Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The thing about my time around Andy was - I forgot that I was "the older
woman".  Maybe I'm just a kid at heart or I don't act my age or something,
but he made me forget that there was thirteen years between us.  See, I
didn't meet him and have visions of seducing him, Mrs Robinson style, in
the studio's kitchen - I met him and fell totally in awe of his charms,
like I was some sort of schoolgirl.  My previously shattered heart lurched
when I saw him, my stomach fluttered when he spoke to me, I found him
popping into my thoughts at the oddest times of the day.  I thought he was
all that and a bag of chips, to be totally plain.  Forget the fact that I
was thirty one, married to an arsehole who broke my heart then divorced me,
and no longer the skinny little thing I'd been in my teens.  Oh no - I was
all woman, long red hair, green eyes, curves and tits and arse (if you'll
pardon the crudity of that statement).  I often joked that my arse had it's
own orbiting planetary system but it was still firmly shaped and my waist
was slim and curvy, accenting the shape of my behind.  I took care of
myself, not out of any particular conscious effort - I was lucky that I
could eat pretty much what I liked and the energy expended during my every
day life burned it off, and I had always taken care of my skin since I was
a teen.  "Take care of your skin and it will take care of you," my mother
always said.  I'd always had good breasts, firm, big and round, f cups on a
34 inch frame - which is great for attracting men but crap when you're
buying bras, but I couldn't complain as I had the rack that most women (and
girls) wish for.  Incessant teasing in my early teens had made me hide my
assets until I was older, but now that breasts were again fashionable, I
was happy to go braless and enjoyed the stares.  This is not to say I was
some sort of tart, because I was not.  But when you have been married for
ten years, the last four of them sexless due to your husband's extra
curricular activites with his slat thin teenage workmates, a few lusty
looks from the odd builder or delivery driver could do wonders for a
woman's self esteem.  My marriage had turned into a cold wasteland because
I didn't want him to touch me after I came upon the information (and his
subsequent admission) that he was shagging every second bit of skirt that
crossed his path at work - those girls were kids, just messing about,
sleeping around, "going out with" a different guy each month (with no
thought to the fact that in some cases, they were helping to destroy a
marriage), and my husband, the immature prick that he was, couldn't keep
his own immature prick to himself.  I guess for their part, they were
impressed by his car and his money and his willingness to "save a damsel in
distress" - something he was no longer willing to do for me, that's for
sure.  I didn't fancy getting into bed, so to speak, with everyone who'd
slept with everyone he'd dipped his wick in over the course of our
marriage. Besides, it felt demeaning to be cheated on - I was no bushpig; I
was fun, adventurous, sensual and stacked so, if he wanted a stick girl, he
could have one (or as many as he liked, not that he hadn't already if the
talk was anything to go by).  When I was in a position to survive without
his money and buy him out of the house (I'm a diligent saver), I told him
to sling his hook.  Love was long gone by then, so it was no big loss.

   Suddenly finding yourself on your own after ten years is kind of
interesting, sort of terrible, and a whole lot of daunting.  For all his
cheating and lying, I had at one time loved him - I had married him a girl
of barely twenty, who was full of romance and dreams of the future, and
left him a beaten shell of my former self.  My mother - who found herself
left in the lurch after thirty two years when my dad offskied for his
younger girlfriend (now my step mum, so at least he had the decency to
leave my mother for more than just a casual shag) was of the opinion that
all men were scum, you might as well be a lesbian, but if you couldn't be
that (and as far as I knew, I wasn't one, although if I'd met a woman who'd
floated my boat I would have had no qualms about it - it just had never
happened), you might as well have a young guy, because, she said "they
never grow up anyway".  Which must have been her reasoning behind having
not one but two toy boys (my mum was fifty eight) - one in his twenties who
drove a convertable Merc and had his nipple pierced (my mum, with a guy
young enough to be her son, who had his nipple pierced - ye gods !) and one
she met at a singles night (thirty two, also divorced, drove a pick up
truck and had three dogs).  But she had an undercurrent of hate of men to
keep her looking for the next option - she enjoyed acting like the worst
sort of "treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen" man.

   I, however, just wanted someone to love (aaaaw, cute huh ?) and
sometimes to scratch that itch that no amount of mastabation could satisfy.
I was lonely, I was ocassionally horny, I was miserable as sin with my new
single life.  But a toy boy was the furthest thing from my mind - I assumed
that no guy other than those around my age would be interested in me anyway
and I didn't fancy getting my heart trampled on again.  My feelings for
Andy were purely a lovely daydream.

   He had joined the team of presenters on our small but perfecty formed
local radio station some six months before.  He did the morning show, nine
till twelve, and was sensitive "new man" type of guy who was genuinely
sweet, without the arrogance and cheek that so many teenage lads affect. 
He was eighteen, oh so cute, blond, long hair cut just above the jaw bone,
and had a broad and muscular body that pleased me when I watched him move
(which I admit I did, though I tried to hide it and I thought I succeeded).
Apparently he played rugby.  Think the body of Wayne Rooney, the young
footballer, and the face of Jenson Button, the Formula One driver and you'd
not be too far off.  I admit I was smitten at first sight - I don't know
about true love, but lust was in there in spades and he had smile that made
my previously broken and numb heart go pitty-pat.  I knew he was just a
lad, and I told myself I was not only stupid but maybe actually nuts to
feel about him the way I did, but I couldn't help it.  I told myself I
might as well nurse a crush on a celeb like a silly teenager for all the
possibilty of anything coming of it.  I told myself he wouldn't look at me
twice.  In short, I beat myself up about it twenty four seven.  He was much
taller than I (I'm five four) - he must have topped over six foot.  His
mother obviously brought him up well, because he was polite, charming and
spoke with nothing but respect and affection of his girlfriend - a
similarly sweet young thing who, I mused unhappily, was just the sort of
skinny girlish slip of a thing that my husband probably enjoyed poking so
much.  However, Alice (for that was her name), was far too pure and
traditional to associate herself with anything so vulgar as sex before
marriage.  She and Andy were saving themselves for their wedding night. 
After we'd (we being the jaded cynics that made up the station staff)
picked our jaws off the floor on finding such old fashioned values still
alive and well in these modern times, we gruffly (but not unkindly) told
them "More power to your elbow, kids" and only teased Andy once a week
about it, as opposed to the constant barrage that he might have received.

   Caro, my friend and partner in crime (also divorced and single and
gasping for a shag - you see a pattern forming here ?), remarked that if
true love could exist in such a seemingly perfect bubble despite the shit
heaped on it from the real world, then maybe there was hope for us world
weary old buggers yet.  Though I can't say I was convinced.  I think she
guessed how I felt about Andy, but she never said anything about it.  The
most we did was joke about his teenage arse (and a fine arse it was) but I
think she saw past my banter alright.

   So, life trundled on as it had for me for the last two years after my
husband left - I went to my job at the station every morning (I started
work at five am - it might have played havoc with my social life, had I had
one) which was namely, manning the phones for the breakfast show presenter,
reading out the traffic and travel news and local events diary, generally
being a springboard for the presenter, Carl, to bounce off, and making
gallons of sweet tea.  I often saw Andy when he came in to shoot the breeze
with us before his show started, and as time went on I became more and more
aware of how attractive I found him and more and more miserable because I
couldn't seem to snap out of what I saw as a destructive emotion that was
forever to be unrequited.  Though any thoughts of actually admitting this
to anyone other than myself or god forbid, actually doing anything about
it, were imaginings kept locked inside the deepest reaches of my brain.  We
talked - passing the time of day ("How's Alice these days ?", "Fine,")
whilst I made him coffee (milk and three sugars) and ocassionally we
actually had a conversation ("How's it going with Alice ?", "Ahh, you know
- swings and roundabouts,").  He was polite to me but reserved - but
sometimes I thought I saw him looking at me oddly, and I hoped fervently it
was not because he could see my feelings for him.  Often they felt, to me
at least, like they were written all over me in neon.  Sometimes I thought
I saw frustration or sadness in his eyes when he spoke of his girlfriend. I
got the impression that for all the perfect love story image that they
projected, all in the garden was not rosy, but you know young fellas - they
wouldn't yell "Fire" if it was catching their arse.  This, coupled with the
belief that he was only passing the time of day with me, made the events of
an evening a couple of months later somewhat more than a surprise..

   It was the station's third birthday, and we were having a party in the
studio lobby.  When I say "party", it was more of a hootenanny as the
station's odd collection of musicians had gotten together to form what
could be loosely termed as a band ("Never Mind the Bullocks, Here's The Six
Pistles" was what this motley assortment called themselves).  They were
belting out a zoo of rowdy songs and we were receiving them all with equal
good cheer.  Things really began to take off at midnight, when the
station's live broadcast stopped and we picked up a feed from Supergold (a
station playing oldies and goldies all night, which we fed from of a
weeknight - it saved having to have a live presenter in the studio all
night, and we were only a small outfit) - then truly all of us were there
in the lobby, the inevitable VIPs that frequent such events were gone, and
the broadcast could look after itself.  The Pistles were currently
murdering the words of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" to the tune of "My Old
Man's A Dustman", and Andy and I were leaning companionably against each
other sat on the reception desk, bawling along at the top of our voices.  I
must admit I'd had a few sherberts (a couple of drinks, to you merkins) and
it looked like Andy had too, from the four discarded beer cans that lay at
his feet.  This on its own was odd enough because from what I'd observed at
previous social functions, Andy did not participate in the demon drink.  He
really was a good clean teenage lad.  I was trying to hide the way my skin
jumped when he leaned against me and avoiding his eyes.  However, the more
I drank the bolder I felt, and the better I felt about the whole thing. 
"You're not going to like, throw or anything are you ?" I asked him, eyeing
the debris of tinnies.  "Why, would you take care of me ?" he returned,
giving me a cheeky grin.  "I don't know about take care of you, but I'll
take after you for sure if you chuck up on my dress," I told him, which
made him laugh.  My dress, which I had purchased with no small amount of
financial expense, was a gauzy bit of spaghetti strapped gold cloth lined
with silk that ended at mid thigh, teamed with black strappy heels.  I
thought the dress complimented my hair, which cascaded around my shoulders
and down my back in a mass of red pre-raphaelite curls.  It's
provocativeness had been the last thing on my mind when I bought it - it
was a purchase more to do with retail therapy than wanting to look good,
but from the appreciative looks I had been receiving throughout the night I
could tell it made me look okay.  "Oh yes, your dress, " Andy gave me a
short look that I couldn't quite figure," Nice threads.  Suits you, sir."
"Thanks," I returned, blushing, "You don't look so bad yourself." "T'is
hired," he said, indicating his black tux.  He loosened his bow tie (it was
as red as a barn door) and rolled his head around his neck a few times. 
"Nah, I'm alright," he said, taking another swig of Stella as if to prove
it.  He brushed his hair back from his face and let out a sigh, "I do know
I plan to get considerably drunker than this though." "Why - what's the
matter ?" I asked.  "Alice and I split up," he replied shortly.  "Oh, fuck
- I am sorry to hear that," I returned, really looking at him now, "Any
particular reason or shouldn't I ask ?" "Well...." he regarded his boots a
moment, and then he said, clearly embarrassed, "I ...  well." I waited for
him to go on, but when he didn't I said, "Forget I asked.  It's ok, I'm a
nosy old bag." "Hardly," he laughed, "I've never thought of you as much
older than me, I mean, I know how old you are but I don't dwell on it.  And
I mean that in a good way, by the way." I was flattered, "Well, I'm nosy
then." "No," he said, and let out another sigh, "It's okay.  It would
probably be a good thing to get a woman's take on it." "Shoot then," I
said. "Oooookay," he took a deep breath, and smoothed his hands over his
thighs, "You know that 'saving ourselves for marriage' thing ?  Well, I
decided I didn't want to any more.  I mean, what if we weren't, you know,
compatible.  How much of a cock up would that have been ?" "Indeed," I
mused, beginning to be extremely intrigued.  "So I suggested to her that
we, you know - do The Deed," he went on, "But she wasn't having any of it,
in a big style.  Called me an insensitive pig, said I was just like all the
others, yada yada yada.  So I said if that was how she felt then we'd
better call it a day.  So we did.  That was three weeks ago and I haven't
had any contact with her since.  To be honest, I felt it was on the way out
anyway - I think we were together out of habit and the desire to please our
parents, you know ?" "Oh," I said, rather stupidly - but to be fair, I was
trying to imagine why any red blooded female wouldn't want to go to bed
with Andy.  I decided I was never going to be able to fathom it so I put it
out of my mind.  "So, what do you think ?" asked Andy earnestly.  He fixed
me with a serious look, his blue eyes wide, "Do you think you should have
experience before you get married or not ?  You were married - did you ...
before ?" I smiled wryly, "Oh yeah.  I lost my cherry at fifteen, chuck - I
wouldn't say I slept around before I was married but I certainly learned
the ropes." Andy blushed pink, and I laughed, "You did ask." "So I did," he
mumbled, and took another swig of his beer.  There was an embarrassed
pause, then Andy said, "Perhaps I should find myself an older woman to show
me the ropes." He obviously had recovered his composure, and dropped me a
salacious wink.  It was my turn to blush in disbelief.  "Have I shocked you
?" he asked, his eyes boring into mine.  "I...er....," I stammered. 
"You're drunk," I said.  "Maybe, but I've seen the way you look at me,"
Andy narrowed his eyes and brushed my knee quickly with his thumb,
"However, you don't seem to have noticed the way I look at you back." "You
look at me back how ?" I asked, the skin on my knee still tingling, a hot
flush creeping over my skin.  "Oh, lustily, I should think is the correct
word," he said airly.  "Lustily ?" I parroted in disbelief.  "Why not ?" he
returned, "I think you must have forgotten that you're a beautiful,
interesting woman, thanks to that total arse of an ex husband of yours. 
Why he'd wanted anyone else when he had you is beyond me, especially when
you're so -" he made an hourglass shape with his hands, "so lush and all."
"I thought all you young guys went for the supermodel figure," I laughed,
not quite believing what I was hearing.  "Are you kidding ?  It's every
young guy's fantasy - the womanly older lady," Andy postively enthused, "To
be shown the mysteries of sex and the female form by an older, experienced
woman ...  schwing !  And face it, you're not exactly ancient anyway -
isn't a woman supposed to reach her sexual peak at your age ?  Don't they
say the best sexual pairing is an eighteen year old male and a woman in her
thirties ?" I turned red again, feeling more than a little bit hot under
the collar.  "Oh, stop, you're making me all hot and bothered," I tried to
brazen it out as a joke.  "Am I ?" Andy brushed my leg again, this time
further up my thigh.  My skin absolutely screamed at his touch, and my
groin contracted in the most delightful way.  But for all this I had a
nasty suspicion that I knew what this was all about.  "You want to fuck me
so you can get your own back on Alice, is that it ?" I said, suddenly.  He
looked genuinely hurt, "Of course not.  I've been attracted to you for a
long time - it's just that I couldn't do anything about it even had I the
courage to say anything.  I'm not the cheating kind." I smiled inwardly at
his simplicity.  How nice a place the world would be if it was all that
easily explained, I thought.  "Okay, my bad, that was below the belt," I
apologised.  "Now who's teasing, with this talk of below belts," Andy's
eyes twinkled mischieviously, and I laughed.  He reached out and took a
strand of my hair, winding it round his fingers.  "I've always wondered how
your hair felt to touch," he said, and again my groin cramped at this touch
and his tone of voice whilst my heart skipped a beat or two.  "Andy, people
will talk," I said, more than alittle unnerved, looking nervously around
me, quite caught on the back foot for an allegedly more worldly-wise older
woman.  "So let's go somewhere else," he slid gracefully off the desk and
offered me his hand.  I took it in a total daze.  To say I couldn't get my
head around what was happening would be like saying the Atlantic ocean is
wet (the same, incidently, could be said about my knickers by that point).
This gorgeous hunk of teenage male who I had secretly lusted after
(nevermind whatever else it was I felt about him) for what felt like
forever wanted to "go somewhere else" with me.  I felt as nervous as a
virgin bride and was rapidly becoming as horny as hell.  If he was drunk
and wanted his ego stroking (or anything else for that matter) my common
sense was telling me to walk away right now and not risk the friendship and
probably a heartbreaking for myself into the bargain but for pity's sake, I
was only human and it had been a long time since I had felt wanted.  And
the Barcardi Breezers had dulled my usually keen sense of emotional self
preservation a little.

   Andy led me through the crowds (Caro caught my eye with raised eyebrows
and I returned her a shrug - to which she made a bump and grind gesture
with her hips, laughing) to the deserted studio, where Supergold was
merrily feeding itself down our airwaves to anyone who cared to listen at
that time of night.  Currently Justin Timberlake was opining about how we
should cry him a river, and the lights were dim.  Andy popped the lock on
the door behind us and suddenly there we were, facing each other across the
space that we had worked in every day - I for three years and he for six or
so months, but this time there on completely different business.  "Pretty
scary huh ?" Andy smiled, and I nodded, giggling.  "I hope you don't expect
me to seduce you or anything cos I think I'm more nervous than you, " I
laughed, blushing, "It's been a fair while since I did anything like this."
"Yeah me too, "Andy replied, wryly, "Like, in my last life or something." I
covered a good humoured snort with my hand, "You really are a bonafide
virgin ?" "Yus," he said simply.  "How much of one are we talking here ?" I
asked, trying to be delicate, "I mean - total 'never copped so much as a
feel' territory or what ?" "That depends on what it's a feel of, " Andy
blushed to the roots of his hair, "Breasts yes - not that Alice had much of
any, not like you !  But not 'down there', no." "Oh," I said, momentarily
imagining what it would be like to have him touch me there.  There was an
awkward silence, and then I collected my thoughts.  Perhaps I could see my
way clear to seducing him afterall.  "Well, if we're going to do this, just
relax and don't be afraid to ask questions, " I smiled, and he chuckled. 
"Yes, I think we are going to do this, " he returned.  I was momentarily
stunned and wondered if I should pinch myself to see if this was a dream,
but instead I threw caution to the wind and stepped lightly into his space.
I spread my hands on his chest, feeling the smooth muscles under his shirt.
He really was a well built boy.  Here I was finally touching the subject of
my most secret imaginings.  I was shaking like a leaf and awed at the
feeling of his heart beating under my hands.  I found his nipples under the
cloth and brushed my thumb over them.  He gasped alittle.  "Nice ?" I
asked, and he nodded.  I reached down and took his hands, placing them on
my waist.  "Ok there ?" I asked, beginning to get into the swing of this
older woman lark despite my nerves.  He nodded again, transfixed.  I stood
on tip toe (even in my heels he was still way taller than me) and he bent
his head to meet my mouth.  The kiss was hesitant and gentle at first, then
our tongues touched and it became deeper, his hands creeping round to my
back and down to my arse.  I shivered with pleasure.  "Mmm, you're a good
kisser," I said, eventually, and he laughed shyly.  He ran his hands up my
back and under my arms, skating gently over the bodice of my dress.  The
his thumbs hooked the straps and he asked, "Can I ?" I nodded, and he
slowly pushed the straps away, pushing the dress down and revealing my best
assets.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head - cliched but true, and he
said, "You have ...  your breasts are fantastic." I beamed with amused
pleasure.  His hands sought them gently at first, then kneading the firm
soft flesh a little harder.  I moaned quietly.  His fingertips found my
nipples, which were hard and sensitive, and he brushed his fingers over
them gently, making me moan again.  Suddenly he bent his head and took one
in his mouth, sucking gently, then with increased pressure.  A bolt of
pleasure went straight to my groin and I pressed myself against him,
feeling the hard pressure of his not inconsiderable erection against my
thigh.  He hooked his arms under my armpits, pulled me towards him and
buried his face in my cleavage.  "Mummy, I'm home," he quipped, and I
giggled.  "I'm not the motherly sort really," I said, and he squeezed my
shoulder blades tightly.  "That's good because I never wanted to do this to
my mother," he returned, from between my breasts.  His slow kneeding and
kissing was driving me nuts, and I just had to have his hands in my
knickers or die trying.  Shyness and the worry of getting my heart stepped
on again were fading into the background and desire was taking over.  I
took one of his hands and guided it down to my thighs, and placed the
fingers on the hem of my dress.  He got the idea, and his hand slid up my
dress and onto my wet gusset.  "Wet, " he said, breathlessly against my
ear. "Yes," I replied, equally short of breath, "If you think that's wet
you should try inside." I parted my legs slightly and like a good boy, Andy
pulled my knickers aside and began to tentatively caress the moist flesh.
"Can I see ?" he asked, blushing redder than ever.  I stepped away from him
and backed up against the table we keep in the corner for live conferences.
With a quick movement I bent and took off my undies, discarding them on the
floor.  I hopped up onto the table and pulled my dress up - though it
hadn't far to go it must be said.  Then I parted my legs shamelessly and
exposed the mysteries of my most female regions to him.  He stood glued to
the spot for a second, then he fell to his knees like a subject worshipping
his goddess, and stared intently at my glistening cunt.  I admit it was a
total turn on having him look so closely at my most intimate area like that
- to say nothing of the fact that his face was so close to me that I could
feel his breath on my clit - and I felt myself getting wetter than ever. 
With a devilish smile I reach down and spread my labia, and began to play
with myself.  Andy was utterly enthralled.  "Do you want to taste me ?" I
asked, half consumed with lust, and he drew in a sharp breath.  "You smell
..  primal," he said, almost matter of factly, "Yeah, of course I want to
taste you." I spread my legs as wide as they would go and he put his hands
on the inside of my thighs.  Then he gave my clit an exploratory lick,
which made me shudder with lust, and then plunged his tongue into my hole
like a pro.  I made a little sound of pleasure and twined my hands in his
hair.  "Put your finger in me, " I told him.  "I'm afraid I'll hurt you,"
he stammered.  "You won't, " I assured him.  Slowly he slipped his middle
finger into my sopping cunt, still licking my clit in tiny feather strokes
- this kid was obviously a natural as he was out-performing many grown and
allegedly experienced men I'd been with.  I groaned as my muscles
contracted around his long finger.  I considered asking him to put a finger
up my arse too but didn't think he was quite ready for that, the poor love,
so I settled for asking for another finger in my cunt instead.  He duly
obliged.  "I can feel you, " he said, between tonguing my raging skin, "On
my fingers, you're shuddering inside." "You bet, " I replied, barely
coherent.  To my surprised delight he sucked my clit gently, and I
spiralled even further toward and orgasm.  Unable to help myself, I pushed
myself against his mouth and fingers.  He responded by sliding his fingers
slowly in and out of my hole as he sucked.  "Is this ok ?" he asked,
pausing in his tonguing.  "Okay, are you kidding ?" I moaned, "Are you sure
you're a novice ?" "I've had plenty of theory," he replied with a chuckle,
"My brother has quite a collection of porn." "So I guess you're waiting for
me to shout "Give it to me Big Boy", or some such," I couldn't help but
laugh.  "You shout whatever you like," he returned, almost solemnly.  "How
about if I just ask ?" I said, curling my fingers in his and pulling him
(most reluctantly I might add) away from my wetness.  "Okay, - ask," he
regarded me seriously.  "Do you want to be inside me ?" I looked back with
equal graveness, "Think carefully because this is like, a really big deal
here - for a young fella like you." And not to mention a pretty fucking big
deal for me though you'll never know it, I thought.  He gave me a half
smile and guided my hand towards his erection.  "What do you think ?" he
said.  "Oh, foost," I waved the comment away, "You young lads get a hard on
when the football's on, it doesn't mean anything !" Andy laughed and I
laughed with him.  Then his face became serious again and his eyes dark. 
"I want you," he said simply.  "Okay," I whispered, and anything else I
might have had to say was lost in his kiss.  I scrabbled at his shirt, and
he shrugged his jacket off as I unbuttoned it, our mouths never parting.  I
unbuckled his belt and he pulled my dress over my head, and it joined my
discarded underwear on the floor.  Then he pulled me to the table's edge,
pressing himself against the inside of my thighs, and his chest against my
breasts.  I felt the length of his hardness lay along my mound.  "Do you
want me ?" he asked into my ear.  I made a mewing noise in reply, my face
pressed into his hair.  "Say it," he said, thickly.  I blushed hot against
him.  "I want you," I gasped.  He took my face in his hands and made me
look at him.  "Say it again, look me in the eye and say it," he said, his
face unreadable.  "I want you," I stammered, my head reeling from the turn
of events - just who was seducing who here ?  "Help me ..." he said, at
once eighteen again, his eyes closed, his hands twining tightly in mine,
"Help me ...  get into you.  Help me ...  love you." My heart almost
stopped at that, but I gave him what I hoped was a warm smile (though I
suspect it was actually a slightly sad one).  Then I kissed his mouth, and
took him in my hand.  He was as hard as stone and throbbing.  I guided him
to the place where he wanted to be, and as he slid in, we both let out long
breaths of pleasure.  He pressed forward and all at once his cock was in me
right up to the maker's name.  He sighed deeply and I felt him twitch
inside me.  "Slowly," I told him breathlessly, and we began to move
together.  I led him in slow deep strokes, taking him almost out of me so I
could feel the head of his cock parting the tight muscles at the entrance
of my cunt, again and again, and then back in deep as he could go.  I've
always loved that initial stretching feeling - I remembered when I had lost
my virginity to my first serious boyfriend, who had had a huge cock (even
by my thirty one year old standards) and gave me a sweet burning pain that
I have longed to experience since, sadly to no avail.  He was a big lad
(and I, at fifteen, was a slip of a thing) and although often teenage lads
are rough without meaning to be out of mere inexperience, I believe he did
actually enjoy hurting me alittle bit.  He liked to hold my wrists and
overpower me, anyway - and I didn't complain - I loved him.  Perhaps I am
abit of a submissive at heart, or maybe I just long for that feeling of
giving yourself competely in a way you have never done before, or both.  Or
maybe the two things are connected - surely the most trust you can put in
someone is to allow them to inflict a little pain on you and take control
of you utterly, without fear ?  "Am I hurting you ?" Andy asked me,
breaking my reverie.  "Not at all," I replied, with a smile.  "Would you
like me to ?" he returned, as if reading my mind.  I looked at him
carefully, wondering if this was just light hearted banter, but his face
was serious in the dim light.  "What do you know about that - being of
limited experience as you are ?" I asked, but not unkindly.  "I know I'm
bigger and stronger than you," he said, brushing a lock of hair away from
my face, almost paternally, "And I figure either you trust me enough to
come in here with me, behind a locked door in a soundproof room, or the
idea that this might not go all your way has just not occured to you." I
was stunned into a short silence - it certainly had not occured to me, but
neither did I think Andy would really do anything I didn't want him to.  He
just didn't have that in him.  I don't know if it was lust or something
else that had gotten me there with him, or four Barcardi Breezers, but
whatever it was, I had never thought twice about having any fear of him. 
Though I couldn't deny the strange current of lust mixed with fear that was
now churning in my stomach.  "Or, there is always the possibility that you
like the idea of me being stronger than you but you think I am just a
teenage boy who's going do whatever you tell me to then shoot his load ?"
he pulled away from me, his cock sliding out.  I felt a moment of loss (and
a moment's guilt too, because that was exactly what I'd been thinking) and
then I said, "You are the guy of mixed signals, for fuck's sake.  One
minute you are shy and the next like ...  this." I made a waving gesture
with my hand at him, "What exactly are you going to do, then ?" He took my
hands and pulled me off the desk, encircling me in his arms.  "I'm going to
shoot my load alright, " he said, his head bent to put his mouth next to my
ear, "Turn around." "What ?" I blinked, stupidly, taken by surprise.  He
didn't bother to repeat what he said but put his hands on my waist and
turned me so my back was against his chest.  I could feel his hard on
pressing against the cheeks of my arse, and I pressed backwards towards him
in age old instinct.  He ran his hands up my belly to my breasts and began
to kneed them firmly.  "I could stick it up your arse," he said, his mouth
close to my ear again, "Would you like that ?" I could only let out a tiny
mewing noise in reply because his feet were slowly pushing mine - my legs
parted and his cock was now laying straight up between the cheeks of my
arse like a hot poker.  I had doubted he was ready to put so much as a
finger in my anus not five minutes beforehand, and now here he was
threatening - though albeit without complaint from me - to fuck me anally.
"Do you like it up the arse ?" he asked so quietly in my ear, and I
shivered with lust at his tone of voice and the feel of his mouth.  "Yes, "
I managed to stammer, and he smiled against my ear.  "Next time, " he said
simply, and my groin cramped at the idea.  He pulled my arms up over my
head and I bent them back to curl my hands in his hair.  I could feel him
throbbing against me and I wondered how he hadn't come already - not that
my experience with teenage boys had been much to go by, if anything at all,
since ceasing to be a teenager myself.  Perhaps the swing of control was
giving him something to set his resolve by - he certainly seemed to be
taking to the situation.  "Do you trust me ?" he asked, and although I
stiffened against his chest my reply was immediate.  "Of course," I said,
without hestitation.  "Silly girl," he breathed softly in my ear.  It had
been a long time since anyone called me a girl, to say nothing of a silly
one.  But I wasn't able to spend much time thinking about it because he
went on, "How do you know I'm not going to make you suck my cock, or slap
you about abit, or make you do something that degrades you ?" I laughed
quietly - here I was, my cunt aching to be fucked, having mastabated in
front of him, had him stare intently at my wet clit, then stick his tongue
in my hole, then threaten to fuck me up the arse - what could he possibly
do that would degrade me ?  In my current state of arousal I doubted even
the most hardcore porn watching eighteen year old could find anything to do
to me that would have met with anything other than enthusiasm - short of
strangling me on the desk, and I knew there was no danger of that.  Andy
might be playing at being the big man but he wasn't going to hurt me.  I
grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it a firm yank, and he drew in his
breath sharply.  "Come on then, give it your best shot," I hissed, "You
think you can fuck me ?  - then fuck me." He reply was to slam me down on
my belly on the desk with surprising strength.  He snaked one arm around my
waist and with the other hand grabbed my hair to pull my head to the side.
"I am going to give you what you really want," he told me, his mouth
pressed against my ear.  My cunt cramped anew and my clit pinged with
primal desire.  Then the pressure of his chest on my back was suddenly
gone, and his hands left my hair and waist.  I murmured in regret, but then
I felt his hands part the cheeks of my arse and a finger drew itself
lightly down my slit, sliding in the fluid.  Then my slit was spread open
and a tongue pushed itself into my hole.  I squirmed on the desk and spread
my legs wider, and Andy began to lick my clit in earnest.  Suddenly I felt
pressure at my anus and a wet finger slipped inside to the knuckle.  An
immediate cramp spasmed my cunt and I rushed towards an orgasm.  "Oh, jesus
I'm coming, " I gasped, barely able to form the sentence, and then
instantly the finger left my arse and the tongue deserted my clit.  I made
a little yelping sound of dismay, throbbing on the edge of release.  "I
want you to come when I'm inside you," Andy said, and I felt his stiff cock
pierce my slippery hole.  As he slipped inside me I tightened my muscles
involuntarily, and moaned as the hard rod sunk into my engorged flesh. 
Andy took my hips in his strong hands and lifted them slightly off the
desk. "Play with your clit, " he commanded, and I scrabbled to comply,
forcing my hands into the space between my body and the desk that his
actions had so thoughtfully yielded.  The second my fingertip found my
throbbing clit I thought I was going to come, but I held on for dear life.
His thrusts were long and deep and not particularly gentle, but I loved
every second of it.  He curled one arm around my waist and with the other
hand grabbed my hair again, and I convulsed with desire as he pulled my
head up so my ear could meet his mouth.  "Is this good, you like this ?"
his breath was ragged in my ear as he plunged into the depths of me. 
"Yes," I managed to squeak.  "Your cunt feels so tight, so wet on my cock,"
he groaned, and I flushed with colour to hear such words from his mouth. 
The pressure was building in my clit now, an ache so fierce and primal it
was almost frightening.  "Andy, I'm going to come, I can't help it..." I
shuddered, almost wailing.  He bent his head and bit my shoulder, hard, and
I shot into an intense orgasm, my body reeling and rocking, his cock tight
and hard inside me.  A split second later he growled and lurched within me
and his hand tightened in my hair as he came, his body straining against
mine.  I threw up my arms behind my head, caught his hair in both hands,
and pulled - I couldn't help myself.  "Oh, you little bitch," he gasped, as
the waves of orgasm crashed through him.  "Dirty bastard," was all I could
yelp in reply, and milked his cock for all I was worth, greedily grabbing
as much sensation as I could.

   We finally sank down onto the desk still stuck together by sweat and
juices and suddenly laughter coursed through us in little streams - not
because anything was funny, just because we were happy (and all those
released chemicals were now rocketing around our systems).  He held my
waist tightly and with his other hand found mine.  "I didn't scare you or
anything, did I, with what I said ?" he asked, still breathing heavily in
my ear.  I shook my head, "No, I know you wouldn't hurt me really, you
haven't got it in you." "Good," he returned, and I could hear the smile in
his voice, "I think I've discovered I like being in charge." I laughed
again, "You seem to have a talent for it.  Some girl is going to think all
her Christmases have come at once, now that you've got the hang of things."
I was putting on a brave face, but inside I felt sad.  My dream - or at
least the lusty part of it anyway - had been realised, and I imagined it
would not be repeated.  "Well, I was hoping that would be you, " he turned
me over to face him, and brushed my sweaty hair away from my forehead, and
I blinked in surprise.  "Andy, I'm hardly a girl," I said, a little caught
off guard, "Don't you want someone of your own age ?" "Nope, " he said
matter of factly, "I want you.  If you're for the wanting that is.  It
might change somewhere down the line but all I can think right now is that
I want you, and that's that." I looked at him, somewhat stunned, but with a
decidedly girlish hope in my heart.  If it was just sex for him, then so
let it be just that - I wasn't about to hope this would turn out to be the
love story of the century, but why not take pleasure in what things you can
?  Perhaps this was what Caro meant when she said there was hope for us
cynical buggers afterall.  "And of course, " Andy went on, with a wolfish
grin, "I did promise to fuck you up the arse next time, didn't I ?" My
mouth dropped open and I laughed yet again.  "What have I unleashed ?" I
chuckled, as his blue eyes danced, "Where did that come from, that that
just happened there ?" "What ?" he asked, maintaining an air of innocence.
"That ...  I dunno, dominating stuff is what you'd call it I suppose," I
said.  "Perhaps I've been thinking about it for a long time, " he returned,
"Imagining what I'd do if I got you alone, imagining what I wanted, how you
make me feel.  Perhaps you've been the subject of my wanking fantasies for
many a month." I could only gape.  This was certainly a revelation.  "Come
on, get your clothes back on," he smacked my arse lightly, "We're going
back to the party and I'm going to take you dancing." "A couple of things,
Tiger," I told him, poking him in the chest with my finger, "One - the
first place we need to go is the presenter's suite to the shower, because
we smell of sex ..." He laughed and nodded, "Okay." "And the second thing
is," I reached up and brushed hair back from his forehead,"When you meet a
girl later in your life and fall in love with her, a tip from a woman who
knows is ...  after a good seeing to the fairer sex likes a cuddle, else
they feel like a sex object." "Ah, " said Andy, somewhat sagely for his
years, "I can tell that whilst that is probably true, at the moment it is
an editorial comment, right ?" I suddenly felt tired and heartachey, and
that yes, he was probably right, "It's just the way things are." He pulled
me to my feet and put his arms around me.  "You think because I am eighteen
and you are thirty one then you must be purely a sex object," he said, into
my hair.  I shrugged.  I didn't want to be talking emotions right now, but
if the truth be told, I hadn't wanted to be talking emotions since my
husband left.  I was all out of love, as the song goes, but I knew this
wasn't just sex for me - but I didn't want to analyse too closely what it
was all about for Andy.  That would probably come later in the cold light
of day.  "When you were fifteen and the ratbag who took your virginity left
you a week later," he began.  "How did you know that ?" I cut him off,
sounding sharper than I really felt.  "I asked Caro about you," he said
simply.  Another revelation.  He looked down at me, unperturbed by my
spikeyness.  "So, when you were fifteen and he left you - did you love him
?" he went on, searching my face.  "Well ..." I hesitated for a second, "Of
course I did.  Everyone said we were too young and it wasn't really love,
but I'm here to tell you it felt like it to me.  What's your point ?"
"Jaysus, you dimboid," he said, rolling his eyes.  He took me by the
shoulders and gave me a gentle shake, "My point is, I'm eighteen - but I'm
not one of these football obsessed 'shag anything' louts you seem to think
I am." "I don't think you're one of those," I said, mildly put out - but he
had a point just the same - I had been too busy beating myself up over the
thought that he'd never be interested in me to give the fact that he
genuinely might be much consideration.  "If you felt more than just sexual
attraction at fifteen, why can't you give me the credit for being the same
?" he asked.  "What are you saying ?" I said, feeling decidedly caught out.
"I like you," Andy replied plainly, "You know, I like *you*, not just your
tits.  Didn't you notice ?" I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again
with a snap.  I didn't know what to say or what to think but I knew I was
the one feeling like she needed to be led instead of leading.  Andy let out
a sigh and spread his hands, "I know this is probably not how most
relationships should start, for which I apologise - the beer made me a
little less inhibited than I should have been." I gave an embarrassed smile
and said, "I know that feeling," but in the back of my mind a stunned voice
was shouting, "Relationship ?" "So I am asking you formally," Andy took my
hands and looked into my eyes - which must have made a funny sight had
anyone been able to see us as we were both in a state of undress (I with
only my heels on and Andy with just his shirt),"Would you like to go out,
for dinner or to the cinema or something ?" In the second or so it took me
to answer him I wondered many things - what his friends would think, what
my friends would think, what his parents would think (scary !), but nothing
that really mattered when it got right down to it.  We had just had
fantastic sex.  He was asking me out.  And I wanted to go.  End of story.
"I'd like that very much," I told him, and he smiled and bent his head to
kiss me again.