Sexual Chemistry

Sex Story Submitted By Anonymous Guest Author

The sound of an un-muffled truck engine brake pierced the silence of the dawning morning, waking me from a restless slumber. I rolled over and squinted through the crusty sleep in my eyes at the bedside clock glowing 4:35 am. It was entirely too early to get up. I closed my eyes tight in an attempt to return to the sleep that I desperately needed, but after twenty minutes attempting to block the unrelenting assault of thought on my mind, I gave up. I rolled, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and sat up just as a bird just outside my open bedroom window began serenading me with its incessant rhythmic chirp.

It was a warm, humid morning. I moved across the room to close the window, muffling the bird, and was instantly captivated at the sight of a luminescent white fog dancing across the yard like ghosts in a procession back into darkness. I stood motionless, enjoying the show until the rising sun shattered the fog and changed its color from white to yellow before causing it to dissipate completely, returning me to reality and the problem that was disrupting my sleep and life.

The day before yesterday, my partner, Jeff, sprang a trip on me to go see a nervous customer. We both knew from experience that I was better with these situations, and ordinarily, a trip wouldn't be a problem; however, two weeks ago, my friend Lisa left her new puppy with me when she left for a month in Australia. However, I lived alone and was finding it impossible to get someone to puppy sit.

I sat in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, frantically revisiting the list of those who had already said no while wondering what I could offer in each case to get them to say yes. I was leaving on my trip tomorrow, and it was looking more and more as if I would have to kennel Lisa's puppy. Something she would never forgive me for if she ever found out.

At work, I spent the morning unable to concentrate on my job, completely distracted by the thought of kenneling Lisa's puppy. I absentmindedly picked through the pile of papers, notes, and emails on my desk until my phone buzzed at 11:30, reminding me of the appointment I had for a haircut at noon. I grabbed my phone and bolted for the door and my car.

Lydia has been cutting my hair for almost twenty years. She had just gone out on her own when I noticed her shop on my way to lunch, its walk-in's welcome sign prominent in the window. She did a great job, was likable, it was close, and I'm a creature of habit, and so our relationship began. Over the years, we have seen each other at least monthly for my haircut, occasionally at parties, and randomly around town. We also have had countless phone conversations, texts, and shared occasional emails.

She was only 20 when I wandered in that first day. I remember her as a shy, petite, insecure, young woman with an average figure and incredible green eyes. As we became better acquainted, she often confided in me as she might a father, but unlike a father, there was never judgment, admonition, or punishment for her choices. I guessed her openness was because I was older; I didn't mind; in fact, I loved that she trusted me and wanted my opinion.

Initially, she shared stories about dates, friends, and how crazy she got when she went out drinking with her girlfriends. Years passed, and she began to call for my opinion on a wide range of topics and anytime she was about to make an important decision. Decisions on things like; what car to buy and how, how, and when to raise her prices, if she should add a station and a host of other things, she apparently felt more comfortable asking me than either of her alcoholic parents.

About eight years into our relationship, she began to talk about Mike. When she spoke of their relationship, her tone was analytic, detached, and unemotional. It was as if she was telling me about someone else's love life. Then one day, while I was in the chair, she told me she was getting married. Like a knucklehead, I asked, "to whom."

"To Mike, of course."

"Oh," was my only response.

"Well, he asked me, and I said yes, will come to the wedding, please?"

"I wouldn't miss it," I said as I thought how strange this was; every young girl I had ever known had planned and anticipated her wedding day since she was ten. She said nothing else about the wedding instead of shifting the conversation to the weather or some other mundane topic that I cannot remember. However, I was thinking of nothing else as I recalled how she talked about him during their courtship. Perhaps she thought the clock was ticking on finding a husband, and any offer was better than none, but in my mind, that thinking was counterintuitive. In the years I had known her, I watched her transformation from a cute young girl into a gorgeous, desirable woman. She was still petite, but now thanks to a rigorous workout regimen, she had the highly developed figure and legs of a model. Her bronze skin was flawless; her red highlighted brunette shoulder-length hair framed her green eyes and her slightly puffy lips and small perfect nose. She had become a woman who defined confidence and intrigue.

Within two years of their marriage, any conversation that included Mike became negative. A year and a half after that, she divorced him, saying she was swearing off men. Not that she became a man-hater she had not, but she stopped dating and was focusing her complete attention to developing her burgeoning business. When my wife died suddenly from cancer a year after her divorce, she was supportive and kind, calling me routinely and occasionally coming by the office with "treats." I appreciated her kindness, but I was a mess, engaging in all forms of reckless and occasionally dangerous behavior. I don't know why, but I told her everything, including all the sorted details about what happened when women invited me in after dates.

Sexual banter and innuendo between us was nothing new; over the years, many conversations included soft brushes on all sorts of sexual topics, but they were always quips and comments and never about personal experiences. My revelations shifted our relationship and opened doors to conversations that became more sexual, suggestive, and without boundaries. She responded to my stories with stories of her own, accompanied by remarks about what she liked most. She always presented them jokingly, but it was clear her underlying objective was to leave a lasting, erotic impression on me. At the moment, it was fun and harmless. From any other woman, I would consider these conversations tantalizing and a turn on, but from Lydia, they made me uncomfortable; after all, she was young enough to be the daughter I never had.

The shop was empty except for Lydia when I arrived.

"Hey, what's new?" she asked.

Like a sinner in confession, my problem finding a dog sitter spewed from my lips.

"I'll do it."

Somehow, in my attempts to find someone, I had never even thought of asking her. Although I was relieved to finally find help, a twinge of nervousness settled in my stomach. I began telling her about the requirements for helping; when she would need to be there along with instructions on how to get into the house. About halfway through the list, she cut me off.

"Why don't I just stay there? It would be easier for me."

"Oh, OK, I guess, perhaps you could come by tonight, and I will introduce you to the puppy, show you around and teach you how to work the TV, stereo, etcetera."

"Great, what time?"

"Say 7:30" "See you, then."

She finished my haircut and washed my hair without a further conversation about puppy sitting. When she was done, I paid her and left. Although I was relieved to finally find someone to bail me out, I had some trepidation about her staying at the house based on recent events and how I felt our relationship had become much more sexual. On the drive back to work, I re-played how an innocent comment led to the situation I was now in. I was excited and panicked at the same time. Part of me wanted to believe she was just a friend helping a friend in need, but another part of me, the part deep inside you are not supposed to think about, was creating a stirring in my groin. Intellectually I knew I should be ashamed for the carnal thoughts I was having, but emotionally I could not stop thinking about her in the most sensual way despite our significant age difference.

Back at work, I was more distracted than I had been in the morning. I tried everything I could to keep my mind off Lydia. Nothing was helping. The harder I tried, the more I thought about her. Finally, at four, I gave up, told my partner I wasn't feeling well, and left.

I arrived home at about 4:45 and spent the next couple of hours picking up the house and cleaning. Just before seven, my stomach growled, and as I walked to the kitchen in search of something to eat, the doorbell rang. A lump settled in my throat, and I turned walked to the front door.

I opened the door, and my breath caught in my throat. Lydia stood before me dressed in holey cut-offs that were frayed at the bottom, barely covering the crease between her thigh and pelvis, the threadbare holes revealed only skin where underwear would show if she was wearing any. The tight white sleeveless top hugged her braless breasts, accentuating her protruding nipples and large areolas. Her long, perfectly tan legs flowed to her small ankles and feet that were inside small heel strappy sandals.

I was so taken at the sight of her I forgot my manners. The corner of her bright red lips turned up as she stepped past me into the foyer, her shoulder-length hair bouncing, and her scent exploding in my nostrils as she passed. Once inside, she turned to me, her green eyes penetrating my pre-occupied mind.

"Beautiful home!" was all she said.

Her voice snapped me from the trance I was in. I managed to ask if she would like something to drink. She responded that she would love a beer. I turned for the kitchen feeling her in my wake. When I turned to open the refrigerator, she was so close I could feel her breath on my face. I reached past her to grab two beers, inadvertently brushing her breast as I did. My face immediately ran red, and I stumbled backward, searching for a suitable apology. Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, she just smiled, moving with me and pushing her body back into mine. I arched back, closed the refrigerator door, and twisted the tops off the bottles.

"Would you like a glass?"

"No, thank you. I prefer the bottle." She raised it to her lips, sliding them suggestively over the top of the bottle, blowing into it, creating a whistle before she giggled and took a long pull. I stood in rapt attention, losing the battle with the rapid growth in my groin.

"Would you like to see the house?"

"That would be great; this must be the kitchen," she quipped.

Just then, Lisa's puppy bounded through the patio slider that was slightly ajar. Seeing new blood, he leapt toward Lydia, his tongue flopping in front of this snout, searching for somewhere to lick.

"This is Buddy; obviously, he is friendly and starved for attention."

Lydia reached down to pet him, but he jumped into her arms, craning his neck in an effort to lick her face causing her to momentarily lose her balance and fall into me. I grabbed her around the waist and held on until she steadied herself.

"Thank you; he is quite the love, isn't he?"

"Yes, if you pet him, he is your friend for life, and he'll do anything to get you to keep it up."

"I love dogs. I'm sure we will get along great."

Her eyes in a fixed stare toward me. She was so cute and engaging; I was lost in her gaze. Suddenly aware I was staring, I looked away, embarrassed.

"There really isn't much more to see, but follow me."

She set Buddy on the floor and followed me past the rec. room, where I paused momentarily to show her the remote and how to work the TV. That training complete, I led her down the hall and past the 3/4 bath before stopping at the doorway to the larger of the two guest rooms, Buddy dancing on her left heel the entire way. Waving my hand across the space of the open door, I said, "I hope this room is acceptable; it is the larger of the two guest rooms and the closest to the bathroom. It has a queen-size bed, I just changed the linen, and while I have no firsthand knowledge, others have told me it is quite comfortable."

She brushed past me, turned, jumped, and flopped backward onto the bed while extending her arm to prevent the beer from sloshing out of the bottle. "Well, there is no time like the present; it is very comfortable to come here and join me, so next time you have guests, you can say with certainty how comfortable it is." She said as she patted the top of the mattress.

I really wanted to fall down next to her, but I just said, "I'll take your word for it."

"Chicken! I won't bite; it's just research, after all, we've known each other for years, and it's not like I'm going to attack you."

I stood still, reached down, and picked up Buddy delighting him by rubbing behind his ears. Her brow furrowed above her green eyes that never left mine.

"Do I use the bath we just passed?"

"Yes, it is the only bath in the house other than the one in the master."

"Your master has an en-suite? Does it have a tub? I noticed the bathroom we passed only has a shower, and I am really more of a bath person. If it has a tub, would it be alright if I used it?"

I really couldn't say no, so I led her down the hall to the master bedroom.

"What a beautiful room and a king-size bed. Don't you get cold in it all alone?" a wide grin forming on her innocent face.

"No, I really don't get cold."

"So you sleep in pajamas then? Are they red flannel? I bet you look really cute!"

I took the bait, and before I thought about what I was saying, I blurted out, "No, actually, I sleep in the nude."

"Really? Me too, but I get cold when I roll over, so I pretty much stay in the same place on the bed all night."

The direction this conversation was taking was increasing my discomfort. I desperately wanted to reach around her, pull her into me, and kiss her passionately. Instead, I turned and walked toward the master bath, Buddy in my arms and Lydia a step behind.

"Wow, a deep soaking tub, if it's OK, I will use this for sure." She exclaimed.

"Sure, use it anytime, my wife loved it, but I've never been in it. I hope it still holds water."

"Great, thank you," she raced over, taking the puppy out of my arms and walking back into the bedroom, stopping suddenly before turning to face me. The puppy was all that was between us, and I could feel her breath on my face again. I stood stiff, expressionless for what seemed an eternity until Buddy broke the moment with a weak bark.

"OK, then that is pretty much the entire house. Please make yourself at home and feel free to drink and eat anything you can find. I knew I was leaving for a couple of days, so the refrigerator and cupboards are pretty bare, but there is wine in the cabinet over the stove, and there is more beer in the refrigerator in the garage."

"Perfect, I love both, and I'm sure I won't starve."

I felt myself losing the fight to give in to her obvious advances and the desire for her building inside me but somehow found the strength to turn and walk out of the room.

Once back in the living room, I asked her if she had any questions.

"Nope, I think Buddy and I will do great." She tipped the bottle, downing the last of her beer. "Don't worry about a thing."

"I really have to get ready to go, or we could have another beer and something to eat," I said lamely.

"Sure, I know, I'll be going, what about a key?"

"I almost forgot," reaching into my pocket, retrieving the key I had for her. She pulled my hand with the key toward her, rising to her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek as she slid it from my palm. "Good night then, I will see you when you get back, have a safe trip."

With that, she turned and walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped into the night. I felt like such a fool. I wanted to be with her, she seemed to want to be with me, but I just could not get past our age difference and our history together. I went to the kitchen, got another beer, plopped on the couch, and turned on the television, searching for something to distract me; finding nothing I went to my closet, packed, and went to bed.

The next morning I left on my trip. The entire time I thought of little else but Lydia. I made quick work of allaying our customers' fears over the delivery and was on my way home a full day early. It was late when the plane arrived, so after I got my car from the parking lot and went straight home. I was beat; it had been a very long day: a three-hour time difference, a ten-hour flight with three stops, and a plane change in Denver.

I dropped my bag by the front door, shedding my clothes on my way to the bedroom without turning on any lights. Buddy, who was apparently asleep in his bed, didn't stir. By the time I got to my bedroom, the only thing I had on was my boxers, which I stepped out of before I fell into bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I was screaming, "Who's there," but I couldn't hear the words. There was a hand on me; I tried to move my hand to push it away to no avail. I tried to squirm away, but my willing mind couldn't make my limbs move. Then one hand became two. In my mind's eye, I was watching this happen but could do nothing. I continued trying to force my body to move; hands were rubbing and stroking every part of me. I felt myself hyperventilating; I heard words that I couldn't understand. I strained to hear them clearly.

"Relax, I won't hurt you." I drew a deep breath and relaxed slightly, suddenly aware the hands I was straining against were not harming me but rather attempting to provide comfort. They were stroking my skin. I stopped thrashing and began to enjoy the touch. I felt them stroking my face, chest, and stomach.

It was soothing; I relaxed more as the stroking continued, across my hips and to the inside of my thighs. I felt an erection growing as the hands slid deftly up from my ass along my perineum to my testicles. They worked in unison, one softly rubbing my testicles while the other stroked and pressed on my perineum. I couldn't move; my body was trapped by my mind.

One hand continued to work my testicles and perineum as the other moved to my fully erect and throbbing shaft, gently stroking and tenderly rubbing the underside of the head. The pace was slow and tantalizing. I felt an orgasm slowly building when the hand was replaced by the wet warmth of lips kissing the head repeatedly before devouring my entire length, sucking my cock as it moved rhythmically along the shaft. I panted with delight as my testicles tightened before I came with a force and volume I had never experienced.

A soft kiss on the head of my penis and the faceless form disappeared. I woke before my alarm went off, groggy from my dreams and deep sleep. I rolled over, feeling a cool, wet spot under my hip. I frowned; it had only been a dream, a deeply satisfying, erotic dream but a dream nevertheless. As I rolled onto my elbow to sit up, I heard the water running, and then I didn't.

Just like last night, I imagined things. I rolled out of bed and stood; as I gained my balance and took a step toward the bathroom, the door opened, revealing Lydia, her stunning naked body glistening with beads of water not yet dried after her bath. "Good Morning, sleepyhead," She said.

I was still asleep and dreaming. I reached across my body, pinched my arm with my opposite hand, jumping when pain rocketed to my shoulder. I fell back onto the bed, motionless, and mute my eyes wide. I repeatedly blinked as you do when you can't believe what you are seeing as she moved across the room and sat next to me on the edge of the bed, pushing her arm around my neck and pulling me closer.

"Am I dreaming again?" I finally managed.

"No, you most certainly are not" I tried to wake you last night, but you were dead to the world, I really enjoyed myself, and you really surprised me."

"Surprised you, how exactly?" "By sleeping through my oral explorations, of course, what did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, you really are right here? This is not a dream?"

"No dream, I am here, and I plan to stay unless you kick me out, I have wanted to be with you for some time, and now that I am, I have no intention of leaving."

"You are magnificent, and I love the thought of you and me, but I'm almost 60, and you are still in the prime of your life. What would you want with an old man like me?"

"I have loved you almost since I first met you, we know almost everything about each other, and what drives me crazy has the same effect on you. Please enough talk now, let's begin with an experience neither of us will ever forget."

She pushed me back; her slightly open mouth met my lips, allowing our tongues to penetrate each other's loving mouths.