Cougar Chronicles: Me and Mrs. Jones
I guess every guy has (or should have) one older woman story in his little black book. Mine goes back a few years during an out of town business trip.
I was a strapping 25, and she was a seasoned woman of about 38. We'll call her Mrs. Jones, a slender cougar that had the body and face of a woman at least 10 years younger. We were both attending this four-day conference out in LA and met through a mutual acquaintance. When we were introduced, I thought she was a genuinely nice person and kept it moving. Although she was an attractive woman I didn't have any sexual thoughts about her due to our age difference and the fact we were both out there on business. Remember, kids, business never personal.
Anyway, during the course of the four-day conference she and I would occasionally cross paths—usually at the continental breakfast buffet in the morning and would make general small talk. Again, there was no chemistry or spark; it was just two people in the same place at the same time conversing. Well everything changed on my final night in LA. There was always an after party for each day's events, but on the last night the conference hosts went all out with and open bar bash sponsored by Hennessy. Me and dark liquor have a sorted past—that’s a big part of the reason why I'm strictly a wine or Ketel One vodka drinker now. Henny in particular was what usually led me down some precarious paths and tonight was no different.
After God knows how many Henny & Cokes I stumbled out of the club and into a cab. As I'm about to walk into the hotel lobby I hear someone call out my name and I turn to see it's Mrs. Jones stepping out of her own cab.
"Hi, Mrs. Jones. You had enough of the party too, huh?"
"Ooh, yes, I couldn't take any more of that damn Hennessey."
"I hear ya. You turning in for the night?"
"Yeah, I have an early flight back to Atlanta in the morning."
"Yeah, me too."
As we step into the elevator I ask Mrs. Jones what floor she's getting off so I can press the button for her floor, it turns out our rooms were on the same floor this whole time. The only difference is when I checked in I hot upgraded to some super executive suite with a living room, dining room, two TVs and a pair of balconies so I asked Mrs. Jones if she had the same kind of room.
"Child, no. I got a regular old room, I ain’t got all what you got in your room."
"Oh, okay, because for a second I thought all the rooms were like mine." [Laughs]
The elevator reaches our floor and we begin to walk down the hallway until we reach Mrs. Jones's door. Innocently enough I asked if I could check out her room and she welcomed me into what was a decent sized room but far from the grandiose set up I had a few doors down the hall. We talked for a bit and I could tell from my speech that I was a little inebriated so I decided it was time to head to my own bed and get some rest. But before I knew it things went from cordial to coital.
We were both standing about two feet from one another when the Henny really started to kick in. Practically mid-sentence we went from talking to passionate kissing. Our tongues intertwined like a pair of fornicating snakes in heat. My nimble fingers danced across her spine while she caressed the nape of my neck. I felt myself becoming engorged with lust between my legs and I lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. Laying Mrs. Jones gently atop the comforter I mounted her and let her feel my manhood through my jeans as I brushed against her skirt. I took my hand and slowly traced up her calf towards her knee, easing my way up to her warmth. She moaned as I reached my destination. That's when I nibbled on her left earlobe and asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she responded in a surrendering cadence.
Before honoring her request, I teased her with my tongue some more. I suckled on her breasts, nibbled on her thighs and tasted her sweet and ripened love. Mrs. Jones could take no more and she flipped me on my back and seized control for herself. She massaged my neck and chest with her magical mouth, and slowly worked her way down to the object of her desire. Her eyes filled with longing glee, Mrs. Jones looked up at me and devoured me whole. Once she was done, I reached for the condom in the pocket of my jeans, which had long been flung to the side of the bed. Briefly relinquishing control, Mrs. Jones allowed me the pleasure of ravaging her body before riding me into the wee hours of the night.
When I woke up the next morning I looked around the empty room and saw that I was alone, but heard the shower running in the distance. I looked at the clock and it said 8:17am. My flight was at 11:30 so I quickly got dressed and knocked on the bathroom door. Mrs. Jones beckoned me in and I entered. As she peaked her head out from behind the shower curtain, I informed her that I had to go pack or risk missing my flight. Knowingly she nodded and kissed me ever so gently goodbye.
Mrs. Jones and I managed to stay in contact via email and the occasional phone call, but living in different cities we eventually lost touch and never saw each other again. Regardless of whether it was the Henny or a simple May/December fantasy fulfilled, we both knew what we shared would probably never go farther than what it was. That’s probably why when she kissed me; she did so as if it would be the last time. It was long, deep and passionate—kinda like last night.