Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

A Delicious Procrastnation (Part 1)My office was closed from December 23rd to January 4th and in the aftermath of the Christmas and New year break, with the distractions of th festive season, returning to work seemed like a dreary prospect. While at this time last year, the dreadful weather made getting to work a chore, it also had the effect of concentrating the mind – and there was little joy in trying to negotiate the treacherous streets, so one might as well be in the office. But this year, the weather has been relatively pleasant, with mild temperatures and blustery winds, and most of all, no snow or ice underfoot. In such weather, my neighbourhood close to the city centre is a very agreable place. The Celtic tiger years brough a building boom to the docklands and even though much of the money was now gone, there remained a shiny infrastrcuture of apartments, new bars in remodelled lofts and warehouses, and quayside coffee shops that served great Italian bakery fare and the best coffee anywhere. It was a procrastinator’s dream.Since I had nothing pressing on in the office, and online access to offcie email from home covered any contingencies, the Tuesday return to work was let slide into Wednesday and then Thursday, as I enjoyed walks around the area and coffee society. On Thursday I had shared a table with two theatre directors, in animated cnversation about their creative plans for the year. Their enthusiasm and creativity seemed to radiate into me and I felt no desire to leave and finally reopen that office in the afternoon, as I had vaguely planned that morning. Now it was Friday and I thought, I really must get in there today. I planned one last lunch in the quayside bakery, and then a gentle three hours in the office before the weekend. After a second coffee and completing the crossword, I reluctantly thought, “Get your ass out of here and go to the office”. I went to the counter to pay, and just as I was about to leave, I saw here pushing her baby stroller with some difficulty through the doorway. The nig iskenderun escort plate glass door had a habit of self-closing and she was using the buggy to press it ajar. She was wearing a full-length soft wool coat and scarf, sensible boots, and a long black cashmere scarf. He paegboy-length brown hair curled inward below her jawline. She had an oval face and almond-shaped brown eyes, very warm. Her smile of recongition was warm too. “Well hi there!” she smiled, ” having a late lunch?” I had met Rachel three months earlier in the coffee shop. On that occasion we had been at adjacent tables and struck up a converation about opera, as she was reading Opera Magazine on her Kindle and I couldn’t help but tell her I had been to Covent Garden that week to see Il Berbere di Seviglia, with mezzosoprano Joyce di Donato in great form. “I love Rossini” she had said, and the next hour whizzed by. She told me about her baby, her husband’s contract job as an engineer in the Gulf, her previous job, her plans to start an MBA in October and juggle this with caring for her new baby – with help from her mum and dad. She too lived in my neghbourhood, just two blocks away…. after she left I had thought “Wow, what an attractive girl.” A good deal younger than I am, but we definitely have a spark, that instant chemistry that is sexual even when flirtation is very much covert and the conversation is polite. We had exchanged email addresses and I had said, “If you need any help with MBA work, I did that course ten years ago and would be glad to help.” It had been a pleasant dalliance, soon forgotten. We emailed each other once just to esatblish contact and no more. I had forgotten about it until this moment, when she turned up again. All of this fleeted through my mind as I said “Yes, I was just leaving – are you buying bread or here for coffee?” “I guess you could twist my arm about coffee, if you have time?” she said a little hesitantly.”To be honest, I have procrastinating bout going to the office and you are giving escort iskenderun me an excuse to procrastinate further. Until you showed up, I was feeling guilty as I had no excuse.” She laughed. “My MBA tutor gave me a break on a paper deadline before Christmas, even though I knew I could do it if I pushed myself. You know what? I have until Friday week and I haven’t even started yet, so I know what you mean abour procrastination.” “I would say a small baby to care for gets you off the hook on procrastination” I said, or does your husband help out with freeing you up in the evenings?” He face fell a little “Not really, he got a contract in Oman in November and I have hardly seen him since. Three weekend home visits in two and half months and only two days at Christmas. He won’t be home again until March.””Sorry to hear that” I lied.”No, really, it’s great money, he’s lucky to have got it, and it’s a two-year gig which is not too easy to find, so it gives us some stability.” She parked the stroller, asked the waitress to warm a bottle of milk she had brough along, and we ordered coffee. Once again, it was as before, a flight of opera and holiday places and prior experiences, very engaging and effortless. I found myself wallowing more deeply in attraction to her, being more frank in looking at her, looking into those brown eyes, admiring her haiir, her elegant fingers and slender neck…. she reminded me of the actress Kiera Knightley in Atonement. All buttoned down and polite, but I thought what raging torrents of passion there must be in a young married woman deprived of her man for 95 nights out of the last 100. I remembered Atonement and how the brief affair had been consummated only because the shy young suitor accidentally mailed the wrong letter, the one in which he said how much he wanted to fuck her, to possess her cunt…. when he had meant to send some polite nonsense. The effect had been to uncork the building pressure inside of Knghtley, so that she had him fuck her in her parents’ library iskenderun escort bayan as a party was about to commence, risking shame and dishonour. “You must be very lonely” I said quietly, placing my hand over hers, on the table top. She looked a little surpsied but did not withdraw her hand. “Yes.” she said, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t blue”. “Especially a romantic like you, who loves the opera!” I said.She smiled and squeezed my hand. “Maybe – like Cosi fan Tutte?” , she said. “You know it?””You think I am Don Alfonso?” I asked, thinking of the cynical old bachelor in the Mozart opera who says no woman is faithful. “Maybe you could be Guglielmo to my Dorabella!” “I’d like that”, I said. “Shall we go?”It was a short walk back to her house, maybe ten minutes. What a walk! The thoughts going through my mind! This beautiful young woman has offered herself to you and and you have accepted. She is twenty years your junior but seems perfectly happy to hook up with a fellow opera lover. We are walking to her house and when we get there, we are going to have sex…. What will it be like? Will she be restrained or wild and abandoned in bed? Will she like being licked and kissed all over, having her feet kissed and her toes sucked? Will her pussy be shaven, trimmed or au naturel? Will she open her legs and allow me to feast on her cunt? How wet will she be? Will she like havng her arse tongued and licked? Will she like prolonged kissing? What will be her favourite position for initial penetration? Will be be dominant or submissive, docile or adventurous? Will she sweat a lot in the act of sex? Will she grunt quietly or moan loudly? Will she allow me to suckle her breasts? I felt my cock stirring pleasantly in my trousers. Will she like my cock? How will I compare to her husband as a lover? Will she even want to talk about this or will we have guilty sex and then embarrassed, bid each other farewell? Or will this be the first in a series of trysts, knowing that her husband is away for the rest of the year except on certain days? Will she talk about how she got though the last 95 days, what means she used to pleasure herself? Rachel’s soft but firm voice interrupted my reverie.”Here we are,” she said, turning the key in the latch of her front door.”Come in to me.” /To be continued

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32