Words Fail Me

Older women aren't necessarily wiser or more experienced, or any of those things you read about in magazine articles. The truth is a clueless idiot is the same at any age. Ah, but when that woman IS wiser and experienced, when a beautiful brain has had a little more time to perfect its character, look out. I learned the secret of what really makes an older woman beautiful.

When I was 29, I landed an interview at a major corporate headquarters in a Chicago skyscraper nearly as broad as it was tall. The position, data analyst, was a bit of a step back for me, but the market was scarce, and the job promised quick advancement opportunities.

I showed up a quarter-hour early, only to hear how my interviewer had gotten stuck in a meeting and would himself be 20 to 30 minutes late. So much for professionalism.

Almost immediately, she entered and checked in with the receptionist and sat down across from me. It was a surprisingly small lobby for such a big office. Her interviewer having gotten pulled into the same emergency meeting as my own, we were therefore survivors of the same ordeal. I took it upon myself to find out if we were competing for the same job.

We weren't. She was in tech and web. That was a relief, because looking at her, you'd think I'd custom-ordered her from her parents. Her hair was neither auburn nor chestnut, but some dark crimson in between. Her face was heart-shaped, with blue Irish eyes. Most of all, she had that soft, rounded figure of a real woman, past the fables of the 20s and 30s. Now that we could see the direction the road took to the sea, we were assured of scenic mountains and valleys along the way. She was, in short, as beautiful as she would ever be, and she would indeed be beautiful.

"I'm Elizabeth." She took my hand in hers and I was surprised by how warm her touch was.

"Charmed. I'm Dan," I replied, trying to stop myself from ogling her, but my eyes layered the pleasantry with a tour of her body that was anything but polite.

"Dan, could you..." She stopped. Chewed the end of her pencil thoughtfully. Then she returned my look to me.

And that was all it really took. We talked for another 15 minutes, but I couldn't tell you a word of it. I had an idea, but it was a dangerous one. Now it was my turn to look thoughtful, which she caught. Wordlessly, I told her to watch me because I was about to do something.

"Excuse me," I asked the receptionist. "Where is the men's room?"

She pointed back toward the entrance and the common lobby shared by the businesses leasing the floor. "Just round the corner."

I thanked her and sustained eye contact with Elizabeth on my way. Before three seconds were up, she had gone from questioning what I was up to, to gauging my sincerity, to an urgent agreement. As I pushed open the door, I heard her ask, "Is the ladies' down that way as well?"

"It's unisex," came the reply. So much the better. That would mean locks.

In such moments, the unbelievable becomes the inevitable, and it seems that it was always the way this was, that things have proceeded to their lone possible conclusion. No sooner had the door swung shut then our lips fell to each other with their own gravity. The heat of our bodies was stultifying. I would have gasped, but she had my breath. It was a fair trade.

Her fingers ran through my hair and gripped my head with a mad passion. Almost before I knew it, I had her bra off. My fervent hands melted down her breasts. She pushed her body into my caress. I had clutched her to me, and her thigh sealed the contract behind my back.

With a resolute gentleness, she pulled my face from hers, guiding my lips to an expectant nipple. I tried to stand my ground, teeth nipping her neck for purchase, but my own lust conspired against me. It was useless to try. My tongue dipped and swirled over the tender swell of her breast, exulting in the palpable taste of her arousal. Skin has its own language.

She dipped her hand into my trousers, eliciting a groan I didn't know I had down there. Desire contains its own agonies, and their compulsions are great. Her dancing eyes unleashed their resplendence. It had to be. I kissed my way down to her navel, then up her side as my hands liberated her belt . She hopped off the counter, hiked up her skirt, and made the buckle a moot point. A wink that could have leveled a city told me to take whatever I wanted.

What I wanted was her dancing an orgasm around my tongue. I didn't fall to my knees so much as crash-land, in my heated need to taste her. A pair of girl-next-door cotton panties made it as far as one ankle before they were forgotten. I rained a hot hail of kisses up her thighs, each one pulling an escalating sigh out of her. By the time I reached hallowed ground, the sighs had turned to gasps, and the gasps were massing at the border of moans. I paused to savor the heat and scent of true passion, and began our kiss.

That first salty taste told me everything I needed to know. Elizabeth's convulsions crested, the longing became so much there was nothing to do but give up and let it wash over her. As her body relaxed against the sink again, my tongue took the long way. I kissed her secret lips deeply, and they opened themselves to me. An ecstatic moan hummed through my mouth at the unbridled joy we had created. There is something incredible about sharing such your truest and most vulnerable self with an utter stranger. It defies all logic, and so intensifies itself.

They say every woman is a goddess, but that's only half the story. We're human beings, and we can, if we choose, and to great effect, rut like animals. Yet even therein lies a sublime elation that transmutes an everyday person into something divine. When you go down on a woman, you worship at her temple. The offering may change, but the communion stays the same.

My mouth circled around her clitoris, finally daring to approach its engorged beauty. Briefly, I curled my tongue around it, commending it reverently into my pursed lips. Lightly did I suck on her engorged pearl, and lightly did I squeeze it before leaving it with that brief taste of things to come. I massaged her vagina with my wavering tongue, and then extended it, rigid, as my head bobbed lightly, in and out, in and out. Elizabeth groaned, and clutched my head deeper between her thighs. I slid a finger lightly into her, and my tongue returned irrepressibly to her expectant clit.

It was the right thing to do. She hunched over, hissing into my ear, "Oh, God, Dan, that is so ffff—URGH!" A groan abbreviated her confidences. Frankly, I couldn't find half a damn to give if anyone else heard. We were perfecting the art of sex; let them listen and learn how it's done.

Caution was dead on the side of the road. She grabbed my free hand and entangled it with hers, kissing my fingertips, my wrist, anything to kiss just a little bit of me as the first joyful mystery exploded inside her. Her voice cracked as it spiraled into a high whistle, and her shuddering body clung to me like a life raft. Climbing up to meet her for a true kiss, I found myself wrapped in a treasured embrace, smelling the sweet perfume of sweat and woman on her breasts. God, is there anything so beautiful as a woman enjoying an orgasm?

Elizabeth wasn't done. In an instant, she had our positions reversed. I tried to steal one last kiss from her as she did away with my pants, and she gave me a dangerous look for trying to delay her mission. With an audible gulp, she had me down to the hilt. She paused there, and her eyes changed to proud. She held me deeply, just to let me know that she could. Her tongue worked miracles along my bottom length. The heat and salivia were too much, just too much to take. And then she went to work.

She did things to my cock that weren't so much sexual as seismic. Before her hand even touched me, she was pulling explosions of sensation off of me that left fossil evidence. And the best part was that she knew it. Nothing is so respectable as watching an expert take pride in her work. "No one can do to you what I do, baby," say her eyes. "You are going to remember me as a champion cocksucker." In that moment, I couldn't think of anyone else I'd vote for President over her.

No one had discovered us yet, but we were well over the balance on our luck, and I hadn't even had her yet. Fate only throws you so many illicit trysts. Not like I wanted to, but I fended off an orgam with the kind of determination that normally repels small, invading European nations. Elizabeth was working my shaft like she thought she might strike oil, and it took nearly a full minute before she'd listen to my pleas to stop.

"I don't care," she murmured, popping my cock out of her mouth in between strikes. "I'm going to," pop, "have your come," pop, "and that's final."

"You do that," I seethed in delight, "And we don't have time to fuck." I held her face to make sure her eyes locked with mine, but the light in them went right past my point and brought me down to the floor with her. I tried to mutter something about how absolutely I had resolved to fuck her, but it got lost amid the rabid exchange of perfect lusty kisses. We kissed so deep I think we traded souls.

She crawled backwards along the floor, straightening out so my body could envelope hers. The last vestiges of our clothing disappeared somewhere. I couldn't get over her soft curves, the way a woman truly looks. She was maiden, mother, matriarch. And here is the secret to an older woman's beauty: she contains multitudes.

At that moment, though, she only wanted to contain me. I found myself looking down at her, and a strange peace entered between us. The world stopped spinning and held its breath as she told me without words that it was time. She was right.

I entered her, feeling that warm, slick sweetness that nothing on earth can match. It is an unfair tactic of nature that a vagina should be so wired to set a man's every nerve aflame. Now it was my turn to hold my breath. We kissed again.

And then we started moving.

Quickly, we found our pace. As my body slid into hers, her hips would quickly hop, which in turn caused me to lift my hips and pull back. This itself made her roll her pelvis forward, angling every last bit of pressure from my extraction.

From urgent union to explosive greeting, reluctant withdrawal, and a goodbye to make it all worth it, we met each other a thousand times there on the floor.

"You screw like you invented it," I managed to pant.

"Just the field-tester, " she laughed in my ear with hot, short breath, and I appreciated that so much I doubled the speed of my thrusts. She grunted approvingly. Now her fingers seemed like the coolest part of her as they kneaded my back. What the hell. Everyone has to have something to do.

That reminded me that her breasts weren't pulling their weight, so maybe I'd have to do it for them. I pulled her to her feet, and turned her to face the sink. She got the idea, spread her legs for me, and I bent to have her from behind. With the mirror on the cabinet, I could look into her eyes, which boasted "You're fucking me. You're fucking me from behind in a public bathroom, and I love getting fucked. I love the way you fucking fuck me, you glorious fucker." The unspoken words are the most powerful. For my part, I was thrilled to have every womanly part of her on or around me. I sucked on her neck, planted kisses along her shoulders, and left the briefest hot breaths along her spine, but it was always to the mirror I returned, those eyes never breaking from mine, always awaiting my return.

Oh, those breasts. What that woman could do with flesh. They spilled out of my hands, bounced and clapped in syncopation with our collisions, and exploded into goosebumps as my fingers brushed them again, seeking their heat. Like her, they were vivacious, graceful and comfortable. I wanted to do everything to her. I'd have done anything for her. My lust made her a goddess, and hers made me a man touched by divinity.

That goddamn did it. I needed to kiss her again. We tore hungry kisses from each other's lips as I lifted her up. She locked her ankles at the bottom of my spine, and I shook her from my hips to hers. One hand supported her weight with no qualms about squeezing her vibrant ass. The other ran across her back to her shoulder. Her squeals took on a laughing peal. She threw her head back and cackled with ecstatic triumph.

I took advantage of the moment to plunge my mouth on her nipples again. This time, I wasn't gentle.

"You owe me your come," she reminded me with a benevolent tone more befitting a reminder from teacher that papers are due. "And I want it—OH!" she gasped to her own surprise.

That did it. This was too much. My body might endure, but my brain started coming half a minute ago. I let loose everything I'd been holding back, and our indulgent, luxurious pace became a frenzy of fucking. With her arms around my neck and our foreheads touching, we looked more like mourners consoling one another, but for our smiles. Together, we had created something incredible, and it was coming to fruition.

We locked lips for the final time as I jackhammered into her. I threw one leg up on the sink to get even deeper into her, letting her body drop down my rising length as hard as we dared. Elizabeth raked my back and left dental records on my shoulder as she came, and the coming was a rising thing, an overlapping orchestra, orgasms within orgasms, orgasms bridging other orgasms. Her passion was mine, and I sank in deep, giving her all of me while now quaking my hips against hers, bone to bone, hoping to trigger still one more explosion within her. Our roars spoke the same wordless thought.

"I think I fell in love with you five minutes ago," she sighed in lieu of a laugh as she collapsed onto my soaked chest. I cupped her breast with gentle possessiveness.

"What took you so long?"