Past Perfect

His mind was somewhere else, and I wasn't surprised.  I'm not often caught off-guard like this.  I'd just put the washcloths, which had been warm and moist for post sex clean up of our private parts, back into the bathroom of his room at the Copley Plaza. I was walking, nude, back to the bed, where he was propped up against the stack of pillows (hotels use so many pillows, don't they?), his mind processing the terrific fun we'd just had, on this our first Dolly date.  He wasn't watching me.  My self-esteem took a dip.  I love when my lovers are checking out my body, how I walk confidently and comfortably without a stich of clothing, no tan lines, no hair below my eye lashes, perfect posture, shoulders back, arms well sculpted, legs toned, long and lean, my full 36 D cup breasts with just the right amount of jiggle, my dentally perfect smile (my dentist, Morris Shapiro DDS came up with that phrase, that's not me bragging) and my blue eyes all draw attention.  My flat firm stomach and tight fuckable ass likewise attracting the freshly fucked eyes of the man I'm sharing myself with.


How dare he, right?  I mean, I'd straddled his face, hovered in just the right position, his mumbling while giving me oral from below letting me know how much he was enjoying the intimacy with my body that a Dolly date entails.  How I rotated (I try to avoid the word spinner, that word should be reserved for a more pixie type of sexy girl, I'm more the fitness model bikini competitor type; strong, after all, is the new sexy, isn't that what they say?) so that he could continue to taste me, and my taint, and to lick my back rim and send shivers down my spine while I sixty-nined him and used all my tongue and throat and lips skills to suck his cock to completion and swallowed his seed.  Damn right I wanted him to look at me and adore me.


But I knew what he was thinking.


I'd thought the same thing, only I'd gotten over it way more quickly than he had.


We'd both been lusting after each other for a long time. 


After all, he'd been reading my blog and reading reviews and visiting my site and at long last I'd scheduled a Boston stop on a tour.  He had imagined fucking me, he told me.  Including when he was with his real life girlfriend. 


And me?  Well, when I took the appointment and ran his information and referrals, it all checked out great.  And he was a great date, and the envelope was ready and discreet and generous with a bonus in there from the start and his grooming and hygiene was marvelous and he had a nice cock and had let me enjoy it before he asked me to sit on his face and if we could sixty-nine to completion.  Handsome.  Oh I'd wanted to fuck him a long time.


Long before he made the appointment.


Who knew the neighbor who moved away when I was in high school, for whose son I'd babysat when I was a 'tween, maybe through age fifteen actually, had moved to Boston after his first move from South Florida to Greenwich, Connecticut, and who knew that "Paul", the name Mr. Smith went by, was actually his middle name, and that his first name was Gerald, the name he used when he set up the appointment.


Gerald P. Smith of Boston was Paul Smith, my childhood next door neighbor, years ago in South Florida!


He hadn't recognized me at as the same Dolly from next door, the babysitter who was just entering a cute and maybe too cute for my own good stage, no drivers license yet and still jail-bait, when he moved away.  Hell, I was still a virgin when he moved away.  Well, at least vaginally I was.  Another story for another day, the mischief my hands and mouth had gotten into  by the time I was fifteen.


He was handsome, his wife Clair was practically a Stepford Wife she was so perfect.  Yes, I'd totally imagined making love to Paul after just about every babysitting job.  And neighborhood party if kids were invited (my God, I was a KID when I knew him then!  And now my pussy was tingling from his cock having thrust very nicely and his tongue proving that he was getting cunnilingus workouts somewhere, either from Clair the Stepford Wife or he was a serious candidate for hobbyist All American status.).  I would even imagine that I was Clair getting made love to by Paul when I'd touch myself. 


I'd known it was him almost right away.  The years had been very good to him.  Now those who know me know I speak with an accent.  From a southern locale.  I guess that must have been his first tip off.  I said "almost" right away.  I'd been speaking with him immediately, establishing rapport, since this was only arranged as an hour appointment.  So he had a full sample of my voice.  My accent.  Before I realized, "Holy shit, I'm on a Dolly date with Paul freakin' Smith!  I used to frig myself to thoughts of him, I just to go through their clothes, their underwear, check out Clair's lingerie and clothes after their kids were put to bed.  Loved her perfume. Loved his after shave.


I'd just received a really nice stack of Benjamins for having pretty darn great sex with one of my first adolescent sex fantasy figures.


The man from next store just fucked me and I sucked him off!


I guess it was when his eyes finally got north of my legs and ass and tits and then he saw my took a couple minutes, I could see him thinking but momentarily thought it was just another guy dealing with guilt or anxiety.  And dealing with it very well.  And then I realized it was him, and I was scared and confused myself -- should I keep going with the date?  Would he recognize me?


The answers were "yes" and "yes".


We kissed, his tongue playing gently with mine, and then I noticed his eyes were open too and the kiss sort of ... stopped.




I dropped my eyes to the floor.  Thought I'd run through every contingency in the world a hundred times in my mind.  Oh, I had the game plan for unwittingly ending up with someone I knew.  Even a relative (you know, if you read the old testament, first cousins are fair game, so its really a shorter list than you realize who you just can't ever fuck.  I've got a great gal pal who was bred by a third cousin, something like that, at a wedding.  Seriously.    Its called consanguinity. Here's the definition:


Consanguinity ("blood relation", from the Latin consanguinitas) is the property of being from the same kinship as another person. In that aspect, consanguinity is the quality of being descended from the same ancestor as another person.


This felt just as close as family.  Oh, I'd taken the measure of some of my parents' friends before.  And neighbors, sure.  This was the first one who'd been there when I had birthday parties at such a young age I didn't remember the parties, only the videos daddy made, and then babysat for. 


"Yes, "Gerald", it’s me, Dolly.  Never knew Paul wasn't your first name.  Or that you later moved to Boston.  No wonder my fantasy of making love with you on a Dolly trip to Greenwich never came to fruition."


Like how I regained my smart aleck self there?


He froze.  Not releasing me, but not kissing me, either.


"I won't tell if you won't.  I'm not a little girl anymore."




I liked how he smelled.  I recognized the fragrance.  the after shave.  Nothing fancy, really, just Mennen Skin Bracer.  A scent that I'd always associated with a lovemaking fantasy come true.


"Perhaps you'd like to take a minute in the powder room, " I told him,  and gave him a peck on the lips, mouth closed this time, and when I nudged him toward the powder room, I had one hand on his shoulder, another on his groin.


I was in five inches of heels, a thong, thigh highs, a push up lacy demi bra, all black with silver accents.  His eyes were really taking me in and then he silently went into the bathroom.


I calculated that if was maybe 51/49 in favor of him staying.  He hadn't said, though he'd no doubt thought, as I had, "holy shit!".


He stepped out, and his face showed he'd reached a decision, but I had to look down to see that, he wasn't looking me in the eye.


Uh oh.  Might have just gone 55/45 against me.


I went into the powder room, shut the door, and there was a card in an envelope, propped up.  Had he left me a cancellation fee?  I opened it, feeling like at birthday card time, looking to see if this uncle or that aunt had maybe enclosed a check with the card.  Capitalism was big in my household.


100's.  Good. Then I wondered, "or is this just guilt money, a cancellation fee, he's leaving the money in the hopes of buying my silence but not buying the time with me."


I stepped out.  His tie was off, his suit jacket was off, he was seated and removing his shoes.


"Paul," I started, using the name I knew him by, though a second later I realized I'd never called him that, I'd called him, "Mr. Smith".


"Dolly, um, we're here. You're.... oh fuck, Dolly, I had no fucking idea.  Maybe I'm glad you don't show your face in your pictures, I'd have never contacted you.  But we're here, you're here...."


It was clear what he'd decided, and it was clear he couldn't say it.


He didn't have to.


I walked up to him, kissed him, more fully this time, and began assisting him in getting undressed.


I asked a few directional questions that required one word answers.  "Is that good?"  "Do you like that?"  "This way, or like before?"  "More?"  "Keep going?"  "Can I put this on you?"

"Would you like to go down on me?"


Or statements that weren't questions, that took the pressure off him.  I'm all about removing the real world and responsibility from my lovers lives when we're together.


Such as:  "  Let me" 'Just lay back"  "Here, use another pillow, this way you can watch"  "I want you to, yes, you can do that"  "That feels good"  "Fuck yeah that feels good"  'Harder".


And then finally:


"God your cock feels good, make me cum, cum while I keep sucking, please, yes, I want to taste it!"


It’s no dishonor that he came in just a few minutes, considering the circumstances.  I was on my game, getting in so many positions.


And then bringing the warm wash cloth and discarding the condom that had been discarded when I decided to sixty nine with him.  To completion (I love to brag!).


So now he was thinking.


I slid in next to him, embraced him same as I do any handsome older man. His body felt good.  Oh hell, most bodies feel good.  I felt a thrill, but still a fear.  I'd fucked Paul Smith, and it was good, no, great, but how did he feel about it.


And then he spoke.


Your parents sent out your graduation announcements, both high school and college, and we were still on the list, still lived in Greenwich when you got your degree.  And I thought, "Wow, holy shit, Dolly's a fucking knockout."


I smiled and held him tighter.


"And for a while, I imagined fucking you while making love with Clair sometimes.  Always came quickly when I did that.  Which just left time to go again and last longer on the second round."


I kissed his flesh.  I nipped at his nipple and became aware of his arms embracing me, his hands on my skin.  He'd fantasized about me, too!  Paul Smith the hottie next door I used to baby sit for had imagined fucking me and now we'd just had sex!


He was silent again, but now I wasn't scared so I didn't fill the sound void, I just continued to intimately embrace him, my leg slipping between his as my body became entangled with him, like I used to imagine. 




"Yes?" I asked eagerly.


"Any chance we can extend this appointment?"


Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!

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