Literotic asexstories – The Legendary Mrs. Olsen by adamgunn,adamgunn
Curt was moaning about Cindy, worse than usual. The bitch had invited him to dinner last Friday, supposedly to talk like adults about the divorce, then took him back to their (her?) apartment and fucked him like the dick he was. Then she’d kicked him out in the middle of the night, letting him know another guy was picking her up Saturday morning and driving out to a B&B. Another time up and down the yo-yo, and Curt didn’t know whether he wanted to try and make another go of it or tell her to go to hell. Tom tried to tell him he was getting played, but Curt didn’t want to hear it; served him right.
Once again Tom checked the blond out, and this time he caught her eye and held it for five seconds or more. “Hey, doesn’t she remind you of Mrs. Olsen?” It was their high school chemistry teacher, a very hot babe. She had something the younger teachers didn’t have, a sense of I-know-what-I’ve-got-and-you’ll-never-get it. There were rumors she was putting out for the principal.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Curt replied.
“You know, I’d still like to have a piece of her ass.”
“She must be sixty by now.”
“Maybe, but I’d still like it.”
“You’re sick, Tom.”
Maybe he was but still, if he could get to Mrs. Olsen he’d take the chance. Maybe, just maybe, the woman on the other side of the bar would be a great substitute.
It was time for him to make a move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The woman in the white blouse was ticked off. She couldn’t stand her hotel room, so she’d headed down to the bar to at least have some noise other than the television. She waved to the barmaid, ordered an Absolut/tonic, two limes. Then she thought.
First, there was this stupid conference twelve hundred miles from home. Her new boss enrolled her in it, didn’t give her a chance to talk her way out of it like she had so many times before. He’d caught on to her quickly, and even though she was the top sales rep in the district, he didn’t let her run her own life the way Jerry had. She’d been bored during the morning meetings, slipped out in the afternoon and went to the Mall of America. Bought some jewelry and a sweet silky baby-doll. Maybe that would get her husband in the mood, he hadn’t been really interested in over six weeks. And that was way too long, she was getting seriously horny even if she did bring herself off in the bathtub two or three times a week.
And he was getting on her nerves in other ways, too. Wanted to put in a new kitchen so he could cook for twenty people. That was okay, they could afford it and it would increase the resell value, but couldn’t he just make the decisions himself and leave her out of it? So much talk about tile patterns and tint of woodwork and he even tried to get her to consult about the brand of oven as if she gave a rat’s ass.
“Pour you another one, ma’am?” the barmaid asked. “No, I don’t think so.” Oh, how she hated being ma’amed. Looking around, she viewed the other denizens of this evening’s dungeon. What was the Billy Joel line? Oh, yes, ‘They’re sharing a drink they call loneliness / But it’s better than drinking alone.’ The guy on the other side of the bar tried to catch her eye again. He was a little cute, not as much as his buddy who seemed sad about something, but even if she was thinking about getting picked up — and she wasn’t — he was much too young. Not more than twenty-five she guessed, with his first big job, and he was a clothes horse. Thousand dollar suit, custom shirt, Armani tie. Bet he thinks he’s god’s gift, she thought. Catches his share of girls, then doesn’t know what to do with them was her guess.
She went back to her brooding, this time about her daughter, just turned sixteen and had found out about boys. Once she discovered Kayla had her cherry popped, she had to take her to the gynecologist and get her put on the pill. Then they had to have the talk about how Kayla should limit herself to one boy at a time and make him wear condoms. Not that it mattered, Kayla was going to let it go in one ear and out the other. Damn it, the girl just didn’t have any sense! Not that it was so different from what her mother had done in high school thirty years ago, but at least she’d taken reasonable precautions and hadn’t gotten caught. It was funny, her husband still thought he was the second guy who ever had her, that summer after she graduated college. If he only knew . . . but then again, what he didn’t know certainly didn’t hurt him. And it pissed her off to know her daughter was getting laid on a regular basis, and she wasn’t!
But Kayla just wasn’t a smart girl. Oh, intelligent enough, she was keeping a B+ average, and she was great at taking tests, there shouldn’t be any problem getting her into a good college. But the girl was amoral. Just that morning, before she went to the airport, she saw her tube of Dior lipstick in Kayla’s hand. She confronted Kayla, of course, but she’d come up with a lie that she’d bought it with baby-sitting money. At least she had the sense to shrug it off and not make a big scene of it. And, of course, it wasn’t the first time Kayla had stolen stuff. Kayla was spoiled, and it was mostly her husband’s fault of course, but she wasn’t completely blameless either she guessed.
Another glance around the bar, and this time the macho caught her eye. What, she wondered, would he be like if she ever did let him into her bedroom? Just an idle thought, it was never going to happen. Damn! She realized she’d let her eyes linger in his a little too long. And now he was coming over.
Tom didn’t go directly to her, of course, he was much too suave for that. Instead he kept moving, heading for the men’s room. But it didn’t stop him from studying her as he passed, not ten feet away. Nice body, she must work out. And her complexion was duskish, she probably used a tanning booth. Bet she didn’t have any lines, either, her teats must be as dark as the rest of her. As he used the urinal, he considered the possibility of another conquest, the oldest woman he’d ever had. He swigged a handful of water from the tap, quickly sucked a breath mint to mask the scotch.
On his way back, he enjoyed her rounded ass in the tight blue jeans. Approaching from the rear, he declared to the barmaid, “Tanya, get this lady another drink, won’t you?” The barmaid was torn, the woman had turned one down already, but Tom was one of her biggest tippers. The lady didn’t say ‘no’, so Tanya got down a clean tumbler and filled it with ice.
“I’m Tom.” Confident, yet with that touch of sincerity women just ate up.
She smiled, gave a long look into his eyes as if to say ‘you’re sure you can handle this?’ and replied with a handshake, “Gayle. Thanks.”
“Mind if I have a seat?”
Gayle considered it, decided a little conversation couldn’t hurt, motioned him to the stool beside her.
“And what brings you to this place?”
“A meeting at the convention center.”
“Oh, you’re from out of town then?”
“Philadelphia.”
“What do you do?”
“Sales rep.” Gayle decided to take a chance. “And you’re a stock-broker.”
Tom laughed, “Close enough, Financial Analyst. How did you know?”
“I’m a psychic.”
“Okay,” he played along, “tell me more.”
“Let’s see . . .” Gayle decided to go for it, if she embarrassed herself she could always just leave. “This is your everyday bar, you work in an office near here. The guy you left over there is your best friend, and you should bring him over here.”
Curt was watching the action, she waved him over. When he approached she greeted him, “Hi, my name’s Gayle.”
Curt opened his mouth in reply, was interrupted by Tom. “Don’t tell her, she’s a psychic. Let her tell you.”
“Give me a break,” Gayle responded, “real psychics don’t know details, just generalities. Anytime somebody spouts off a specific date, they’re phonies.”
“I’m Curt.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Curt, she’s amazing,” Tom said. “She knew we’re analysts, and she figured out we work nearby. Tell us more.”
Gayle had to giggle. This was turning out well. And Curt was pretty cute. Well dressed, but not over the top like Tom.
She decided to take the easiest route. “Well, you two are best friends, have been since middle-school. You’re very competitive. One of you was the quarterback, one was the tight-end, and you won the last game in high school by a long pass. You’re still arguing if it was a better pass or a better catch. Am I getting any of this right?”
“Close enough,” Curt conceded, “We met as freshmen, and the sport was basketball. He was a guard, I was a forward. In the last seconds of the conference championship, I blocked a shot hard, he picked it up at mid-court, went to the basket and made an easy lay up.”
“Yeah, right!” Tom interrupted, “there was a guy right on top of me, and I had to shoot the ball left handed.” They looked at each other, the way guys who are trying to be macho always do, and then Tom asked her, “Got more?”
“Sure. You went to different colleges, and that way when the two schools played you could irritate each other. You still go to the games. Right?”
“I went to St. Cloud, he stayed at home at Metropolitan. Yeah.”
“One of you, I don’t know which, got a job at your firm and brought the other one in.”
“It was me,” Tom admitted.
“And, Curt, you’re going through a rough time. Girl trouble? Got dumped?”
“Worse, divorce.”
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