Finding John, part 2

So, you want to take this slow?

Miraculously, we escaped detection by John’s staff, but barely. Any number of things might have happened to tip them off, but he and I were alike in this – we had been meticulous in cleaning ourselves up and in fabricating some business-like banter to prevent suspicion. The only bit I couldn’t hide was my post-coital crimson cheeks. My face was on fire and I would have been at a loss to explain the reason for that had anyone bothered to ask about it.

As we stepped out from the semi-dark confines of the office, a wash of bright sunshine cleared our heads, and we set out to our intended lunch destination, a fabulous Greek restaurant just a block down. John looked completely different in the full light, and not a bad different, just more business-like and with the confident face of a public figure. I did my best to emulate his appearance of propriety, but this meant avoiding eye contact with him. Gazing at his face would have sent me into a tailspin or loudly saying inappropriate things, I could feel it.

We arrived at The Grecian Grill and were greeted by the proprietor Nick, who was clearly a friend of John’s. Our cover seemed to be working well as Nick gave me only the slightest sizing up and then seated us in a quasi-private corner without anything more than the usual pleasantries. But once we were seated and facing each other at the table, John and I both fell back into our reverie, and it was smoking hot. Fuck the polite conversation. With no onlookers in the nearly empty restaurant, John snapped out of his public persona returning to his lustful self. He suggested we sit on the same side of the table, after which he leaned in with a huge kiss, oblivious to the fact that anyone could have seen him do this. He then told me exactly how he imagined things going down, drawing me in with a lascivious smile and heavy-lidded eyes. “Not sure how we got here so quickly, but I intend to take this very slowly going forward – to stretch out this seduction for as long as possible. Don’t you think?” he said with a self-satisfied smile. Nothing came out of my mouth – for starters because I just wanted to fuck him right there in the restaurant at that very moment, not after some long and tortuous tango. He continued: “I’ve not done this for a long while, and intend to savor every minute of the build-up. How about we start with a hike next week at the dunes?” Next week?! I would be dead by then, but I muttered “sure.” Sure.

And John said all of this with the confidence of someone who was used to calling the shots – cock ”sure” he was spot on in his approach and that things would go as he envisioned. I was mentally volleying back a huge “fuck that” with the confidence of a woman whose long-repressed sex drive was now in high gear, something, I might add, that he had caused to happen. I knew exactly what I wanted, and I intended to get it. Hey Boomer dude – meet your match: GenX babe. Remember Xena? Spelled with an “X.” Xena always got what she wanted, FYI.

John encouraged Nick to choose a special lunch for us, and when the food arrived, I found myself sharing a platter of luscious Mediterranean dips, pickled things, bright veggies, and steaming hot falafels with John. Normally, I would have snarfed down half of this platter without hesitation, but this afternoon I found I had no appetite whatsoever. I nibbled on a falafel but could not bring myself to swallow a single bite. Even drinking water seemed a challenge. I hoped John wouldn’t notice. I was so nervous, actually excited, and horribly distracted. Conversely, John enthusiastically put back his lunch, our near consummation obviously having triggered an opposite reaction in him – a renewed gusto for life and the hunger for sustenance that accompanied it.

The lunch date ended with a restrained public hug, and John reiterated the details for next week’s hiking date. I felt deflated and wondered how I was going to get through the week in my current state. Off I went to my car, and John to his office.

Needless to say, the sensations I felt only hours earlier in John’s office would not leave my body or mind. I was consumed in reliving the feel of his mouth and his soft hands, his nibbling on my breasts, the feel of his furry tummy, and his scratchy beard on my neck. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t think, and I only wanted to play one tune over and over - “Use Me” by Bill Withers. My new theme song. So I set to cleaning my house, throwing all of that sexual angst into vacuuming, dusting, and organizing cabinets. I blasted the music, I cleaned, I danced, I repeatedly looked in the mirror to see what was happening to me, and every few minutes, I checked my phone for text messages. This flurry of meaningless activity was intended to distract me from my obsession. That it did not do. It was a major fail. At least the house was spotless.

Partway through the evening, “ping!” - a text message from John 🔥 (and my response)…

Within seconds, John responded with, “Never keep a good woman waiting. How about dinner tomorrow night at 7:00? Do you like Wicks Park Bar and Grill?” My response: “Sounds perfect. Can’t wait to see you. And now I’ll be able to sleep. 😂”

Saturday was a flurry. Excited, I woke up at the crack of dawn and put my beauty routine in order, went and swam laps early, then headed over to the dress boutique on First St. to see if they had something sexy - preferably a black dress. Snagged a great black dress, along with a cute pair of sandals and a huge pair of silver hoops. Now, all I needed was some red lipstick, and to get my toenails polished, and I’d be ready to go. By 6:00 p.m. I was beautiful and stuck with an hour to kill. I needed a distraction, and a good one. So I flirted via text with my friend from Vienna. Thank god he was on another continent. Poor guy - it was the middle of the night over there.

Like friggin’ clockwork, my favorite public servant arrived exactly at 7:00 to whisk me off to our dinner date, pulling up in his perfectly detailed Porsche 911. And damn if he wasn’t dressed irresistibly in a plum suede jacket with an open-collared light blue dress shirt and gray trousers, white beard trimmed perfectly. And there I was, done up provocatively, hair in gentle curls and dressed in a low-cut black dress. And yes, I have a really full cleavage and made no effort to hide it. None whatsoever. And as would become usual around John, my cheeks (and neck and chest) were crimson - no blush needed. I was hot, both literally and figuratively. The only thing I could manage to say was, “Just shut up and kiss me. I can’t wait a minute longer.” And that he did.

John had cued up some great classical music for the drive to Wicks Park: Faure’s Pavane. I loved that piece, though it foretold John’s continued insistence on taking things slowly. The tune has a long, drawn-out melody - it’s sensual, slow, languid. Yes, it was perfect, and I was already losing my mind in anticipation.

After parking, John came around to open my door - so old-school, and I loved it. A man my age would never have made this gesture. Then he offered me his arm, and though it made me chuckle just a tad, I also loved feeling his body against mine. As we headed toward the restaurant’s entrance, I noted that the engine on the Porsche was still running, the lights were on, and the stereo continued to blast the Pavane. “Is this one of those cars that automatically turns itself off?” I queried. John laughed and said, “No.” Back he went to turn off the car. I could see this evening was going to go exactly as I hoped.

Dinner was delicious, but relatively uneventful, as we were surrounded by families and many of John’s constituents, all of whom recognized him. We had to be on our best behavior, however hard that might be. John did manage to make a few obscene gestures, as he picked the olives off the pizza, stuck them on the ends of his fingers, then engulfed them in his bearded mouth. Message received. Loud and clear. If this man thought we would be driving in the right lane on the way home, he was very much mistaken. We’d be taking the commuter lane and blowing past every other car on the highway. Which is exactly what happened.

We hadn’t actually made any post-dinner plans, and as we lingered in the car in front of my house, I discovered the first move was mine to make. John had mentioned more than once that this was to be a female-centric date, his term. And so, that’s what I made it. This female wanted him to come into her house and to stay for as long as it took to complete the business that had been left unfinished at his office. And so I bravely said as much, then flinched - really hoping he did not fall back on his idea to take things slowly. When I asked if he would come in for a while, he gave me an enthusiastic “Sure,” accompanied by one of those killer smiles that was going to leave a wet spot on my dress if I didn’t stand up immediately.

Leading this beautiful man up the path and into my house… well fuck. It was heady. The minute the front door closed behind us, his jacket came off and was thrown onto the loveseat, his shirt unbuttoned, and shoes came off. And that’s where I paused to use the restroom, or so I said. Off I went to remove my tights, underwear, and bra, do a quick spritz of my favorite perfume, and to put a brush through my hair. Barefoot, I ventured back out to the living room, where John had made himself comfortable on the couch, his long, lean legs, still in his trousers, stretched across the footstool. He extended his arm invitingly, encouraging me to take my place next to him on the couch, which I obviously was only too happy to do.

Immediately and with abandon, John’s mouth descended on mine and down I went into the cushions, his body leaning hard into me, one leg slung across my abdomen, his knee resting on my hipbone, hard-on and balls pressing into the side of the opposite leg. I grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him in as tightly as I could. We kissed like this for a long while, then took a breather, and sat upright. I was feeling a tad dizzy and disoriented, but also wonderful, endorphins surging through every part of my body. Where was I, exactly? Did I even care? John seemed equally disoriented by the intensity of our foreplay, but, like me, was clearly not ready to call it a night. We took a breather and sat upright, and I suggested we go into the kitchen to put back a large glass of water.

After both of us cooled off and regained our composure, we headed back to the living room. There I lit candles, then turned off all but one small lamp. I found a favorite classical melody from Rachmaninov’s Symphony No. 2, set it to continuous repeat, then proceeded to finish what I had started - to remove John’s clothing.

John’s beautiful body revealed itself to me with each item shed - the exciting bit was finally getting his pants off and getting to see all that was below the beltline. And it did not disappoint, not one bit. As he stood in the middle of my living room, with nothing but a pair of knit boxers, I kissed him, first on his thick, strong neck, then his graceful clavicles, lingering at his chest and stomach, enjoying his luscious scent.

Finally, I kissed the bare skin just above the waistband of his boxers, then dropped to my knees to enjoy the feel of his long, lean legs. I felt the entirety of them, front and back, then slipped my hands up into the bottom of his boxers. At first, I squeezed his buttocks and then slipped my hands under his warm and slightly sweaty balls, enjoying their weight and the sounds John made as I gently grazed them with my fingernails. While his eyes were closed, I took the opportunity to remove that last item of clothing, pressing my nose into his pubic hair to breathe in his amazing scent before leading him back to the couch.

In the corner of the couch, John reclined in all his glory—breathtakingly beautiful to behold. I slipped in next to him and whispered that I was still interested in hiking, that it had been a good suggestion on his part. I proceeded to hike up my dress as he unbuttoned it from the top down. He was taken aback to discover I had nothing on underneath, neither a bra nor underwear. His fingers discovered quickly how very good he made me feel. I could not have been more wet and ready for him. John gently slipped two fingers into me while gingerly engulfing one nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. I laid back and enjoyed what I had not-so-patiently waited for - a mind-blowing orgasm, after which John smiled and looked into my eyes while slowly licking his fingers clean, one at a time.

Then it was his turn, and I was ready and motivated for Act 2. I gently pushed John back into the corner of the couch and moved out of the way as he stretched his legs across the footstool, his balls and hard-on resting invitingly on top of his upper thighs. I had been waiting all day for this, to take him in my mouth and I remembered what he had said repeatedly - that he wanted to take things slowly, so that I did. Slowly, gently, and relentlessly until he could stand it no longer.