Stalking My Friend's Dad

These confessions -- there will be a price to pay for them, somewhere down the line, I suppose. Maybe a future husband, a future employer, a future son or daughter will come across them and think differently of me, look at me in a different light, believe me to be deranged or sick. This is the kind of thing that I've been thinking since writing and submitting stories of my sexual escapades to Literotica.

I have a friend, an older woman I'll call Valerie, to whom I feel close enough to unburden myself about these worries. She's old enough to be my mom and, in a lot of ways, she is. She's a classic boomer, having lived through the Sixties and the whole free love era and such. I told her that I was concerned that writing true-story erotica on line for everyone to see may come back to haunt me one day when I'm not 22, horny and dreaming all the time of going to a fancy restaurant completely naked and fellating my date under the table.

We had a couple of glasses of wine and I told her about an incident, or non-incident, that took place about three weeks ago. I got a smart new haircut that I was really stoked by. I was joking with the stylists about how men never notice haircuts on women, and I vowed to myself the next day that the first guy who noticed my haircut I would reward with a blowjob at his convenience -- unless he was thoroughly disgusting, of course.

My stomach went flip flop the next day when I showed up at my job and this sweet guy in his 40s who has always been really friendly to me was working the same shift. I liked him a lot, but he was married and always a gentleman and if he noticed my haircut, I was going to have to do something really embarrassing that would change our relationship forever. To my surprise, he didn't say a word about my haircut, and neither did any other man that day, though lots of women did. Men are so thick sometimes.

So at the end of that day, I went over to my friend Robbie's house -- he's a long-time fuck buddy of mine -- and told him, "Robbie, please just say something nice about my haircut." He said, "Uh, I like your haircut," and within a few minutes I was on my knees going at that zipper of his.

And I'm telling Valerie all about this and she's all, "Don't worry so much, sweetie." She said that sexual values have been changing radically for the last 40 or 50 years and by the time I'm her age, my various little dalliances might look tame to the next generation.

So at least I'm less shy about my taste for dick than before I talked to good old Valerie. She did tell me, however, that older women like her resented younger women like me because men her age always have their eye on us while they're fucking them. "But the same thing will happen to you one day," she said.

Yeah, whatever. All I know is that I'm in my prime now and I like to go catting around, if I can avoid the assholes out there, and there are lots of them.

My talk with Valerie brought to mind an experience I had a couple of years ago that was amazing, in that I had the guts to pull it off. I was living in an apartment complex in a nice place with two other girls -- one of whom was a slut on the side, like myself; the other of whom was something of a priss, but very nice.

One day, probably late spring/early summer, late afternoon, I was taking about the garbage to the dumpster near the complex. While there, an older man came up behind me with his own trash can. I dumped mine; he dumped his. But I was hit with a recognition.

It took me about a minute or so to figure it out, but I knew this guy. It was Mr. Breslow, the dad of my friend Ashley growing up. I hadn't seen him since I was 10 or so. He was grayer and more wrinkled than I remembered him, but he had lost some weight too. He noticed me staring at him, but only smiled politely and kept walking.

I finally said, "Mr. Breslow?" He turned, curious. He still had no clue who I was; how could he, really? "It's me, Kelly. I was a friend of Ashley's back in fourth grade?"

"Oh, yes, hi," he said. But I could tell he didn't really remember me. We stood and talked out by the dumpster there for a few minutes. He told me what had become of Ashley, and that he was living in the complex because he and Ashley's mom had separated six months previously. I could tell he was very sad about it. He seemed eager to leave, as if he didn't really want to talk about it, so I let him leave.

I told my roommate, Dina, the slutty one, about him and confessed to her, "Gosh, I'd love to fuck him." She was like, "Oh, gross. That's your friend's father. You can't do that."

"Why not? We're both consenting adults. I haven't seen her in years, anyway."

Days went by and all I could think of was Mr. Breslow, sitting in that lonely apartment watching TV all day. He wasn't really great looking or anything. But he wasn't ugly either. He was just ordinary, late 50s maybe, but probably in his 60s. Could easily be my dad, and technically could be my granddad, I suppose. Still I wanted to seduce him. I wanted to clean his pipes for him, so he could get the confidence to go out and be a single guy again. I convinced myself it was a mission of mercy, when in fact I found the idea of jumping the bones (or the boner) of an old guy a perverse kind of turn-on.

I bumped into him in the parking lot a few days later and he seemed warmer than before. We talked for a quite a while. But I could tell he was still intimidated by me, which made me want to move even faster.

Dina suggested we call him to ask him to do some guy thing for us in our apartment. We called him over to help us hook up a DVD player, and we made him watch a movie with us, with Dina lying around on the couch in a T-shirt and panties, the little skank.

That next Saturday (or maybe Sunday, it's hard to remember), I saw him lounging on his back patio with a book or something. I decided to go swimming in the complex pool, something I'd never even done before. I had to borrow a swimsuit from Dina -- I don't do bathing suits generally, because I friggin' hate tan lines. Anyway, I jumped in the pool, splashed around a bit and got out, with the intention of passing by Mr. Breslow's patio.

I had forgotten my towel -- on purpose, of course -- and I greeted him standing there soaking wet in a little lime green string bikini that showed him everything I got. We talked about books or the weather or some stupid shit before it occurred to him to offer me a towel. When he brought me the towel, I nonchalantly stripped off the top and the bottom, hung each piece on his fence and casually dried myself off like I was stepping out of the shower, talking all the time about the same inane subject, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a girl to strip buck naked in a stranger's apartment after a swim.

I went back to my apartment a half hour later or so, taking his towel and leaving Dina's bikini behind. It gave me an excuse to go back later that afternoon. I brought a bunch of food and a bottle of wine and told him that I was going to make him dinner for being such a nice guy. I could tell he was smitten. He was fumbling and awkward, not knowing how to act.

After the meal and the wine, Mr. Breslow was really relaxed and I was determined to go for it with him. He gave me an opening by asking if I had a boyfriend. I said no, but I had a couple of really good fuck buddies, guys I had sex with just for laughs. That led to a really great conversation about sex. I told him that people my age just didn't have the hang-ups about sex and that we viewed it essentially as exercise with body fluids involved, just something we did for fun with friends. That's not that far from the truth with me.

I asked what he thought when he saw me naked standing on his patio earlier that day. He blushed and stammered. He said he really enjoyed it, and I said then maybe I should just get naked right now, so I can feel more comfortable. I expected him to protest, but when he didn't, I got down to business.

A glass of wine later -- can you imagine that he actually changed the subject while I'm sitting in his living room stark naked? -- I told him of my love of oral sex and asked him point blank if he'd like to play a little tonsil hockey. He blushed again and said, "It's been a long time for me." That's when I went after him and started taking off his clothes.

A few minutes later, I had him as naked as I was. He was clearly self-conscious about his aged body, but I comforted him as best as I could.

Old Mr. Breslow was generously endowed. I'll say that for him, though his little Melvin did look a bit neglected. He blurted out that he had had a vasectomy many years ago, as if to say "Don't worry about getting pregnant," and I asked to see the scar. He held up his dick and I began kissing and sucking on his nut sack and around the area of his groin while his prick began to wake up.

Finally, I put that old purple head into my mouth and luxuriously licked and sucked on it. He was moaning already. This poor man was starved for sex. I pulled off and asked him how deep he had ever been in a woman's mouth. His eyes were dazed. He looked at me like I was speaking Urdu. I opened wide and pulled him way back down in my throat, my lips at the base of his cock.

Mr. Breslow had a scraggly bush of grayish pubic hair which tickled my nose and cheek while I sucked him off. Men who expect regular blowjobs usually trim their pubes. But clearly I was in territory that no woman had been in a long, long time.

I came up again for air and said, "Mr. Breslow, I know you're too much of a gentleman to do so, but I want you to ejaculate in my mouth, OK? It's not a big deal. I really like tasting and swallowing the men that I'm with. I'm going to be disappointed if you don't, OK?" He seemed unable to talk, but he did nod quickly.

I went back to work and within a few minutes, I felt that first familiar shudder that told me that the payload was coming. He let out a gasp that sounded almost painful. Suddenly, his spunk was in my mouth. It was fishy tasting and oily, not very pleasant, but I expected such. Still, it was a massive turn-on and my fingers were down in my taco all the while. The idea that my friend Ashley's dad was blowing a load in my mouth made me crazy with desire. I let his cock wither a bit in my mouth and quietly swallowed his seed.

I looked in his face, and it looked like the man had just seen God. He actually began to cry a little.

I must have fucked Mr. Breslow six or seven times after that. The third time, he got to explore my snatch a bit with his tongue then with his Melvin. Each time after that, he would find a way to say "We shouldn't be doing this. You're so young and it just ain't right," or some variation thereof.

But the last time I fucked him, he had finally gotten with the program. He held out longer this time and he actually brought me to orgasm doing missionary position, which doesn't happen that often with me. That last time, he pulled out just in time to unload on my belly. Then he grabbed a spoon by the bed, scooped up every dab of his fast congealing semen and lovingly placed the spoon and its gooey contents in my waiting mouth. At that moment, he looked as alive and happy as I had ever seen another human. I hope I looked that way to him.