always been the unhappy same. Having been stuck in a rut for so long, I wouldn't know happiness if it bit me in the ass, but here it was walking towards me. With my eyes disbelieving what I was seeing eyes, with my penis having more sense than my brain, my growing cock already knew that Ellen was the key to my happiness. Just once I'd like to be blissfully happy and sexually sated, before I die. Just once I'd love to get the one that I really wanted and the one that I really wanted now was Ellen.

"Ellen. Ellen. Ellen." In the way of summoning the Devil, I mumbled her name to myself in hopes that somehow she'd want me. "Ellen. Ellen. Ellen."

My life has been like riding a rollercoaster, but a ride that I never finished. Always having to pay for the ride before getting aboard, with the price of the ride too expensive, the enjoyment of the experience was over too quickly. Climbing that first hill, before rocketing down the next, I always got stuck somewhere in the middle and always at the very top of a hump. Having to jump off that ride to start another, just once, I'd like to see something through to the end. Especially in the beginning, with broken promises of sex, she'd boss me around and make me obey with guilt to do things that I didn't want to do, especially in the end. Hoping to please her, just so she'd leave me the fuck alone and allow me to live my life in peace to watch a football, baseball, basketball, and/or a hockey game, I caved, I accepted, and I pretended that I was happy, just for the sake of not arguing.

"In a minute! Wait! I'll take out the trash, walk the dog, wash your car, and paint the house after this quarter, inning, period or whenever the fuck the game is over. Okay?"

Now that my life is more than halfway over, when do I stop conforming to someone else's will? When will I stop living my live by someone else's standards of what I should do and when I should do it? When will I stop trying to live up to someone else's expectations of how and what my life should and shouldn't be? When is it my turn to find true happiness? With all of this internal dialogue coming to me in a rush, upon seeing Ellen walking towards me, she gave me my life altering epiphany. Seeing her made me realize how miserable I've been with Anne, how unhappy I truly am now, and how happy I truly could be with Ellen.

Confused by a plethora of suppressed emotions that surfaced in me, all at once, as if blood welling to the surface, after having been shot before dying, I watched my life flash before my eyes. Seeing her was as if watching an advancing tsunami threatening to sweep me away in a wave of bliss or in a sea of turmoil. I didn't know which. How could I know? I didn't even know her. Yet, knowing that I'd surely die with her in my life in trying to keep up with her and in pleasing someone so much younger, unable to flee, I didn't care if she was the eventual death of me.

"What a way to go? If she'd be the death of me, then I'm ready to die. What an unbelievable way to go!"

Without her even speaking a word, without her even knowing it, just by her acknowledging me in a crowded airport terminal with her big smile and unbroken look, if nothing ever happened between us, she's already changed my life. Awash with as much suffering sadness and soulful sorrow, when thinking of her mother, what's her name, as I was excited with sexual happiness by the mere sexy sight of Ellen, was the woman walking towards me the person of my true happiness or the reason for my worst nightmare? I didn't know. How could I know? To be honest, I didn't care, so long as she never stopped smiling at me.

Willing to risk it all with a roll of the dice, a turn of the card, or the spin of the wheel, I just wanted to take one more rollercoaster ride, but with her, before my life was over. Hoping to climb over the top of the highest hill without getting stuck at the bottom, as I always did in the past, I sensed that Ellen was the miracle cure that I needed to get me out of my doldrums. Like everything else that's happened in my life, always having made bad choices and poor decisions, especially when it comes to women, only time will tell, if she's my queen of hearts or just another wicked witch. Yet, knowing I was only dreaming, with too much of an age difference to overcome, sadly, I knew nothing would ever come of my lustful desire for her. Still, if nothing else, it was fun just to imagine.

Nevertheless, after seeing my life so clearly now, tired of living my life so controlled by someone else, what kind of life is that? After seeing Ellen walking towards me with open arms, I no longer wanted to live anymore of my life without her or without someone else like her. As much as I was excited about starting a new life with her, as much as I was sick with dread how to end my current relationship, even if only imagined, just thinking about ending my old life to start my new life made me happy. Then, as soon as I thought that, I thought, what am I doing? I'm too old to start all over again with another woman, especially with a woman young enough to be my daughter. Besides, there's no way that someone like her would want someone like me. I'm old enough to be her father, I mean, or her wicked, older brother and the thought of that was as troubling to me, as it was exciting to me.

"Wow. I can only imagine what it would be like to have sex with a woman more than half my age. Wait, before you start humping me again, Ellen, let me take another nitroglycerine pill. Okay. Go ahead. Hump away."

When assigned to pick her up at the airport, such an innocent, albeit inconvenient chore, especially at this late hour, when I'm usually already asleep in bed, forced to rearrange my day to include a nap, so that I wouldn't fall asleep during the drive to the airport or the drive home, I never expected so much as a hug from her. Yet now, after seeing her and already fantasizing about having her exclusively in my life, I'd be crushed, if she didn't hug me, touch my shoulder, and/or take my hand. In anticipation of her hug and/or her touch, I wondered if she'd kiss me on my cheek. If she did lean into me to kiss me on the cheek, maybe I'd turn my head quickly enough that she'd kiss me on the lips. Nah, that's something my Dad would do. That's dirty old man stuff. Without having even met her, I was already sexually fantasizing that she was my woman, while imagining all that I'd do to her, if only she was.

In anticipation of the ride home, already perversely effected by the mere sexy sight of her, I couldn't wait to engage her in some sexually charge conversation that was filled with double entendres, innuendos, and sexually explicit dialogue, something that would inspire an erotic dream about her later that night. Thinking of all the witty things I'd say to bridge such a large age gap, I wanted her to think me hip, cool, and sexy, instead of old, boring, and perverted. Immediately I realized that I'd only make a fool of myself, if I continued playing this role of a dirty, old man trying to act young and sexy. Deciding that, if nothing else, it was fun playing this pretend game, so long as I kept it to myself, I reveled in all the imagined possibilities of having her in my life. In the few seconds it took for her to walk to me across a crowded airport terminal, a multitude of sexy scenarios played through my head.

Nonetheless, no matter how much I wanted her, just as starting a sexual relationship with her was out of the question, starting a sexual relationship with her was out of my control. In the way that she'd perceived me, whether, hip, cool, or a perverted lecher, wouldn't matter. No doubt, she'd perceive me as old, wicked old, and too old for her. Nevertheless, in anticipation of getting her home, at the very least, hoping beyond hope to somehow see her naked, I couldn't wait to accidentally on purpose, walk in her bedroom unannounced on the pretense of giving her a blanket and an extra pillow, while she changed into what I imagined was her sexy nightgown. Even better, maybe she sleeps in the nude.

"Wow. How hot is that, especially if she sleeps naked above the covers? Maybe I could sneak in her room during the night on the pretense that I needed something...a tissue, perhaps."

Maybe, with her being in a new environment and possibly being afraid, she'd ask me to tuck her in bed and read her a bedtime story about the big, bad, sexually frustrated, horny, 50-year-old wolf. Suddenly naked images of her filled my brain with sexual lust for her, as I imagined myself opening her bedroom door just at the most opportune moment.

"Oops, sorry. So sorry, Ellen. I didn't see your tits, your ass, and your pussy," I imagined saying to her, as I opened her bedroom door, with my hand raised to my face and my eyes leering at her naked body through my splayed fingers.

While watching her walk closer, as if my eyes were the probing photographic lenses of a TSA X-ray machine, imagining the impressions her nipples made in her bra and the crevice her pussy slit made in her panty, I imagined her walking towards me in her sexy, sheer lingerie, low cut bra and bikini panty, my favorite outfit of choice, before imagining her stripping naked. Even from this distance, as if she walked towards me in slow motion, I could see that she had modest, albeit ample breasts, definitely a full B cup. I imagined touching, feeling, fondling, and caressing her beautiful breasts, before fingering, pulling, twisting, and sucking her nipples.

Already turning our first meeting from normal to erotic and my thoughts from friendly to sexual, the sexy sight of her controlled my pornographic imagination. In anticipation of seeing her panties in an up skirt, and/or her bra and cleavage in a down blouse, or seeing any part of her sexy body, even just her bra strap, I couldn't wait to masturbate over the passion filled thought of her having sweaty sex with me. Of course, being the good, Christian, church attending man that I am, I'd never do any of those things, other than masturbate, while thinking of her naked. Yet, last I checked, so long as I didn't act upon my perverse impulses, there's no crime in thinking that I'd do any and all of those things to her oh, so young and shapely body.

Enlisted as a reluctant volunteer to pick her up at the airport in the dead of night, if I didn't know I was wide awake, after guzzling down two cups of hot, black coffee, especially upon seeing her, I'd think I was still ensconced in bed dreaming an erotic fantasy about her. Now, needing more than caffeine, needing a stronger drug to soothe my sexually frustrated soul, what I really needed was a double, single malted scotch, neat, with water on the side and a stripper's pole between her legs for her to entertain me, while giving me a sexy striptease show of her hot, naked body. Already lost in thinking dirty thoughts, that was the first time that I met my girlfriend, Anne's daughter, Ellen, when picking her up at the airport.

Already inscribed in my brain, with her image permanently etched there, as if her lovely face was a brain tattoo, the memory of that first moment, seeing her so happy to see me, will remain with me for the rest of my life. Having become so sedately accustomed to Anne's sad, tired face, no longer connecting in the way that we used to, when we were first together and especially now, after she started working the graveyard shift,

we were done. Having run its course, a relationship that barely had two happy years, before everything turned sour and mundane, our relationship had been over for years. Then, when the epiphany of having someone like Ellen in my life hit me in the way of a lightning bolt, I knew then and there that ending my relationship with Anne to start one with Ellen or with someone like Ellen was inevitable.

When Anne wasn't working, she was sleeping and, as if I wasn't even there, when she wasn't sleeping, she was ignoring me reading her book or watching HDTV home designer and decorator shows. Sure, without doubt, everyone needs down time, but when her work, sleep, and relaxation time doesn't include me, she may as well live alone. Better off without me, I may as well not even be there for all she'd care. No longer wanting me in the way she once did, I can't remember the last time we had sex. I can't recall the last time we had fun. If asked to highlight our relationship, all I'd remember of it is her bitching at me to fix something or do something that I didn't want to do, such as picking up her daughter at the airport, which I'm now so glad I did.

Without her looking through me in the way that Anne does now, Ellen looked at me, in the way that her mother used to notice me a mere seven years ago, when we first met. Yeah, sure, Anne had shown me pictures of Ellen, but most of them were of her as a child. Acting interested in seeing her baby pictures, I had no idea that this gawky, little girl with braces and a teddy bear body would turn out to be such a raving beauty. I never expected her to look anything like this. If I did, I would have shaved, showered, worn clean clothes, and combed my hair, instead of just covering it with a baseball cap.

As if she was a fleeing, graceful gazelle being chased by a pack of wild hyenas on the African plain, she walked briskly towards me. With her hair flying back, as if she was a supermodel walking a runway with a wind blowing fan on her, she looked so hot. Instead of being just another passenger at the airport, surrounded by a herd of doting men from Brazilian and Italian soccer teams visiting America to play, she was the centerpiece of a crowd of admiring young, fit men at the airport. As if she was their superstar, a real live celebrity, they were all excitedly speaking to her in broken English, while following her, hitting on her, and trying to get her attention enough for her to notice them. Obviously enjoying the attention she received, she looked at them, smiled, and laughed. Backing off when they saw her walking towards me, no doubt, with them thinking that I was her father, being old enough that I could have been her daddy, she shocked them and me, when she gave me a full pelvis to belly body hug. With my cock pressed against her belly and her tits pressed against my chest, she hugged me, as if I was her boyfriend back from a tour of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Oh, my God, the feel of her stomach against my cock was electric. Then, shocking the shit out of me and them, she reached behind me and grabbed my ass, while pulling me forward, and kissing me full on the lips. As if I suddenly had a fever, once she pressed her belly harder against my hard cock, we were already connected, as if we were naked in bed and making love. If only she was a bit taller and I was a bit shorter, my emerging erection would have found a familiar warm, wet place between her legs, but for her clothes. So tempted to reach down, cup her ass in both my hands, and lift her up, while hoping she'd wrap her legs around me, I didn't dare touch her for fear that there'd be someone at the airport who'd recognize me.

If I had died then and went to Heaven, I would have been blissfully happy with the thought that I was dreaming, while holding her and kissing her. Only, if I had died then and went to Hell, I would have missed her sticking her tongue in my mouth and French kissing me. Without doubt, unless I prematurely ejaculated now, I'll be masturbating, before dreaming about this tonight.

"Oh, my God! She kissed me. I can't believe she kissed me. Thank you, Jesus," I silently prayed.

Wondering if she's ever French kissed anyone so old, this was my first time French kissing anyone so young. Amid the whistling admiration of that horny bunch of young, foreign men, they watched her make a spectacle of me, as if I was Tom Cruise and she was Rene Zellweger in Jerry Maguire. Never having been kissed like that before, just as she melted me with her sexual hello, she mesmerize me with her lips, her tongue, her hand on my ass, and the feel of her warm body so close to mine. Then, what she said next shocked me more than her kiss.

"I love you, Daddy," she said pulling away without breaking eye contact with me and without a misdirection to acknowledge any of the staring and admiring men or a misstep to clue anyone watching that I wasn't her Dad. As if what she said was a bump of my turntable, with the needle scratching across my favorite love song, Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra, she excited me with her quick sense of humor and her fun sense of eroticism. Anne never would have done anything like this, that's for sure. Too embarrassed to be seen with me, sometimes, I think, Anne never would have made a spectacle of herself or of me by hugging me, kissing me in public, and calling me her Daddy.

By the shocked look on the faces of the soccer players and how quiet they all suddenly became, she said those four words, "I love you, Daddy," loudly clear enough for our audience of admiring and, no doubt, envious men to plainly hear. Then, in her continuation of the sexy game she played with them and with me, wishing she'd unzip me and pull out my cock and stroke me, before falling to her knees to suck me, almost just as good, she reached her hand down the front of my pants to slowly feel the growing length of my emerging erection. Oh, my God, feeling as if I was going to have a heart attack from the sexual excitement of her kissing me, a not even yet realized sexual fantasy already come true, I couldn't even wrap my brain around her feeling my cock through my pants, especially the shocking ramifications of her calling me Daddy.

"I missed you, Daddy," she said cupping my testicles through my pants. "Didn't you miss me?"

"Yes, oh, God, yes, I've missed you. You have no idea how much I've missed you. I've been dreaming of you and of this day for seven, long, miserable, and suffering years, ever since I turned 43-years-old and ever since I thought my sexual life, as I knew it, was over, when I got with your boringly, frigid mother," I wanted to say but, frozen in place by the sexual attention she rewarded me with for merely meeting her at the airport, I didn't.

Not having the power of speech, with my brain unable to match my thoughts with my voice, fortunately saving myself from embarrassment later, I didn't dare answer her loaded question. I didn't dare say what I was thinking. I didn't dare tell her that I already so wanted her over her mother. Not wanting to frighten her by having her think that I was a degenerate deviate, by coming on too strong, even though she blew my mind, I just smiled.