The other day I was on insta cyberstalking every woman I’ve ever slept with because I was just back after a hectic business trip and I’m pretty psyched to be back on the market, free to fuck whoever I want without any guilt. Tinder’s great, but sometimes I ache for something a little more familiar. So I messaged this girl I haven’t seen—clothed or naked—in at least ten years, and she hit me back immediately. Turns out she split from her husband a few months back and she was craving some action too.
That same afternoon, I went over to her place while her small one was napping. She answered the door with two shots of tequila in hand so we could toast our reunion. Then she hugged me, pressing her breasts into my chest, and nodded towards the couch. Without missing a beat, I scooped her up into my arms and started nibbling on her neck, remembering with each taste of her flesh how great she’d been at dirty talking in our twenties. We fucked in the living room, her on top, flicking her own nipples like a pro as she rode me, whispering all sorts of sexy shit in that seductive voice of hers. Fifteen minutes after we both came, she wanted it again, so I gave it to her—in the kitchen, from behind this time. After round two, we sipped coffee together naked at her dining table and scheduled another meet-up for the following week. I’m getting hard just thinking about banging her again.”
