Chrome Donut Meet

Ass

It was about the same time of year as this that we had finally gotten to the point where we each agreed to meet at the “chrome donut” in Millennial Park, Chicago. I’m not sure why I agreed to her request not to share pictures before meeting. Yet there I was with umbrella in hand standing near to that mirrored marvel, trying not to be too conspicuous, carefully surveying the women wandering around it. I had my reasons for always fearing the worst. It had now become the norm for people lie about themselves online. Even if they did share a picture, you were never sure it was of them or that they were even anything like who they pretended to be.

Paula Ayech had described herself as being five foot two, eyes of blue, having just turned fifty and being a Crate ‘n Barrel corporate executive claiming to have only recently moved to the big city in the north from Florida. As the mist had begun to develop into rain, I opened my large umbrella with the decision to move closer to our agreed rendezvous point under that reflective soap bar. I had surveyed most of the female domain in the area and found none too overtly objectionable.

“You’re better than I imagined,” the woman beneath her own umbrella spoke to me.

Turning around to face my accuser, I guess my face replied the same sentiment.

“Hi there,” she said, extending her hand.

With an ear to ear grin and a feigned wiping of my forehead, “Whew!” is all I replied as I shook her hand and pulled her in close to me, kissing her full on the mouth with eyes closed and a passioned engine running at full steam ahead.

It had recently been a strange revelation to me. I had come to learn that there was actually a certain, small spectrum women who existed of whom I just naturally and unpremedatively took without asking leave. And just as strange I found that such women were just as naturally willing to submit to it. Paula, it seemed, judging by her reaction, was just that sort woman.

“Mmmm,” I expressed as I pulled back from her to give her a quick once over.

I suppose it’s a man thing —visually inventorying women. I was born to it. Even as earliest childhood memory would grant me, I remembered cataloguing women based on their physical appearance. An inherited trait or just a male trait in general? I only know that it was impossible for me not to do it. Paula had easily passed first glance.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” her ever after to be remember voice mocked.

“Ya, if you’re a duck.” But in actuality, I wouldn’t have changed the weather even if I could eryaman otele gelen escort have. Something about being in the city on a foggy, misty, rainy day. It generated some sort of mysticism; some sort of hiddenness which held the masses at bay. Though we weren’t alone by any stretch of the imagination, it felt as if we were.

The mist turned into rain soon turned into a torrent. Even under that electroplated monstrosity, we were not protected. The crowds were quickly dissipating into a nearby tent. We decided to join them.

The drone of humanity immediately filled our ears as the flap closed behind us. There were families with strollers, groups of young college people and two men in an argument. We were just absorbed into the human din without there being any perceived recognition. Eventually we found a corner to hide in.

“So, are you disappointed,” Paula asked.

“Why do you ask. Do you think I kiss every woman that way?” I returned her question with a question.

“I don’t know. Do you?” She returned the favor.

Small talk broke out before my submissive drew herself in close to me, reaching up with her free hand to take hold of the back of my head and pull it down into her open mouth. She obviously didn’t mind making out in public where in young children noisily ran about.

It had been a blind date in which my brother’s girlfriend had arranged many years earlier. Her name was Denise, state butterfly champion and daughter of first runner up Miss America. As our evening drew to a close we sat in the back of my older brother’s blue 1966 Chevelle SS as he drove us back to her home. Driving up and over the Jefferson Street draw bridge, I turned to look at her. That was when it happened. It was a moment in time that I would forever remember. Denise aggressively kissed me. Even after all these many years, it was her kiss remained the bench mark of which all others would inevitably be judged. Only one other time had I experienced a like kiss. A “ten” as I know describe them. It was divorcé Diane Eubanks who gave me my second experience of such a kiss as she dropped me off at Dulles Airport. And though Paula’s kisses weren’t quite to that level, they were close enough. My quiet yet desperate hunger for such kisses knew no restraint. And so despite all the eyes about us, I inhaled every kiss Paula would lend to me.

With umbrellas still in their extended position, becoming more prudent, we used them to shield our passion from imagined prying eyes. It was then that she, to my shocked surprised, sincan escort took my hand and slid it into the deep slitted sleeveless blouse, allowing me to massage one of her magnificent mounds of woman’s delight. Once I had been the aggressor. Now it was Paula’s turn.

Perhaps five hundred, maybe even upto a thousand people were in that makeshift tent complex as the rain continued to pelt the city outside. Despite it all we continued our greeting each other unabated. Long had I desired to fondle such worthy breasts. I wondered. Would we make the evening news? Two lovers hidden in the corner incautious, unconcerned, prisoners of devil may care lust. Kisses became more impassioned while my groping of her breast more foolhardy. She was, if anything, insatiable in her delight of such danger. I wondered how far she would allow it to proceed.

Surprisingly, no one gave so much as eye serving rebuke when the rain stopped and people began to filter back outside. We closed our umbrellas and followed them, passing the chrome donut before wandering down into an architecturally designed garden of tall meadow grasses in a maze of raised boxes. In a city of millions we felt ourselves alone and free to further our adventure. Ordered to open my umbrella once again in order to shield us from the possibility of passing intruders, Paula with one hand unloosened the top of her blouse allowing fall freely, fully revealing both of her more than acceptable breasts.

My fingers had inventoried their definition but now my eyes feasted on their uniqueness. Paula’s nipples were erect and elongated even in an unstimulated state. However, once in my mouth became attached to them, her moans could not be stifled. I sucked on this one then on the other, granting equal time to eat. Harder and harder I sucked on them trying to discern some limit she had as to pain. Sucking became gnawing to twisting, turning and pulling without restraint. The rubbery texture seemed only to become more resilient and their length to grow longer. Amber silver dollar areolas smaller as her nipples grew longer. Whether imagined or real, I know not to this day, but I thought I could hear Fred Astaire singing, “I’m in heaven.” We each felt it. We each were lost to the moment. We were each questioning how on God’s green earth, after all this while, had our life long fantasies become real so quickly.

Straightening back up to catch a breath, it was then that I saw it. In the distance, across the street at the Art Museum was a glass walkway high above street level. elvankent escort Some college boys were seen giving thumbs up and clapping. Apparently we had made their day. We had been self serving fools to think we could go unnoticed in such a large city.

Before long the rain began to fall. Paula had arrived by Uber while I had driven up into the city and parked my car in one the cities many parking garages. So we agreed to walk back to my car and become further acquainted in the car.

I remember little of what occurred as we headed back to the garage. She talked and I listened. She remained excited and willing. I guess I had passed whatever test she judged her suitors by. My car was parked headed into a wall with only one car beside it. Oh for one of those dark tinted family vans that I had always vowed never to fall prey to. But her tenacity knew no bounds. Soon her top was loosened once again allowing me to just sit back and watch their display in wonderment. Still the aggressor, she reached over and pulled me over to continue where I had left off suckling them. I guess having one in my mouth and the other in my hand, tugging, nibbling, stretching those dreamy nipples elevated her to the point where she confessed, “I’m spotting but not too much,” she informed me as she unbuttoned her shorts and slid them mid-thigh.

Paula was a mature woman with a mature bush. With a single digit, I quickly brought her to climax. Reclining her seat, half nude and on display to anyone one who wanted to peer in, the owner of the car next to us. She laughed while pulling her shorts back up and tying her top once again.

I met Paula again at her beautiful old apartment looking over the lake. She was everything I had been looking for. No wanting to watch tv, she took me by the hand and walked me over to the little beach late across from the apartment before leading me over to the cemetery across the street. No one was there despite the busy traffic buzzing past us. Paula seemingly never wore either panties or bra. It didn’t take long to realize that her fetish was public tomfoolery, even in a cemetery where she removed all her clothing as we walked pretending interest in one grave head after another.

Unfortunately we were two hours of city traffic apart from each other. Eventually my inability to drop everything to drive up to be at her side revealed her other side. I began to understand as to why she had never been married. Aggressive while indulging in frolic was fun, she was demanding and short fused when not getting her way. After repeated occurrences, it soured me on the fantasy and fun the her good side had so freely offered. To this day, I miss her. We all have issues. Perhaps I should have seen them sooner but I was having too much fun with a body and attitude of a woman who kept it new.

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