The beginning of a great journey
I have always believed and still believe that every woman in my life is unique. I remember well the beginning of the acquaintance, the development of the relationship, the first sex, typical and atypical situations during subsequent intimacies, their stories about themselves, their surroundings, thoughts, and actions. They do not blur into a gray haze of uniform faces, tits, and pussies for me, as men with weak memories but strong potency, who have conquered many women, try to assure—but have they, in turn, been remembered by them? No matter how gray the described sex may seem to readers, something—always—happens for the first time. And thus, it is remembered for a long time. Forever. And a certain similarity with predecessors is always discerned. Or
successors. At least in that they are all flesh of the flesh of their great foremother Eve. Or Lilith.When I first discovered the well-known dating site, I foolishly posted my photo there and filled out the profile with detailed information about myself. Naturally, I was busted instantly. The neighbor girl ran to her mother, excitedly shouting: "Oh, mom, look, Uncle DD is being shown on the computer." She snitched to my wife, my wife gave me a good talking-to, I quickly removed all the compromising material, and for several years after that, I only used the Mamba profile when I was planning a trip to other regions. Some of the acquaintances made in this way are recounted in my stories "Resort Romance," "Thais of Athenograd," and the first part of "Is It Sex or Not Sex." Then there was the infamous "Winter Girl," after getting burned by whom, I acquired two prostitutes, "Fat and Thin," and alternated them with my long-time, many-year mistress Sveta.
In the spring of 2006, Sveta threw a fit because I hired another girl, not her, for a job at my place, got jealous, and took offense. I wrote about this in "A Novel in Chapters," I won't repeat it, that girl wasn't my mistress, but Sveta couldn't be convinced. And I suddenly realized I was left without current girlfriends-mistresses-partners, and prostitutes could in no way replace them. Because it's not just about "stick it in, pull it out, come, leave." Then what is it about? Well, who the hell knows, I've been searching for the answer for so many years and still haven't found it.
And then I thought about the Mamba profile again with a utilitarian purpose. Why not arrange acquaintances for sex not in distant lands, but in my own region, with an appropriate level of encryption? An obvious plus seemed to be that in such a case, women could become not just one-time partners for me, but long-term mistresses. An obvious minus—that I had to act very, very carefully, remembering the slip-up that had occurred.
Therefore, in the new version of the profile, I decided to indicate not my city of Ensk, but the larger Emsk, which isn't that far from us—an hour and a half to two hours by car. But when starting correspondence, I, of course, told my interlocutors that I lived in another city, and honestly answered their questions about marital status and personal specs, work and profession, morality and ethics.
The tale is long in the telling... But the call "Catch a fish, big and small" was heard, and my first woman from our region, whom I met thanks to the Internet, was Maya. She was over 40 (two student daughters), married (she justified the need for a profile with sexual goals by her husband's illness and his age over 50, which didn't contribute to the frequency of sex she desired, and as she said directly on the day of our first meeting—she had already forgotten when she last had sex), worked as an accountant in two places: during the day at her main state job and in the evenings (not every day, but as needed) for some private entrepreneur. And her family was from so-called "Russian-speaking forced migrants" from a semi-monarchical Central Asian despotism, whose oil and gas resources ensured a generally good opinion of it in the media, which Maya strongly objected to, telling what medieval barbarities were cultivated there.
This and that, the fifth and the tenth, we agree with Maya on a meeting day. I see from the correspondence that she is in great doubt, the very fact of creating a profile on a dating site is already a very bold and risky step for her, and sleeping with a man during the very first real meeting is something beyond and not even seriously considered yet. She asks me what, where, how, what if, and if, and who knows—I confidently answer: like, it's not your concern, you find the time and tell me the place where I'll meet you, and don't worry about the rest. But, by the way, my confidence is not one hundred percent, because I had never rented a short-term apartment in Emsk before: during official business trips, I stayed in a hotel, during my postgraduate studies—in a dormitory. I know theoretically that such a newspaper with ads is sold at kiosks, and I think there shouldn't be any hitches.
I arrived in Emsk well in advance of the scheduled time—six o'clock in the evening, when she was supposed to finish work, we were supposed to meet and then decide whether to continue the process of getting closer or politely wave goodbye to each other. The newspaper was at the kiosk, I found the landlady of the short-term apartment without difficulty, but I had to spend quite a lot of time to pick her up at one address, bring her to the apartment, listen to her detailed explanations about how to lock the door and light the water heater, what numbers to call if there's a flood from above or the power goes out, and then take her back. Well, and I bought myself some food, not so much for dinner (I assumed that with a favorable impression we would have dinner at a restaurant, she couldn't stay overnight anyway, being married), but more for breakfast.
Those were still times when the widespread mobile phone penetration was not yet 200% per capita, and Maya didn't have a cell phone, I had to keep in touch by calling her landline work number. Well, first, I called as soon as I arrived, she said: like, okay, as agreed, call closer to the end of the workday, I'll tell you the address to come to. I called at half past five, she gave the address, asked me not to come into the office and wait just around the corner, there's a store with parking there, not right at the entrance to her office, and clarified my car's license plate. I call at five to six to say I'm already there—she apologizes awkwardly, says she was suddenly called from her other job, urgently needs to finish some reports for tomorrow, and she absolutely has to go there. So if I'm in a hurry, she apologizes again and asks me not to wait.
"Will these reports take much time?" I ask.
"Not too much, an hour or an hour and a half max, but I still have to get there, they're located in the ___," she names a distant district of the city.
"Let me give you a ride there, I have nothing to do right now anyway. We can chat on the way."
"Oh, I feel bad imposing on you."
"Come on, it's nothing. Anyway, I'm at the store, license plate such and such, waiting."
Not exactly at six, but around ten past seven (I had just gotten out of the car and was smoking, surveying the surroundings) Maya approached. Short in stature, medium build, but with an impressive chest tightly stretching the turtleneck under her open coat, dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a short haircut (short for a woman, men with such a haircut already look like hippies), only lacking narrow eyes and high cheekbones to consider her a full-fledged representative of those places where she and her ancestors were born and raised, although maybe it seemed that way to me because of her stories, that something Central Asian shows in her face, but objectively she was the most ordinary Russian (Slavic) appearance, only not fair, but dark.
She looks at the car, the license plate, then at me warily. Smiles:
"Are you DD?"
"Yes, Maya, it's me. Only we've been on a first-name basis for a while now, both on the site and on the phone."
"Yes, of course, you're right. It's just me, not used to it."
We drive to the distant district to her second job. specially for .org Along the way, the topic of accounting software comes up more, in particular, she complains about the shortcomings of the recently released latest version of 1C. I reply that I have nothing to do with it, although yes, I've heard similar things from other accountants, but, presumably, the company is solid, sooner or later they'll bring this version up to par.
At some point in the distant district, Maya asks to drop her off, also so as not to drive right up to the workplace. Of course, she didn't make a stunning impression on me, the most ordinary woman (that's what makes her interesting!), but I'm not Alain Delon either, so I wouldn't mind spending this evening with her in intimate seclusion. The question now is precisely how do I understand—does she feel the same way, or does she absolutely need a golden-haired Apollo, not a bald Hephaestus? I can't just ask directly: "So, are we going to fuck later or what?" But I can hint indirectly.
"Maya, what's the plan? I'll wait for you here, when you finish your reports, we'll go have dinner somewhere, and then to my place. An apartment is rented, by the way, you worried in vain that it's such a complicated thing."
"Really?" Maya smiles awkwardly and gratefully, I get the impression that I've given her an awesome compliment. "I thought you'd say now: 'Okay, bye-bye' and hit the gas pedal to the floor."
"Oh, come on, why would I? Everything's fine, everything as we wanted."
"You know, I wouldn't want to be seen in some cafe or restaurant. Buy something light for dinner, we'll eat at your place. Here's my work number here, call in an hour, I'll try to finish as quickly as possible."
"Okay."
This is also good, that I don't have to stupidly wait for some time until she's free, but can do something. I occupy myself with buying food and drinks, the thought flashes to take the bags to the apartment and then go pick her up, but I'm afraid I won't manage in an hour. If I knew she'd be delayed another half hour, I would have taken them, of course, but it doesn't make a big difference.
Anyway, we end up at the apartment closer to nine in the evening. I can't resist hugging and kissing her right in the hallway, having only taken off our shoes and outerwear. Maya, with pleasure and without false modesty, also hugs me tightly, kisses my neck, while my palms roam over her firm butt. My cock like a roly-poly toy—thwack and presses against her thigh. I could just take her down right here. Or put her on all fours and, without undressing, just lifting her skirt and moving aside the edge of her panties, fuck her silly. But... it will still be better if we have dinner, rest, take a shower, and then go all out.
In my personal opinion, dinner bought at a ready-made food store can hardly be considered exquisite. But Maya eats and praises it, either for support, or she really likes it, or she's just hungry, a lot of time has passed since lunch. She takes the plates to the kitchen, brings coffee, and, at my request, sits down not opposite, but next to me.
One of my hands is alternately occupied with a cigarette and a cup, and the other strokes her first on the hair, then on the shoulders over her clothes, then penetrates under them from the back, strokes her sides, gropes under the bra straps. Unable to undo the clasp alone, it goes down, penetrates under the edge of her tights and panties, feels, as much as the sitting position allows, the appetizing and firm buttocks.
The cigarette is finished, the last sip of coffee is drunk, the left hand hurries to help the right. With joint efforts and the lady's complete non-resistance and consent, they pull off her turtleneck, deal with the treacherous bra clasp, and reveal to my gaze a breast of at least size four, with large brown areolas and protruding nipple buttons. My hands eagerly squeeze and knead them, and then, supporting them, yield their turn to my head to sink into them with my mouth, honestly, even a bit rough for the first caress. Only after kissing and sucking the nipples to my heart's content, I raise my head to her face, and we kiss on the lips. I feel how heavily Maya started breathing and with what pleasure she began to reciprocate.
"I'll take a shower, okay?" she asked, finally breaking away from the long kiss, when my hands, capturing the next bastion, managed to unzip the side zipper of her skirt.
She looked at the stack of linen, at me.
"I'll make the bed, you go."
Maya took off her skirt, but not daring to undress completely, took a towel from the stack and went to the bathroom in her tights with panties visible underneath, deliberately wiggling her behind. And also, turning around for a second, stuck her tongue out at me. After her, I took a shower too, and then it started!
... How she, poor thing, had starved for sex?! Such wild fucking, such passionate desire to try everything possible, such self-forgetful surrender at the very first meeting, such sincere merging with a partner is hard to recall. On all fours and sideways, under me and on top of me, caressing the cock with hands and lips, kissing my body and biting my nipples, tugging at my pubic hair and pressing her buttocks against me, Maya got her high and gave pleasure to me.
"Ahahahah," she sometimes screamed throatily when the cock or fingers entered her especially deeply, throwing her head back. "How good I feel, how awesome, wow!"
"Mayka, you're super!" I replied. "I'll fuck you until you drop."
... Too many enthusiastic words from DD? All pluses without minuses? Does that ever happen? No, it doesn't, alas.
Anal—categorically forbidden, she even shuddered with dislike when, fucking her doggy style, I simply touched her anus hole.
She asked me not to come in her mouth, and if I wanted to come inside her, to wear a condom. Where would I get one, pull it out of thin air? And she was somewhat tense when, in her opinion, the average time for a male orgasm had passed, subconsciously expecting splashes in her mouth or vagina, until I said that I don't come that quickly and would say when it's necessary.
It's been said that if a woman is fucked too little, she may stop intimate hygiene in terms of removing hair from the causal places. Unfortunately, with Maya, it was exactly such a situation. An overgrown pubic area; a not-so-great smell from her organs, which, combined with the previous, forced me to neglect cunnilingus; shaved or unshaved legs, honestly, I don't remember, it was never an important factor for me, but what I remembered clearly and hadn't experienced with anyone before or after her—a very heavily haired butt, as if thicker and more abundant than my own. But, true, the hair structure wasn't coarse, but soft and silky, maybe not neglect, but some hormonal imbalance, I can't know. I won't say it's disgusting, I won't say it's attractive, but... quite unusual.
When I fucked her doggy style, even the thought flashed: if someone films this, where my face is visible but the partner's primary sexual characteristics aren't, they'll definitely decide that DD has changed his orientation, become a gay top, and is fucking some faggot's hairy ass.
It's not hard to guess that I came precisely on her hairy butt, and the white sperm contrasted quite originally with the black hair covering. And I still placed a small drop on her anus.__P_END