I met Marie this past spring at a downtown café in Manhattan frequented by fashion executives, agents, and models, as well as other chic and youthful MTV and entertainment types. The place was an old-fashioned coffee shop done over with long mirrors and kitschy pink neon clocks and turquoise accents. That warm afternoon, as I was admiring the scenery from my corner seat, Marie, newly arrived from Paris, mistook me for someone “important in the industry” who could give her career a boost.
She was willowy and dark, with jet-black hair streaming down her otherwise bare shoulders, her blue-green eyes sparkling at me from the other side of the table. I nearly melted. The steadiness of her ocean-deep gaze, the whiteness of her eyes and teeth against the smooth olive skin of her high cheekbones—I was for a moment overwhelmed.
Regaining my composure, I began to talk to her, gently disabusing her of the notion that I was in the fashion industry at all. I am, in fact, a history professor at a nearby college. It was tempting to get her to remain by spinning some kind of yarn, but to her credit, Marie did not abandon me for any of the other middle-aged and well-tailored men in the place, even when I pointed out a couple of them I knew were agents.
Bless her, she even blushed a little at her faux pas, and the tinge of rose beneath the olive made her appear even more desirable to me. Her pouting lips begged to be kissed, and our conversation somehow shifted to the realm of sex. Her plainly visible cleavage in her simple black dress was a ferocious temptation for me to miss the class I had coming up in a few minutes, but I steeled myself, gave her my card with my home number written on it and got up to do my duty.
I didn’t expect her to call, but sure enough, a week later she did, asking if she could come over and see me. She looked delectable, if a bit tired, in a black halter and billowy gold satin pants. She planted herself on my couch and let forth a torrent of French and English, telling me all about how humiliating it was, going the rounds of agencies and being treated like meat on the hoof—albeit potentially expensive meat.
Marie obviously trusted me not to objectify her sexually the way the agents did, but I was only half sure about myself on that score. I was certainly turned on by her, but I tried to sympathize with her as a person, telling her how some men couldn’t deal with the intimidating fact of real beauty in a woman—that they had to objectify her to be able to cope. This seemed to make her feel better, and she leaned over and brushed my cheek with her lips.
I made us some coffee and reminded myself sternly that I was a good twenty years older than she was. But when I came back and sat down, she cuddled up close and kissed me full on the lips, her lovely pink tongue forcing its way between my teeth. I was surprised and, needless to say, pleased by this turn of events. My hand fell to her thigh, stroking her through the satin. Marie’s sensuous mouth moved to my throat, and her perfect white teeth nipped in search of sensitive spots. I gasped, and she rubbed against me like a cat, telling me she needed a man like me—right then.
Her hand was already on the bulge of my cock, stroking me through my pants. Planting my hand on hers to keep it firmly in place, I eased her back on the couch and took the lead, kissing her mouth and bringing my other hand up to her throbbing throat. My cock pulsed under her hand. I reached for her halter top, to spill her breasts into my hands, but she asked me to wait for that.
I slid off the couch and knelt between her legs, kissing her exposed belly and rubbing my face between her thighs as she ran her fingers through my hair. The cloth of her pants was damp over her pussy, and her scent was arousing me still further. I was afraid I would come in my pants like a nervous virgin!
Marie tugged at my ears, and I obediently sat back up on the couch while she unbuttoned my shirt. Then she knelt as I had done and removed my shoes and socks. Her tongue darted between my toes, promising later delights when she reached even more sensual parts of my body.
Still on her knees, she undid my belt and pulled down my slacks and underwear, tossing them aside. She ran one red nail along the underside of my cock, and I whimpered. Only now did she remove her halter, revealing her full breasts, each topped by an exquisite pink nipple. She bent over me again, rubbing her breasts against my exposed cock before enveloping me in her greedy little mouth. I noticed one red-tipped finger working its way into her vagina and hazily wondered when she had had time to shed her satin pants and panties.
I put my hands into her flowing hair and stroked her head as she wrapped me into the heat of her mouth, tongue-massaging my cock. Overwhelmed, I came, and she swallowed deeply, gulping down my thick cream. It was the best blowjob I’d ever had. As she swallowed one last time, I felt her body shake in a self-induced orgasm as fierce as mine.
Marie was a creature of whim, impulsive, volatile, demanding. Just then she simply stretched like a cat and curled up on the rug for a nap. I quietly spread an afghan over her, looked at my watch and decided it was time for me to go to bed. Part of me wanted to carry her with me; I decided in the end to leave her undisturbed.
I woke when I felt a catlike tongue lapping my balls and a pair of skillful hands massaging my cock to another erection. I began to moan with pleasure at the wonderful sensation of her mouth on my balls, and Marie was almost purring between my legs.
Finally, I pulled her up my body and she sat astride me, looking down with those spectacular sea-green eyes that had transfixed me in the café. Her face was perfect, smooth and calm, until some interior spasm echoed across it and she bent to kiss my nipples, my belly, my throat. She rubbed her breasts over my face, rasping their tender nipples on my stubble, and then suddenly turned around, presenting her wet pussy to my mouth while she laved my balls and cock again, taking my hardening shaft into her hands. My whole groin was on fire, ready to explode. I bit her ass cheek to keep from crying out.
Marie turned again and pointed my dick at her opening, rubbing it back and forth a couple of times before impaling herself and rocking and twisting to have my hardness in every part of her cunt. She was moaning heavily, but she had the presence of mind to pull my hands up to her swinging breasts. We came together in an unequaled sweaty rush of pure lust.
Eventually, Marie moved back to Paris, but we keep in touch, and I attend every history conference I can that takes me to the City of Lights.
—Mr. E.Y., Newark, New Jersey