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19 Temmuz 2023, 00:16
There comes a point in everyone's life when they ask themselves, how did I end up like this? Unsurprisingly, it usually occurs around their middle-aged years, when life has lost its excitement and they find themselves living out the same humdrum routine, with each day blending into the next. For me, the question surfaced not long after my forty-eighth birthday. I'd been married for nearly thirty years, my children had grown up, and me and my husband had become like a couple of friends, house sharing.
The trouble with analysing your life, is you begin to compare yourself, and that's when your problems really begin. You see, no matter who you are, there is always someone who's circumstances are better. It doesn't matter that there are lots more whose circumstances are worse; it's always the better ones that stand out. In my case, the person whose circumstances were better, was my best friend, Jean Barrowman.
Jean was the same age as me. She had been divorced for five years, had two children still living at home and jumped from job to job. So, why was I jealous? Because Jean had a thirtysomething boyfriend and every time we'd meet, jean would insist on describing -- in intimate detail -- just how great her sex life was. It was torture. I mean, I hadn't had sex in years, and listening to Jean was like being a victim of a famine watching a morbidly obese woman devour a steak. I became obsessed and used to masturbate thinking about her boyfriend. I'd rub myself fantasising about her young man, who I'd never met, sliding his tongue inside me and holding me down as he pounded me with his powerful cock.
In my desperation I joined a dating site, and while my husband was at work, I'd meet with guys. At first, I set my age filter to men who were around my age, but that didn't work. Most where either overweight, balding or worse, both, and not one excited me. So, I set my age filter to thirty-somethings. To be honest, the reason I didn't start with thirty-year-olds, is because I didn't think they'd be interested. I mean, I wasn't ugly, or overweight, but I definitely wasn't in my prime. I had a few wrinkles, a few more pounds, and more than one or two grey hairs, but my figure was still ok, and despite breastfeeding two children, my boobs were holding up well. Still, I was I certain I couldn't compare to the average thirty-year-old, or so I thought.
It turned out I was wrong. There were plenty of younger guys looking for an older woman. After wading thought a flood of messages, I met a lovely young guy named Matt. Matt was everything I could hope for. He was good looking, masculine and sex with him was great. Best of all, Matt didn't care that I was married. I honestly thought things couldn't be better until, Jean convinced me to accompany her on holiday.
Jean had split with her boyfriend and on the spur of the moment, she decided to organise a week long holiday in Magaluf. It was easy to guess what she had in mind. I mean, Magaluf isn't known for its quite nights. It's the kind of place frequented by stag and hen parties, and has a reputation for excessive sex. Despite being happy with my new boyfriend, I agreed to go. It wasn't that I was looking for sex, I just wanted a bit of fun, and after twenty years of holidays where I did nothing but sit by a pool, who could blame me?
Along with Jean, four more of our friends accompanied us. There was Cathy; a fifty-five-year-old nurse, Sandra and Debs; both former school friends, and Angie; a personal trainer who we all knew from the gym. Jean had organised a hotel close to the beach and the nightlife. Her plan was to lie in the sun during the day and then to party all night long. I was well up for it. I mean, I wasn't over the hill quite yet and so why shouldn't I enjoy myself?
The first day went exactly as I expected. We sunbathed until the sun was extinguished by the sea, then went back to our hotel for dinner. After throwing on our party gear, we hit the clubs. We started at the closest, where we gathered around the bar. Jean ordered Ulus Escort (https://ulus.t2bro.net/) us some drinks, then after checking out the local talent, we strutted on to the dance floor. I danced with a few guys and even exchanged a couple of kisses, but as soon as someone tried to take it further, I'd make an excuse and return to my friends. At the end of the night, I wandered back to my room, alone, but happy.
In the morning I phoned my husband and Matt, just to let them know I was having a great time, but not that great that I was misbehaving. Not that I intended to misbehave. I was happy with my situation, and was only there for fun.
The second night began in a similar fashion to the first. We entered the nearest club and gathered round the bar. Only, on this night, I noticed a young guy staring at me as we arrived. I was wearing a short red skirt and looked pretty hot, but no hotter than my mates. Still, for some reason the guy seemed to have singled me out. Not that I cared. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was cute, tall and slender, but he looked way to young -- at least for me. So, I ignored him. It didn't seem to put him off and he continued to stare.
After about fifteen minutes, the lad approached. I was quite impressed, I mean, there were six of us and we were all way older, so he had some balls, but not enough that he wasn't nervous. Faced with a gang of six older women, he looked like rabbit caught in the headlights of an on-coming car. "Eh ... how about um ... a dance?" he faltered, smiling awkwardly. I completely ignored him. I mean, it was like being asked out by my son, or worse, my grandson. If he had ten more years I wouldn't have hesitated, but I wasn't a cradle snatcher. The lad didn't seem deterred and repeated, only louder, "How about a dance?"
Everyone looked in our direction. It was majorly embarrassing, and left me with little choice but to respond, "No thank you, I'm not interested."
The guy visible sank.
Jean, who had witness the incident, glared at me. "What'd ya do that for?"
"What?" I said, holding up my hands.
"Turn him down so harshly." Jean looked at the boy with a sympathetic smile. "Look at him; you've crushed him. It's not like he did anything wrong. He just asked you for a dance. You should make it up to him. Go have a dance with him."
The boy looked at me, his brows raised in hope.
Shaking my head, I exhaled, "Fine," and took his hand.
He led me to the dance floor, and I have to say, he was quite a dancer. I quickly forgot about his age and the incident, and just enjoyed myself. In fact, I enjoyed myself so much, we had not one, but five dances. At the end of the fifth he leant over and attempted to kiss me. I wasn't interested and turned away. I told him, "Look, I need to go check on my mates, you know, just to make sure everything's ok." He nodded and escorted me back across the dance floor.
When we arrived, my friends were nowhere to be seen. I checked my phone; there was nothing. I asked the barman. He said 'they left about ten minutes earlier' but he didn't know where they'd gone. I was about to tell the lad I had to go, but before I could, he offered to buy me a drink. I thought, why not? I mean, what else was I going to do? The only alternative was to return to my room.
The lad bought me a G
The trouble with analysing your life, is you begin to compare yourself, and that's when your problems really begin. You see, no matter who you are, there is always someone who's circumstances are better. It doesn't matter that there are lots more whose circumstances are worse; it's always the better ones that stand out. In my case, the person whose circumstances were better, was my best friend, Jean Barrowman.
Jean was the same age as me. She had been divorced for five years, had two children still living at home and jumped from job to job. So, why was I jealous? Because Jean had a thirtysomething boyfriend and every time we'd meet, jean would insist on describing -- in intimate detail -- just how great her sex life was. It was torture. I mean, I hadn't had sex in years, and listening to Jean was like being a victim of a famine watching a morbidly obese woman devour a steak. I became obsessed and used to masturbate thinking about her boyfriend. I'd rub myself fantasising about her young man, who I'd never met, sliding his tongue inside me and holding me down as he pounded me with his powerful cock.
In my desperation I joined a dating site, and while my husband was at work, I'd meet with guys. At first, I set my age filter to men who were around my age, but that didn't work. Most where either overweight, balding or worse, both, and not one excited me. So, I set my age filter to thirty-somethings. To be honest, the reason I didn't start with thirty-year-olds, is because I didn't think they'd be interested. I mean, I wasn't ugly, or overweight, but I definitely wasn't in my prime. I had a few wrinkles, a few more pounds, and more than one or two grey hairs, but my figure was still ok, and despite breastfeeding two children, my boobs were holding up well. Still, I was I certain I couldn't compare to the average thirty-year-old, or so I thought.
It turned out I was wrong. There were plenty of younger guys looking for an older woman. After wading thought a flood of messages, I met a lovely young guy named Matt. Matt was everything I could hope for. He was good looking, masculine and sex with him was great. Best of all, Matt didn't care that I was married. I honestly thought things couldn't be better until, Jean convinced me to accompany her on holiday.
Jean had split with her boyfriend and on the spur of the moment, she decided to organise a week long holiday in Magaluf. It was easy to guess what she had in mind. I mean, Magaluf isn't known for its quite nights. It's the kind of place frequented by stag and hen parties, and has a reputation for excessive sex. Despite being happy with my new boyfriend, I agreed to go. It wasn't that I was looking for sex, I just wanted a bit of fun, and after twenty years of holidays where I did nothing but sit by a pool, who could blame me?
Along with Jean, four more of our friends accompanied us. There was Cathy; a fifty-five-year-old nurse, Sandra and Debs; both former school friends, and Angie; a personal trainer who we all knew from the gym. Jean had organised a hotel close to the beach and the nightlife. Her plan was to lie in the sun during the day and then to party all night long. I was well up for it. I mean, I wasn't over the hill quite yet and so why shouldn't I enjoy myself?
The first day went exactly as I expected. We sunbathed until the sun was extinguished by the sea, then went back to our hotel for dinner. After throwing on our party gear, we hit the clubs. We started at the closest, where we gathered around the bar. Jean ordered Ulus Escort (https://ulus.t2bro.net/) us some drinks, then after checking out the local talent, we strutted on to the dance floor. I danced with a few guys and even exchanged a couple of kisses, but as soon as someone tried to take it further, I'd make an excuse and return to my friends. At the end of the night, I wandered back to my room, alone, but happy.
In the morning I phoned my husband and Matt, just to let them know I was having a great time, but not that great that I was misbehaving. Not that I intended to misbehave. I was happy with my situation, and was only there for fun.
The second night began in a similar fashion to the first. We entered the nearest club and gathered round the bar. Only, on this night, I noticed a young guy staring at me as we arrived. I was wearing a short red skirt and looked pretty hot, but no hotter than my mates. Still, for some reason the guy seemed to have singled me out. Not that I cared. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was cute, tall and slender, but he looked way to young -- at least for me. So, I ignored him. It didn't seem to put him off and he continued to stare.
After about fifteen minutes, the lad approached. I was quite impressed, I mean, there were six of us and we were all way older, so he had some balls, but not enough that he wasn't nervous. Faced with a gang of six older women, he looked like rabbit caught in the headlights of an on-coming car. "Eh ... how about um ... a dance?" he faltered, smiling awkwardly. I completely ignored him. I mean, it was like being asked out by my son, or worse, my grandson. If he had ten more years I wouldn't have hesitated, but I wasn't a cradle snatcher. The lad didn't seem deterred and repeated, only louder, "How about a dance?"
Everyone looked in our direction. It was majorly embarrassing, and left me with little choice but to respond, "No thank you, I'm not interested."
The guy visible sank.
Jean, who had witness the incident, glared at me. "What'd ya do that for?"
"What?" I said, holding up my hands.
"Turn him down so harshly." Jean looked at the boy with a sympathetic smile. "Look at him; you've crushed him. It's not like he did anything wrong. He just asked you for a dance. You should make it up to him. Go have a dance with him."
The boy looked at me, his brows raised in hope.
Shaking my head, I exhaled, "Fine," and took his hand.
He led me to the dance floor, and I have to say, he was quite a dancer. I quickly forgot about his age and the incident, and just enjoyed myself. In fact, I enjoyed myself so much, we had not one, but five dances. At the end of the fifth he leant over and attempted to kiss me. I wasn't interested and turned away. I told him, "Look, I need to go check on my mates, you know, just to make sure everything's ok." He nodded and escorted me back across the dance floor.
When we arrived, my friends were nowhere to be seen. I checked my phone; there was nothing. I asked the barman. He said 'they left about ten minutes earlier' but he didn't know where they'd gone. I was about to tell the lad I had to go, but before I could, he offered to buy me a drink. I thought, why not? I mean, what else was I going to do? The only alternative was to return to my room.
The lad bought me a G