This is 95% fiction. It is inspired by an actual experience I had years ago.
Girl walks into a bar. She strides confidently up to the stool next the guy on the end and sits down. He’s an older guy, around fifty, about six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes and a wide-brimmed straw hat shading his light, Germanic skin. Seated at the bar, she removed her sunglasses and ordered a margarita on the rocks. When her drink arrived she smiled demurely at the man to her left as she raised the glass to her lips.
The guy she sat down next to and smiled at is me. I live alone in a small house in North Florida, about four blocks from the Atlantic Ocean, and I walk down to this little place on the beach for happy hour on many weekday afternoons. I like the weekdays because there aren’t so many tourists around. Weekends, forget about it, I stay home and drink Cuba Libres on my back porch.
The bar is called The Sandcrab, and it’s at the foot of A Street right at the beach. It’s a small place. It has a horseshoe bar with maybe fifteen stools and a few tables, all deuces and four tops. There are four huge ceiling fans and large windows wide open to the sea breeze. There are tables outside too, although I’ve never sat out there. That’s where the smokers sit.
The girl next to me is a knockout. She is Asian, maybe in her mid-twenties, with streaked brown hair down past her shoulders and greenish eyes. She’s tall, maybe five-nine, and thin with medium-small breasts and a nice rear end. She’s wearing white shorts and a red tube top and flipflops. She has a nice tan and isn’t covered with tattoos like so many young girls nowadays.
Usually at happy hour the bar is just the regulars, retirees and surfer dudes, and the girl looked a little out of place. I must have seen her around town, I’m not sure, but something about her seemed familiar. As she sipped her drink I tried not to look at her, but I couldn’t help sneaking peeks here and there. She caught me a couple times and flashed that shy smile.
“This tastes good on a hot day like this,” she said, taking a gulp of her drink.
“Right, but you have to be careful with that stuff in this heat,” I said. “That tequila can go right to your head. I had a bad experience with that stuff back in college and I haven’t touched it since!”
“I know what you mean,” she said as she ordered another. I ordered another draft beer as well.
We made small talk. She said she was studying physical therapy at the local college. She said she’d moved down from Massachusetts because the school had a national reputation for the program.
After we’d been talking for a while I realized we hadn’t introduced ourselves.
“Oh, my name is Jack, by the way,” I said. “Jack Hammer.”
“Hi Jack, nice to meet you,” she said. “My name is Emma Lee.”
“Nice to meet you too, Emily,” I said.
“No, my name is Emma,” she corrected. “Lee is my last name.”
We talked for a few more minutes, and when she finished her drink she rose from her stool. She said goodbye, it was nice talking to you, and I said the same. She headed for the door and didn’t look back. But I didn’t take my eyes off of her sweet ass until she was out of sight.
For most of the following week I didn’t see her, but then on the next Thursday afternoon I was sitting on the same stool when she came in and sat at the bar on the other side of the horseshoe. We made eye contact and smiled at each other a couple of times but nothing was said between us. She had one drink and left.
Over the next couple of weeks I saw her three more times and we had conversations. She told me about her studies and I told her about my former career in advertising. She asked me if I watched ‘Mad Men’ on TV but I said no, I’d never seen it. We talked about a lot of things. She asked if I was married. I told her no, but I had tried it once briefly and it got me highly irregular and I swore I’d never do it again. She asked if I had any kids and I told her I did not. We talked about vacations. She asked me about the Caribbean , and had I ever been. I told her I had and named the islands I had been to. She told me about her life growing up in Massachusetts ; her mother was a nurse which had sparked her interest in physical therapy. Then she surprised me.
“You like massages?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“I’m asking if you like to have massages.”
I told her I’d only had one in my life and it was many years ago. After an awkward silence she spoke again.
“Would you let me give you a massage?” she asked.
“Huh?” I stammered. “You want to give me a massage?”
“Sure,” she said. “It’s part of my studies. We have to learn all that stuff, and we need victims…I mean subjects…to practice on.”
We both laughed. She told me it was free, she had to practice, why not me? Naturally, I accepted. She told me where and we set the time. I asked her if I needed to do anything to prepare.
“Come as you are,” she said. “But wear boxers!”
When I showed up she greeted me at the door. She was wearing light blue scrubs and a big smile. She grabbed my hand and led me to a small room.
“You ready?” she asked.
I said I was. She told me to strip down to my shorts and lie face down on the table and she’d be back in a jiffy.
The room was small, maybe ten by twelve, with the massage table in the center. There was a table, two chairs and a partition to stand behind while undressing. I hung my clothes on hooks on the lavender walls. Then I got onto the table and waited while smelling herbal aromas and listening to new age music.
When I left there an hour later I felt like a million bucks, looser than I’d ever felt in my life. I thought, damn, this chick is wonderful, and she’s just learning! I savored the memory of her strong hands gliding over my body, kneading my muscles, fingering my tired flesh. She had started with my head, something I hadn’t thought of. She spent a good amount of time on my head, my hair and my neck, which seemed to relax the rest of my body, removing my tension and nervousness. Then she gradually worked her way down to my feet, and then she told me to flip over and she worked her way back up. She didn’t say much, but at one point she asked me why I didn’t usually get massages. I told her I’d always been afraid I’d get aroused and embarrassed, especially if a pretty girl like her was doing the job. “It’s only natural,” was all she said.
I didn’t see Emma for a while after that, and believe me I watched for her. I was at The Sandcrab almost every day hoping she’d walk in. I thought about how pitiful I was: a fifty-something old fart missing seeing a twenty-five year old girl. Like I’d really have a shot. Shit, I’m just a nice old man to her.
Then one afternoon about three weeks later she strode into the bar, a big smile on her face. She walked right up to me, kissed me on the cheek and sat down next to me. I ordered her a margarita and we talked, catching up. She told me how busy she’d been with school. She drank her margarita quickly and ordered a second. When she finished the second one she asked me to take a walk with her on the beach.
It was a bright, sunny day. We both wore shades, and as usual, I wore my wide-brimmed hat. As we were walking Emma told me how nice it had been meeting me and getting to know me over the last few weeks. We walked south for a few blocks, chatting about various things, then turned and headed back toward the bar. The subject of the massage came up and I again told her how much I appreciated it and had enjoyed it, and how I had felt so loose for days afterward.
“Maybe it’s time you had another one,” she said.
“Oh, Emma, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t, but I’d like to. We’ll have to do it at your house, though. We’re only allowed to bring someone in once for free, after that they have to pay.”
I told her I wouldn’t mind paying.
“I’m doing it because I want to, Jack, not for the practice. You can buy me a margarita.”
I bought her two over the next hour or so as we talked and laughed about a number of topics. When we parted we set the date for my massage for three days hence, a Saturday afternoon. She said that she didn’t have a table so I should just lay down some cushions and blankets on the carpet and to have a small pillow handy for my head. When we said goodbye she squeezed my hand and kissed me on the cheek.
- - --
I had the floor all ready when she arrived with her bag of goodies. She looked beautiful! Barefoot with blue jean cutoffs and her smallish braless titties poking through the fabric of her tan t-shirt. She told me to strip down to my boxers and lie face down, and I did as instructed.
I could hear Emma sifting through her bag and she turned on an MP3 with a small speaker and soothing music was soon softly playing. Then I heard her opening bottles of lotions or oils as I lay there anticipating her touch. Then I heard her slimy hands rubbing together and felt the drip of hot oil on my neck and back. Her strong fingers started on my neck and scalp, my tension eroding and relaxation seeping through me. She worked her way southward, working the muscles in my upper, then lower back. She paused for a moment as she moved behind me, repositioning, and then I felt the hot oil on the back of my legs and her hands soon followed, kneading my tired old runner’s muscles, a pinch of pain here and there due to my sciatica, working over my calves and ankles to my feet. Then she spoke for the first time.
“Let’s get these shorts off,” she said as her hands latched onto the waistband of my jockeys. “Lift up.”
I raised and she pulled them off. Then a liberal amount of oil was squirted onto my buttocks and flowed into my ass crack. She worked my cheeks, piercing digs with her long, talented fingers, groping and pinching and spreading them, the warm fluid dripping into my asshole. Next I felt her spread open the rim of my sphincter with one hand, and then I felt the tapered tip of one of her plastic bottles enter my ass. She squeezed the bottle and a warm oily jet stream shot into my asshole, and I emitted a pleasant groan.
I was already getting hard when she said, “I’m going to massage your anus, too. That’s something I could never do at the clinic at school.”
Her long finger eased into my ass. First an inch, then out. Then two inches, out, in, more in, out, until her whole finger was inside me and I felt her knuckles pressing on my ass. She moved her finger in a circular motion, the displaced oil sloshing out of my ass and running down my leg. She then started poking me, that fucking finger going in and out, in and out as I moaned softly in pleasure.
I found myself pushing my ass toward her, wanting more, and my cock was now rock hard from getting assfucked and from rubbing it on the blankets beneath me. She stroked me over and over, her slimy, slithering finger probing and finding every square centimeter inside my ass.
She finally withdrew her finger and patted me on the butt. “Turn over,” she said.
I rolled over onto my back. I was pleasantly surprised to see that she had taken off her clothes and wore nothing but a skimpy red thong and a stud that filled her navel. I stared at her sexy, slim, athletic build.
“You have a beautiful body,” I said.
“Thank You,” she replied. She glanced at my midsection and added, “And you have a big cock!”
I smiled. This was the first time I’d heard her use a raunchy word like that, but it turned me on even more if that was possible.
Then there was more oil. On my shoulders, chest and stomach, then her hands worked their magic. Her thumbs dug into muscle and flesh, teased my nipples, oil collected in my navel. Then to the legs, more oil, more finger work, more tired bones coming to life.
Then it was time for my midsection, and hopefully my throbbing eight inch erection. Emma didn’t disappoint.
More oil was dripped, on and around my engorged penis. Then her hands went to work. She massaged my balls and rubbed my crotch. Her oily palm and fingers surrounded my slimy member and she rubbed me up and down, the slippery shaft making easy going for her dexterous hands. I swelled with want. After a couple of minutes she stopped and looked at me, my eyes already staring at her pretty face.
“Can I suck your cock?” she asked.
I nodded. “Please,” I said.
She repositioned herself and took me in her mouth. First she concentrated on the tip, licking and sucking, then took in two or three inches more and bobbed her head up and down and I watched my cock slide in and out of her mouth over and over. Her hair hung loose, and I held it in my hand so I could better see the show.
She raised her head and my cock reemerged from between her thin lips. “You must have a big ego,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
She squeezed my dick and said, “Because you have such a swollen head!”
We both laughed and then she reached into her bag of paraphernalia and produced a scrunchy, which she then used to tie back her hair.
She returned to her business, taking me in her mouth inch by inch until the entire length of my cock disappeared and her lips were kissing my balls. I could feel her long tongue squiggling along my shaft as her mouth sucked and pressured my thin, taut skin. I placed my hand on her ass and massaged her succulent curves, fingering the crack of her sweet ass. Soon I let my fingers do the walking until they found their way under that skimpy thong and into the wetness of her open pussy.
She moaned with a throat full of cock when my fingers entered her love canal and started finger-fucking her. First slowly, then with increasing rhythm and force I poked her, eliciting more moans from her bobbing head.
I removed my fingers and with my hand back on her ass, I pulled her toward me. She got the message immediately and without missing a beat with her lovemaking mouth she pivoted her ass around toward me. I guided her long slim legs until they were straddling my head and her sublime shaved snatch was touching my lips.
I kissed her smooth baldness and tasted her inner lips. My tongue danced on her asshole, licking her elastic rim. I reinserted my index finger into her pussy until it was good and lubed, then I removed it and placed the tip at the rim of her asshole. I figured if she could finger-fuck my ass, it was okay to finger-fuck hers. Then at the same moment I plunged my finger into her tight ass, my lips surrounded her puffed-up clit.
She let out a loud groan and bucked like a scared pony, mashing her pussy into my face. My finger sped up and she was now mouthing me with even stronger passion, emitting gurgles and groans, sucking with a power as if she had to syphon my sperm up from my toes.
Increasing our drive and tempo, we fell into a unity of purpose. I chewed her clit and my tongue explored inside her, my finger speared her ass, I fucked her face as she attempted to suck my cock off. She came first, filling my mouth and drenching my neck and chin, and soon my cock exploded into her filled mouth, my spasms, seven, eight, nine times, until the last drop was drunk.
She finally removed my spent organ from her mouth, but continued to kiss it and lick the shaft. I kept working her love hammer with my mouth and kept my fucking finger in her ass.
She removed her mouth from my penis and gently grinded her pussy into my face, enhancing my grip on her clit.
After a few more pressure pushes from her sweet young cunt I felt her legs tighten like a vise on the sides of my head and she started fucking my mouth with her clit. I wasn’t long before another gush of Liquid Emma flowed from between those luscious lips and all over me.
When it was over she unstraddled my face. She turned and I pulled her toward me and our lips met for the first time, and our tongues plowed into cum-flavored mouths. As we kissed I took her in my arms, one hand behind her and one on her erected nipple and tit. The kiss went on for a long time, and when we parted my mouth quickly found her nipple. As I sucked her she lay back, and with her hand in my hair allowed my mouth to graze on her fertile chest.
“Wow!” she gasped.
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. She pulled my head to hers and we kissed some more. Then I laid back beside her and she rested her head on my shoulder.
“Wow,” she repeated. “That was something. I knew I was going to suck your cock, but I never knew you would eat me like that. Those were two of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had in my life!”
I kissed her again. “Want to go into the bedroom?” I asked.
She smiled. “That would be nice,” she said.
In bed we picked up where we left off, me sucking titty in between bits of conversation. Then we started kissing again and before long her hand was on my Stiff Richard.
“I can’t believe I’ve already come twice and you haven’t even put this thing inside me yet,” she said, giving my cock a soft squeeze. I swung my body on top of her. “No worries, Jack. I’m protected.”
“Put me in,” I said softly.
With her eyes on mine, she grabbed my hard fifty year old cock and slid it with ease into her soft twenty-some year old pussy. I kissed her and she sucked me in as I began driving my train into her tunnel.
I started slow and easy and Emma fell right in and matched me stroke for stroke. Then a little faster, a little harder, quicker, harder, and soon the bed was rocking and the headboard was banging the wall. I didn’t come for a while so we kept fucking, but when I saw beads of sweat above Emma’s upper lip I knew she was getting close.
She was. In perfect time with one massive thrust of my pelvis into hers, she let out a low scream, the headboard slammed the wall, a framed picture came crashing to the floor and Emma gushed again. As soon as I felt her warm liquid love I came again too, and shot my sperm deep into her. When it was over I rolled onto my back and with Emma now on top of me, we lay there and I kept my cock inside her for a long time.
Over the next several hours I fucked her two more times, she gave me another blowjob and I went down on her again. When my mouth was doing my thing between her legs she moaned loudly and steadily and said my name over and over. After she flooded my face, coming for the eighth or ninth time, she shivered and squeezed my head between her legs and pulled me up for a long kiss.
“Damn, Jack, you eat pussy almost as good as a woman!” she said.
I looked at her and with raised eyebrows, and she noticed my surprise.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re into girls?”
“Oh come on, Jack. Is that a problem?”
“No, not a problem. Just surprised, I guess. You don’t seem like the type.” Now I knew I’d stepped in it.
“Type. What type?”
“I don’t know. You… You…”
She started laughing softly. “Jack, you should see your face. You’re blushing!” She laughed again, and then so did I.
“Jack, just about everybody is bisexual nowadays. I’ve been eating pussy since I was fourteen, and that was three years before I ever put a dick in my mouth.” She paused and stared at me. “But it’s nice to have a man.”
We kissed and talked for a few minutes. Then she surprised me again when she said that sex with women was great, but there was no substitute for a real cock. In her mouth, her pussy, or her ass.
My eyebrows raised again, along with you know what. She nodded and said, “May as well finish what we started.” She rubbed my cock and added, “There’s lube in my bag.”
I hopped up and retrieved the lube tube from her bag on the living room floor.
“You do me and I’ll do you,” she said.
I squeezed a dollop onto two fingers, placed them against her rubber rim and pushed. One finger in first, then the second, to widen her. My fingers plunged into her and she murmured as I spread the goo. Then she pinched some jelly into her hand and went to work on me, and soon my tool was greased and ready to kick ass.
She flipped onto her stomach, telling me how she liked it. “Fuck me like a dog,” she said.
She spread her ass for me and I put the head of my dick to her welcoming asshole and pushed. I took it slow but I eased right in. This was no virgin asshole. I pushed, then pumped, then started banging that baby. Emma was into it too, grunting with each powerful poke, feeling no pain. She started talking dirty, which of course make me fuck her sweet ass even harder. In all my life, I never fucked harder. With her facing away from me, intimacy was gone, it was all about fucking, and I was trying to drive her ass through the mattress and onto the floor. The bed was creaking and banging the wall again and Emma was keeping the beat with her yelps. I unloaded once again and dumped my cum into her ass.
We held each other and talked in bed for a while after. She told me she wanted me to fuck her in the ass because we had done just about everything else, so why not? “So you like anal sex?” I asked, and she said, “I got used to it.” I asked her what she meant by that. She said that in high school and college girls didn’t want to get pregnant so they had sex with other girls. And when they had sex with guys it was a lot of oral and anal.
Eventually Emma said that she had to get going. I didn’t ask her where she had to go, I thought I’d embarrassed myself enough already. She gathered up her goods and we kissed goodbye at her car in my driveway.
“Thanks, Jack,” she said. “You are awesome. See you soon.”
She drove off and I tried to fathom what had just happened. I’d spent hours with this young woman, we had had sex to beat the band, uncountable orgasms, but I knew nothing about her, other than her name. She knew where I lived, but I didn’t even have her phone number.
In the days that followed she didn’t call and she didn’t show up at the bar. I tried to find her with no success. The school would give out no information, and since she was young and probably renting, her name never came up on property searches. I didn’t want to believe that what was too good to be true was just that.
I went to the bar almost every afternoon hoping to see her. Week after week I looked for her but it was three months before I saw her. She walked over and sat beside me. I had an awkward feeling, I think we both did, which was understandable considering what we’d done together and then there hadn’t been a word since.
“Want to take a walk on the beach?” she asked. I said sure, and we headed out. Nothing was said at first, but Emma was first to speak.
“Jack, there are some things I want to tell you. Three things,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “What are they?”
“Number one, I think I love you.”
We immediately stopped walking and faced one another. This caught me completely off guard. I think I was in the beginning throes of shock. The heat of the sun tripled in a heartbeat, and my pulse raced. Although I thought she was a twenty-first century fox, smart, funny, sexy, exciting, hell, she’s just a kid. I never dreamed…
Next, without thinking, I reached for her and pressed my lips against hers. She seemed receptive for a second or two and then she burst out laughing. I backed away and looked at her with a puzzled face.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re my father, you goofball,” she said. “That’s the second thing I wanted to tell you.”
This hit me like a tractor trailer broadsiding a Toyota .
“Your father?” I mumbled. “What are you talking about?”
“I did a DNA test,” she said. “I have a copy for you if you want it. You are Daddy.”
“DNA? What are you talking about?” I asked again, sweat burning my eyes and pouring down my face.
“Your massage. I took some of your hair. I know someone at school who arranged the test. It’s irrefutable.”
I was too stunned to speak.
She continued. “Do you remember taking a trip to Martinique in the year 1987? Staying at a place called The Paliau Dunes Resort?”
My mind raced back through time. I remembered the trip. I went with my friend Billy. I remember spending three or four drunken, rubberless nights with a petite Chinese girl from Boston .
“Dawna Lee?” I croaked.
“That would be Mom,” she said. Again, I was speechless. “Don’t worry, Jack,” she went on, “I don’t want anything from you.”
“But your mother…” was all I could manage.
“She doesn’t know about me looking for you or finding you. I always used to ask about my father but she didn’t know much. She said you were a nice guy, were handsome and traveled with a guy named Bill. She didn’t even know your last name. She said she’d given you a massage, too. She said she knows she shouldn’t have had unprotected sex with you but she couldn’t resist. She always said I was her reward for having known you. But she never wanted to try to find you.”
“How did you?” I asked.
“Private investigator,” she said. “Mom has no idea. All I knew was your first name, a general deion and when you stayed there. The investigator came up with a few names, but only a couple of them were likely because of the ages. He traced you here and I enrolled in school. I found your house and watched you. I knew I’d found you as soon as I saw you up close and talked to you in the Sandcrab.”
“I think I need another drink,” was all I said, still sweating like a rabid dog. As we were walking back to the bar I had a terrible thought.
“Oh my god, Emma!” I blurted. “I’m a pervert! What have we done?”
She burst out laughing. “Jack, take it easy. I’m an adult, I made that decision a long time ago. I guess I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since I was a teenager. Mom always said nice things about you. I could tell she regretted that she had been irresponsible, but she never regretted what had happened with you because you gave her me.”
I just shook my head and said, “I can’t believe it.”
“When I got older she told me more details about your days together. About the sex, about your body, and how good you made her feel. She told me you were hung and how she had no idea how to suck cock at the time, but she sucked yours. How good it felt inside her, how good you tasted. She even told me how you two went skinny dipping and made love on the beach late one night and people were walking by every few minutes and she didn’t even care. She said that on the day she left she looked around for you but couldn’t find you. And she said that on the flight home she knew she was going to have your baby. And she was going to keep it.
“So that’s why I wanted to fuck you, Jack. For years I fantasized about fucking you because I wanted to feel everything that she had felt.” She paused, then said, “And I even got to feel one thing she never did.”
“Really, what’s that?” I asked.
“That last thing we did,” she said, referring to anal sex.
We walked in silence for a few moments and then I thought of something else.
“Emma,” I said. “You mentioned that you wanted to tell me three things. You’ve only told me two. What’s the third thing?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said with a crack in her voice. I had a feeling her eyes watered behind her sunglasses.
“Oh No. You’re pregnant? How…” I began, but she cut me off.
“Don’t worry, Jack, it’s not yours,” she said. “And I know you’ve only been a father for a few minutes, so don’t try to lecture me okay? I know I shouldn’t have had unprotected sex but I just couldn’t resist.” She smiled at me. I asked her about the father.
“His name is Moses. He’s a forward on the basketball team.”
I started to mumble something but she cut me off again.
“He’s black. He’s from Nigeria.”
We entered the Sandcrab and sat back down at the bar. I was too numb to order so Emma did. I kept sweating bullets despite the ceiling fans directly overhead.
A loud, booming crack of lightning struck very close to home, waking me up. Hard rain pounded the metal roof of my house. The clock on the nightstand read 3:43 a.m. My sheets were soaked with perspiration. I sat up and took a sip from a cup of water.
What a nightmare, I thought. To find out in the blink of an eye that I have been a father for twenty-some years and never knew it. And with an Asian American Waspy Black African grandchild on the way to boot. Oh My God….
I walked to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I thought about my life: broke, bankrupt, lawsuits, foreclosures, depression.
Compared to my nightmares, life ain’t so bad after all, I guess.