They just keep staying the same age...

Here’s one that didn’t get away.

We were working together, struggling with something ornery, when I noticed him staring at me over our hands. I looked back into his grey-green eyes, and I started to fall into something unknown that I wasn’t going to say no to.

Totally off my radar before that eyelock- shorter, younger, stockier, quieter than I would ever notice. Not especially hot, although he became the sexiest guy imaginable to me. He had a knack for keeping me talking, asking me questions until I found myself telling him things I hadn’t told for a long time, catching myself babbling like a brook. I put my number in his phone; he brought me to his house.

How he undid me. Lifting me up onto his cock in the hotel hot tub we snuck into, steam dripping from his hair. Leaning against the wall in his tiny shower, pretend fucking since we’d already worn ourselves out. Dancing together, he so drunk his eyes were half closed, but still flipping my shirt up to expose my belly, popping my belt, and dropping to his knees to suck on the top of my underwear. On the dance floor! And I didn’t care who saw. Paying for me, buying me drinks and dinners automatically and non-negotiably. Even though I’m the older one, I felt cared for, sheltered. Unwaveringly attentive to me in public, never flinching from claiming me as his babe, no matter what scrawny tween blonds were near.

His short, solid stockiness was a new kind of muscle for me. He had great strength that he wasn’t afraid to use, confidently and suddenly tossing me where he wanted. His smile, only showing his irregular teeth when he was really happy, was a blessing, something I would strive to produce. He couldn’t hide his dimples, though, that melted me with the slightest smirk. Pure sweetness, good to the core. I was gazing into his eyes exclaiming why are they so beautiful and he laughed and said as though it should’ve been obvious “It’s my soul!”

Fucking on the couch, my knee up over his shoulder, him crushing me into the cushion gap with his body so tight I was still, crying and unable to even gasp in the slow, constant, soul-splitting orgasm that just went on and on, my pussy clutching him as he stared into me, barely moving and watching me intently. Fucking on the floor, overjoyed with his drunk-to-immobile state and commanding him to surrender, taking charge for the first time and fucking and sucking him into a big, wet, shuddering orgasm.

He said more with his eyes and hands than words, any day, although I hoard the short phrases he let slip, funny, wry, clipped wit, full of affection. He didn’t talk unless he had to, and touched me with appreciation tinged with entitlement, not gratitude. I kept being amazed that a guy so young could have confidence so strong, and be so solid on his own path. Not to mention the knowledge. The same dirty joyous abandon I’ve sought since first finding it in Ezra, with a sly knowing and teasing. His eyes were curious yet aware of and amused by what he was doing to me. It was hopeless for me to describe to him how rare that degree of good sex was for me, so I didn’t try. Just like Ezra, Im not so sure sex isn’t always like that for him.

I can’t stop with the hyperbole with this one. Cutest boy on the planet. Best sex I’ve ever had with a condom. Sexiest eyes ever. He ruined me. I’m well aware that the 13 year age gap was wildly inappropriate to the point of creepy, and that we were just borrowing time out of reason together, but he widened my range and set a new bar, now I know that such sexuality and sweetness can come wrapped in such an unlikely package. Now I check out guys that are relative children, looking for another one of him, before I stop myself, mentally resetting -“yes, one of him, but my age!”.

It was so impossible, so not based in reality, that I let myself go without hesitation, loving him insanely and letting him know. From the very first day I knew what the last day would be, when my time was up in his town, and I knew I’d be letting him go forever the day I left, to live his life with girls his own age. Still, it hurt so bad to leave, and hurts to remember him. I want him as much today as then, and I can’t have him. It’s so painful to not be with him that it’s hard to think about him, even though it was so good. To not be able to have more maybe made the moment even sweeter, but now it’s passed it’s hard to relive it, and I don’t fantasize about him. It’s only fun to want things that you can imagine are possible.