An Older Woman/Younger Man Sex Story
"April in her Office," by Benjamin Smith
She wasn’t my type.
That was the first thing about April I noticed, the fact that she wasn’t my type.
Of course, I’d never really subscribed to the idea that a man should have a particular set of parameters when it came to members of the opposite sex, but the fact remained, up to that point in my life, I’d noticed similarities amongst the girls I’d dated: Redheads, mostly; never older than two years my junior; interests in humanities, arts... I could never talk to science geeks, hated politicos, and avoided the vapid as much as I could. They were usually soft girls, not flabby but full. I’m tall so I usually dated girls I didn’t have to bend down to kiss.
April wasn’t my type.
First off, April was 41. I was 26. April was a professor of Economics. I had taken one course in economics as an undergraduate; I got a C. April was a brunette, and very athletic, rail-thin with lots of angles to her body so she looked lanky.
She wasn’t unattractive. She just wasn’t my type.
I was working two jobs in those days. Mornings I worked in a bakery, my shifts beginning around 3 AM and lasting until noon. April was one of my early morning regulars, stopping by on her way to work after hitting the gym at 5 AM. Always decaf coffee poured in her purple thermos and a blueberry bagel sans cream cheese put in a paper bag for later.
It was simple over the counter pleasantries for a long time. “Good morning,” “How are you today?” “How’s the daily grind?”
She started out as someone who came in once a week, and then the visits grew more and more frequent. By the end of three months she was in daily, and the over-the-counter pleasantries had become more personal. “How’s the textbook coming?” I’d ask her. “Fine,” she’d say. “Any luck selling your stories?”
It had just, sort of, grown like that, little by little over the past year. Now, I stood in the cold December air, in the middle of the night, by the rear entrance of the building where she worked. I had worked all day and been in bed, preparing to sleep in most of the next day when she’d called.
“I’m melting down,” she said. “Can you come over? Help me write my acknowledgements page. Maybe do some proof-reading?”
“Sure,” I’d said, rolling out of bed. “You want me to bring coffee?”
“Oh, yes please! That’d be great. See you in a bit. Oh, and call when you get here. I’ll come down and let you in. They lock the building after 9.”
The clock on my nightstand read 11:30 PM. I pulled on the fresh pair of jeans I’d set out for the next day and fastened the strap on my watch band, grabbed a coat from the hall closet and my preferred blend of coffee from the pantry, before heading out the door and locking it behind me.
It was below freezing, the coffee was in the pocket of my car coat, and in my rush to get out the door I’d forgotten my knit cap. My ears were hurting from the chill and when the door opened I dashed inside, thankful to find the building was well heated.
“Thank you,” April said, grabbing the coffee from under my arm and then giving me a big hug. The hug lasted a few seconds longer than a normal “friend” hug, and then started up the stairwell, bidding me to follow her up to her office.
As we climbed the stairs, she talked over her shoulder at me, and whenever she would look up to check what floor we were on, I’d steel a glance at her backside, while listening to her complain about her publishers and the stresses of working on a book at the end of the fall semester.
When we reached the fourth floor, April lead me down a hall with tiled floors and cream painted cinderblock walls. We stopped at a display of faculty publications and she showed me a copy of the last textbook she’d written in the case. Small talk was made and then she crossed the hall, took out a ring of keys, and unlocked the door to her “outer” office.
The way it was set up there was a broom closet, a kitchenette, and three other offices that shared a sort of entrance hall. The office at the back was April’s. The door was ajar and the lights were on. She directed me to go on in and take off my coat while she retrieved the Mr. Coffee™ from the kitchenette.
The building was not only warm, but also a bit stuffy. I tossed off my coat, and peeled off my sweater so that I was in a plain white t-shirt. The office had two desks pressed together, one up against the wall, the other angled so that it filled the space in the center of the office. There were two chairs where students were to sit, and one swivel chair for April, a table along the wall with a few tens of tea, and a few stacks of papers clipped together in some sort of improvised filing system. There were bookcases along one wall, and a solitary bookcase with desk references and miscellaneous. I looked at a few of the books on the miscellaneous shelf, keeping my hands behind my back to avoid looking like a snoop when she eventually came in with the coffee maker. The books were about oil, commodities, green economics and so forth; things I’d never really studied with too much interest.
On one shelf there was a framed photo of two kids. This wasn’t a shock to me. I knew that April had been married and that she and her husband had been separated for some time. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see April on her hands and knees underneath the table. The coffee maker was set carefully between stacks of paper and she was plugging in the chord.
“I have to share it with two other instructors,” she explained as she opened the bag of pre-ground coffee beans and began measuring out enough for a full pot. “We have to clean it out after each run, though. Don’t let me forget.”
I was nervous. I knew I was nervous because April was acting nervous and that in turn was making me nervous. We were both, I think, thinking the same thing. We’re alone. We’re all alone in this big institutional building. She pointed to the swivel chair behind the desk. “You can sit,” she said.
I nodded and went around to her chair. I sat and looked at the screen. She’d cued everything up. The top of the page read “acknowledgments” and there was a simple list of who to thank and why.
“So you want it to sound clever and witty, is that what you’re after?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Not just, ‘Thanks to Bob’ and ‘Thanks to Carol.’”
I nodded and began typing slowly. In a few minutes she came over and set a coffee cup at my elbow. She lingered there a minute and I could smell her. It was a light perfume that wasn’t overpowering, and it didn’t mask so much as compliment her natural smell. She hadn’t bothered to ask if I needed cream or sugar; she’d just left it black.
It was about ten minutes before I finished typing up a draft. I stood, took my coffee to one of the student’s chairs and let her read over what I’d written. She nodded through most of what I’d typed, making only minor changes before kicking off her shoes and hitting the print button.
She leaned back, running her fingers through her hair, stretching. “I’ve got five chapters for you to look over, so it’ll take a few minutes. Thanks for volunteering to edit for me.”
“Volunteering?” I smiled, sipping some more of my coffee.
“Okay, thank you for letting me volunteer you to edit, is that better?”
I laughed. “It’s okay. Not like I have anything to do tomorrow.”
She made a pouty sort of face. “Tomorrow is your day off, isn’t it? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She walked over, her coffee cup on her hand. She ran her hand over my head, mussing my hair in a playful sort of way. She leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips in a way that wasn’t at all awkward. She just did it, simple, as if it was something she’d done a thousand times before with me. She moved over and took the chair next to mine, sighing as she sat. “Ahh, I’m going to be lucky to get three hours tonight. I’m thinking about just staying up for the next three days, burning through the whole thing as many times as I can. I’m a quadruple-checker, you know?”
I nodded, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that I was looking at her bare feet, noticing that she had a tattoo just above her left big toe. “That’s a good thing,” I said. “But you shouldn’t burn yourself out. I’m sure whoever your publishers are they’ll have a good editor go over it a few times after you send it in.”
“Yeah, they’ve told me as much. Also, they’ve been stepping up the calls from weekly to daily. ‘When can we see a first draft?’ ‘Do try to make it on time.’” She smiled. “It’s really stressful because I haven’t had any time to myself in months.”
I shrugged. “You’ve had beers with me a few times.”
She nodded. “And you have no idea how much it meant to have someone to go out with. Since the divorce, I’ve been a recluse. It’s basically work, apartment, gym, work apartment, gym, day in and day out... I tell you it gets frustrating.”
I went to take another sip of my coffee but found I’d finished my first cup. I stood, looked at April’s cup and offered to get her a refill while I was up. She handed me her cup and our fingers touched for a split second.
As I poured, I heard her stretching out in the student’s chair behind me. “I never realized how comfortable these chairs were, you know. If I weren’t so damned wired, I’d probably pass out right here.”
I brought her the cup of coffee and sat my own on the edge of the desk. The printer had long since stopped printing, but some strange instinct caused me to linger by April’s chair a moment. I reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder and began rubbing her gently. Her eyes were closed but her neck lulled lazily to one side; she let out a little moan and I decided to move directly behind her and use both hands to work the tension out of her neck.
It wasn’t specifically a sensual action. I wasn’t “trying to score” with this woman. I just, for some reason, felt that she needed a neck message. It was rather odd. As I rubbed her neck, though, moving down over her lower back, I found myself noting the patch under her sweater where I could feel the clasp on her bra. As I moved lower toward the small of the back, April leaning forward to accommodate me, I also noted the little noises she made, the way her breathing changed a bit and then when I had my hands firmly against the patch of her back just over her hips, she spoke.
“You have very strong hands,” she said. “It’s kind of...” She seemed to take only a second to choose the word, “well... hot, really.”
“Isn’t this the scene in the movie where Hoffman says, ‘Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,’ right?”
“Who’s rubbing whose back?”
“Point taken.”
“My chapters need to be edited.”
“Is that an order to stop rubbing?”
“No, but if we’re going to procrastinate, we could at least be more daring about it.” She leaned back and I brought my hands up to rest on the back of the chair as her head lulled back against my abdomen. “That’s a dare by the way. You’re move.”
I chuckled but leaned down and kissed her on the lips, letting my tongue slip in to mingle with hers.
I was aroused; something about the whole situation seemed to be right out of some half-forgotten sexual fantasy: An office, an attractive older professor. As I kissed her, I let my hand move down over her sweater to cup one of her breasts. They were not large breasts, in fact they were very small, almost girlishly so. But as I cupped, I was amazed at how sensual her body felt under my hands.
In an instant she was up, pressing her body against mine, not forceful or frantic but still heated and passionate. She lifted my t-shirt up, tearing it over my head, kissing my chest as one of her fingers looped in the hem of my blue jeans. I cupped her ass as together we fell back against the table with the coffee maker and the carefully stacked papers. A bit of the coffee sloshed in the pot, but nothing spilled. I went down on my knees then, pressing my face into her taught little tummy, feeling it with my hands. For some reason, there was something about her that made me want to run my hands all over her, kneading her skin with my palms. I lifted the hem of her sweater, kissing her stomach, which I was surprised to find was pierced.
I kissed around the little glitzy bauble and then reached around and began unzipping her skirt at the back as she pulled her sweater up and over her head and unfastened her bra. In a moment she stood before me, clad only in a pair of bright orange panties. I smirked at them and then up at her.
“That’s festive.”
“Don’t judge. I wasn’t planning this. Were you?”
I kissed along the hem of her panties. “No.”
“Spontaneity always leads to surprises.”
By now she’d joined me on the floor; we were face to face, my hands on her hips as she undid my belt and fly. I leaned in and nibbled her neck a bit, kissing down between her tiny breasts.
“I know,” she said. “They’re small, aren’t they?”
“Not in a bad way,” I said, before letting my bottom lip trace a little circle over one nipple. I slipped my fingers into the hem of her panties, tracing along the side of one buttock until I found a little patch of moisture under my fingers.
I felt her hand in my boxers, gripping my hard-on firmly. Her lips brushed my ear as she let out a small moan, almost like a purr.
I leaned into her then, pushing her back onto the floor of her office, feeling her thighs part and her legs wrap around me slightly, all the while kissing her, my hand working slowly but firmly on her clit and cunt lips, the moisture making my fingertips slick.
I felt her grip on my cock and she gave it a few hard pumps and then she put a hand against my stomach pushing me up and away so that she could speak.
“On the desk,” she said, breathlessly.
I smiled and stood, letting my jeans fall around my ankles. I helped her up off the floor and kicked off my shoes as she moved a few things from her desk to the floor to make room.
She turned and I stood before her completely naked. Her panties were askew but still hitched high up on her thighs. I moved in close as she lay back over the desktop, legs parting once more. I took the panties off with my thumbs, jerking them over her hips and then tugging them slowly down and off before dropping them on the carpet by the desk.
I admired her for an instant, the pale skin, the trim hips and thighs. She looked up at me smiling.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Why not?”
“I can tell what you’re doing.”
“Admiring a naked lady?”
“Judging.”
“Not at all,” I leaned down and planted a kiss on the patch of skin just above her lightly trimmed pubis. “You’re a work of art, don’t you know that?”
I felt her hand move over my head, her fingers running through my close-cropped hair. I laid my head to one side and listened for a second to her stomach and the sound of our breathing in the room, looking out the windows through which the light of a few street lamps steamed.
Her office was on the ground floor, with windows looking out onto a hedgerow, and beyond the hedgerow, I could see the windows of the building across the way and the tops of cars going by even at that late hour. We hadn’t bothered to turn out the lights and it was interesting as I looked up to see she too was looking out the windows.
“People can see us,” she said, her voice coming through, in a sort of dreamy fashion.
“Anybody who walks by can just look in and...” she looked down at me. “Isn’t that fun?”
I smiled as I moved up to kiss her lips. Her arms went around my neck as I entered her. I thrust slow and easy, feeling her hips move in little circles that grew wider as I began working my thrusts with more intensity.
Perfect Timing, by Mick Payton (available at ObsessionArt.com)
It wasn’t long before I felt a build up and then a sudden release. I bucked, letting my cock twitch inside her, feeling her cunt tighten around me as I came hard inside of her. In a split second she too gasped and tensed, becoming very still as I thrust in deep and her thighs clenched my hips. Her hands moved slowly over my shoulders, her nails clawing my skin lightly as her brow knit for an instant and then relaxed along with the rest of her body. Her hands fell away from me, going up to rest under her head. She smiled up at me, contemplating a moment.
“You know,” she said. “At this rate I’ll never get finished.”
I nodded, letting myself slip from her warmth. I walked over and found my jeans, pulled them on quietly while she just lay on the desk, looking up at the ceiling. I reached for my shirt but then she stopped me.
“Leave it off,” she said.
She stood, walked over and took the t-shirt from my hands. She pulled it on over her head and then walked over, still naked from the waist down, and sat in her office chair. She took her glasses from beside the computer.
“Pour me another cup of coffee, will you?”
I took the pot from the burner and refilled both cups in the room, taking mine and walking over to sit in one of the student’s chairs. I watched as she worked at the computer, patiently, sipping my coffee and feeling the warmth of the room even without my shirt.
When she was done, we’d do it again. It was a promise unsaid. I looked over at the books on her shelf and picked one at random to thumb through, trying my best not to smirk as I thought of the mixture seeping out from between her legs onto her office chair.
Originally published May 2010