Unnatural Attraction the Torrid Tale of DeloresChapter 3
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Unnatural Attraction; The Torrid Tale Of DeloresChapter 2 free porn video
I was at the shop late, finishing up on the accounting. I was going to sleep there in the bed my boss had bought to fuck me in, and then take the bus in the morning to meet Evon in San Francisco.
I was 19. I had $500, no car, no home, no diploma, and no references. I hoped Evon wouldn’t find out about my affair with her dad, because she was the only friend I had left.
Ron’s big gleaming Lincoln pulled up outside.
I went around to the front and opened the door. Ron was Henry’s dad.
Yes, I did it with him. Good God, was he NOT the right man, and I knew it, and I let him seduce me anyway. Maybe it was to get over Henry, maybe it was revenge, I don’t know. Anyway, read on if you want.
Ron was very unlike his son. He was suave, sophisticated, and wealthy. An insurance executive who wore suits and was impeccably groomed at all times. At the same time, he was a tough old man who’d fought in both world wars.
“Hi Delores; say, your eyes are all red, have you been crying? Henry told me what happened, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to the west coast.” I told him, “I’m going to stay with Evon.”
He nodded. “I love my granddaughter, but she’s fallen in with a strange crowd.” He said, “Why don’t you let me take you out for a nice dinner, and you can tell me all about your plans?”
He smiled at me with his white even teeth. His gold rimmed glasses and sharp tailored suit were respectable. The Lincoln continental stood waiting in the parking lot; big, powerful, luxurious.
I really didn’t think I’d end up in bed with my friend’s granddad; I sure needed to talk though, and a meal was a good idea too.
Anyway we drove for a while in the big plush car, out of the grease tinged industrial satellite town into the city, to a fancy restaurant.
I felt a little bit weird going in there. It was dark and soft, white tablecloths, gleaming crystal and silver. Well dressed couples were having dinner by candlelight. Rich city people with clean hands and soft voices.
We talked about Evon; Ron was really concerned about her living a hippie life, with sex and drugs. We had a bottle of wine.
“So I understand my son let you go, but I don’t know why exactly; ‘personal reasons’ he told me, and you say your mother threw you out of your own house? How do you feel?”
“Angry!” I told him, and then it all came out of me like vomit. The old man listened attentively, compassionately.
“I’ve had too much to drink.” He said after desert. “I won’t drive home tonight, I have an apartment here in town.”
“I’m pretty sloshed too.” I admitted.
“Come on, it’s just around the corner.” He said. “Have coffee and then I’ll call you a cab to take you back to the shop.”
But instead of coffee, we had aperitifs. I was pretty toasted, and it was a long time ago; I remember thinking he had nice soft hands, unlike his son. The next thing I knew, I woke up in his bed, naked, alone.
I put my hand between my legs to check, and I was sure nothing had happened there. I remembered tenderness, comfort, sleeping.
“If you want to make your bus, you’d better hurry.” Ron called out, “I can drive you back out to the shop to get your bag and then back into the bus depot.”
I had a quick shower and we went down to the street and got in his 4 wheeled ocean liner of a car. It was really early, the dawn grey and foggy like my head.
“You can type pretty fast, right?” he asked me as the car floated towards the highway.
“Yes.”
“Can you take shorthand?”
“No. I just listen and type.”
“I’m writing my memoirs.” He told me, “I need a typist; you need a job. What do you say? I’ll pay you $100 a week.”
That was good money, and more than I’d been getting as his son’s secretary / mistress.
“I don’t have anywhere to live.” I told him.
“Live with me, there’s a spare room.” He offered. “It will be a lot of hours though. I’m not a 9 to 5 man. When it’s done, go on to San Francisco with better preparation and more savings.”
We beat the traffic and Henry. I opened the shop, took my bag, and locked the door again as we left, dropping my key in through the mail slot.
We got to work right away; we went to an office supply store and Ron bought the latest IBM electric typewriter for me, big bucks in those days.
We worked; he talked, I typed. I suggested alternate wording sometimes, and sometimes he agreed.
His story was mostly military stuff, but one chapter was about a woman he met in Germany at the end of the war. She claimed to have been a German spy for our side, but her handler was dead. Ron had been tasked with finding out whether she was telling the truth, or was complicit in war crimes.
He told it in her words; she slept with Axis generals and betrayed them at risk to her life. It was an exciting, racy story of betrayal, danger, and sex.
My little adventures seemed so pathetic in comparison.
“Did you love her?” I asked him.
“Oh god yes.” He sighed, “I was nuts for her, and I think she liked me too, but I couldn’t be with her. I wanted to clear her and if we had a relationship my findings would be trashed.”
“So to save her, you had to reject her?” I asked.
“Yes.” He said, and I could see he was still hurting.
“Wow, so much pain after all these years. She must have been one hell of a woman.” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
The air was crackling between us; I suddenly realized we’d been flirting. Sharing our most intimate thoughts, alone together in this private space, eating and drinking, talking, working.
Oh fuck no, I thought; not again. Not another old guy I was working for...
His face came closer. I was frozen, stock still. Closer, so I could see each large pore of his smoothly shaven seventy year old face. His arm was around me, his hand on my shoulder, I should have been revolted. I wondered why I wasn’t? Was I weird?
I was suddenly terrified, I had goose bumps on my legs, my face was hot, my breath was short. This couldn’t be happening, I told myself. Ron is a good guy, and would never try and take advantage of me.
Then why did his hand tighten on my shoulder why did his mouth meet my mouth, why why why did I let him kiss me?
I was 19, alone in the world. Ron was my boss, my daddy, granddaddy I suppose, and now he would be my lover unless I stopped him.
I didn’t.
I wondered if he’d only hired me so he’d have the opportunity to seduce me. The thought excited me. Was I that valuable? Was I worth spending weeks of time on, just for the possibility I might get into bed with an old man?
He kissed me softly, sensually, respectfully. His body was lean and tough, he had long legs and a great ass. He smelled fine, a respectable cologne instead of the machine oil scent his son was always reeking of.
What is age, anyway? It’s just another form of discrimination. I hated being told I was too young for this or that, too young to understand, too young to know.
So why should Ron be too old?
Besides, he was my boss, and I liked him. I wasn’t turned on by him, but I wasn’t repulsed either. I could let him do his thing, it was ok. I didn’t usually come anyway, I enjoyed sex vicariously. Besides, he was 70+ and probably wouldn’t go all the way.
He kissed my neck, my ears, and my hands went under his shirt and felt his muscles. He was surprisingly well built.
The next thing I knew, he was kneeling between my thighs lowering his ancient face between my teenaged thighs.
No one had ever done that to me before. Oral sex is normal foreplay now; but in 1969 it was weird, perverse, kinky stuff.
Of course, opening my young legs for my friend’s grandfather was pretty kinky too. I remember my fingers in his white hair, his deep old eyes looking at me as his tongue did wonderful things that I’d never even imagined.
I’d thought I was experienced, I thought I knew all about sex by then. The old man had lovers before I was born. He’d been with European girls and everything.
I remember the confusion of it, the self doubt. We were doing it against every rule, against all societal norms. Could we really do that? Defy and betray everyone, everything?
Sexual experimentation was all new stuff you see; for the first time, we had birth control and antibiotics. Sex wasn’t dangerous like it had been for all of human evolution, the serious part was removed and the fun part was still there. People were switching partners, having casual relationships, one night stands, there were rumors of threesomes and orgies. Even homosexuality was accepted in some places.
Some girls had even whispered about having sex with negro boys.
Sex between young and old people though; never. My friends would be disgusted, his would be horrified. Only whores did it with old guys.
I held his head in my hands, knees up and open, staring at his intense old eyes as his tongue drove me to the edge, but not over it.
He pulled away, breathing hard, smiling.
“Do you like that?” he asked happily.
“I sure do.” I said, unsure of what we were doing.
“I don’t expect a pretty young girl like you to be excited by an old man like me, but I thought you might come.” He said, a little but sad. “Now I’ve ruined everything.”
That wasn’t how I felt at all.
“It was nice.” I told him.
There was an awkward silence. I suddenly realized that he could be right; if we left it like this, we might have real trouble working together. I couldn’t have been turned on by him, surely not.
Ron looked at me with longing eyes, his big bulbous nose and baggy cheeks just added to his character, made him unique.
Impulsively, I unknotted the buttons on my blouse, took it off.
That was pretty exciting, so I opened my bra and took that off too.
They were small, conical tits. Good shape back then, they just stood there all firm and perky. I sat there straight backed, crazy with wonderfully conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Yes, No, Maybe, Never, Now, Ok, NO! yes.
The old man stared at my erect nipples, mouth watering, and then he reached his hands out and held them. We just sat there, looking at each other as the white haired old guy fondled my teenaged breasts.
And it felt really, really nice. Soft, sensitive old hands, caressing me with sensuous affection. Teasing my nipples as they stiffened, as my vagina wept a few tears of lonely approval.
We both wanted the same thing. I wanted to please him he wanted to be pleased. I wanted him to put his old thing inside me and use me for his pleasure, I wanted to experience his experience.
I knew by then that I rarely came. I could enjoy sex without having an orgasm, and that was an odd sort of liberty.
Without speaking, we went to his bed. I finished undressing slowly as he watched with unflinching, unashamed lust.
More mixed emotions; attraction and repulsion, an impulse to mate and another to run away. What was I trying to prove here? Was I here for myself, for Ron, or because I was mad at Henry?
Maybe I was just a whore, attracted to the money these men had. If so, I was the cheapest whore ever. Henry made 20 times more money from my work than he ever paid me.
The thought made me grin, and the old man saw that and grinned back at me.
I think going with a man’s father has to be the deepest, most primal insult of all; I was livid with Henry, I hated him for fucking and firing me. Maybe that was why I was doing this.
Ron was taller than me. He faced me and neither of us said anything as he undressed too. His skin was wobbly and blemished but his underlying shape was impressive.
His cock hung flaccid between his thighs. I felt a pang of regret; what had I started here?
I had to go through with it now. What the hell, just give it a try. There will be no shame, because no one will ever know.
We got into bed from opposite sides, and met in the middle.
He looked at me intently as his fingers pressed around my ears and behind my neck. His penis slipped into my hands automatically and I was stroking him as he got bigger, and stiffer.
Not as big as his son Henry, maybe 9 inches. Just saying.
His eyes gleamed from deep recessed sockets, a face that had seen a lot. Lines and creases, a prominent chin.
I was suddenly spooked, this could never work, what the fuck was I doing? I had a powerful urge to run. Maybe I would have if I’d had anywhere to go.
There was no way to stop, we were going to do it, it was totally crazy. Crazy good or crazy bad.
I didn’t want anything from him, I was going to leave in a few weeks. So our separation was already scheduled. I thought of that and relaxed. I wasn’t trapped. I was free, my body and my life belonged to no one except myself.
The old man took my face in his hands and kissed me tenderly, sensuously. His penis was hot and potent in my hands as I masturbated him.
I found out later that most old guys couldn’t even get hard. Ron was rare; he was a Haas.
Hard penises are a blast; I wish men would always be naked, their cocks swinging around, hard or soft. I wish I could have a little fondle anytime I like, without complications. Public transport would be so much fun...
He was a connoisseur; without any sign of shame or doubt, he ran his old hands over my young body; kissed my breasts, rolled me over and bit my rear and ran his tongue up my back. I felt his hot penis lying in the crack of my ass, and I wanted him to put it inside me.
But he didn’t; not for a while.
No one had made love to me like this before. Slowly, calmly, sensually. Enjoying each moment without shame.
You have to understand, back then most Americans were steeped in religious belief. Even people who didn’t think they were religious had prudish attitudes to sex.
My school time boyfriend was totally weird after we did it.
Henry used to fuck me hard and then jump off and get back to work, pretending it had never happened.
So when the old man made love to me as if it was the most natural, wonderful, loving thing in the world, it was a revelation to me.
I wallowed in the sweet pleasure of it, his hard cock and tough old body, the scars on his arms and torso, the way he kissed and touched, and finally late in the night, he took me.
His big hard septuagenarian penis slid into my teenaged body as if it was always meant to be in there, it felt perfect, right, primal.
Grace
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