[FF] Im 42, a late bloomer, and just had sex with a woman for the first time

Just so as not to bury the lede, I can’t guarantee that all of this is going to be particularly sexy. It’s long and takes longer than it should to get going (just like me!). I’m 42, and I’m entering what can only be described as my sexual novitiate, so there’s a non-zero chance that there will be awkward behavior and missteps. The ultrashort thumbnail is that I have been married to a man for 20 years, during which time my husband has been my only sexual partner. We have two teenage kids, one of whom is about to leave for college. Before last week, I had never had any sort of sexual encounter with another woman. I can say with certainty, however, that I am gay. On some level, I’ve always known. Hell, my husband knew before I did, but he’s such a genuinely good man that he didn’t want to push me toward my truth. Anywho, none of this is sexy, and I basically covered it in a post you can find in my history if you’re interested. Long story short, we’re in the opening stages of an amicable divorce, are not sharing a bed, and are free to see other people.

It’s been decades since I last dated, and I feel like customs have changed. Nothing makes a woman feel old quicker than realizing that an entire has learned a sexual language of apps, acronyms, and traditions that she just doesn’t speak. When I finally mustered my chi enough to dip my toes in the ocean, I figured that bars are still a thing that people go to for the purposes of getting laid, so I’d start there. I live in a big, cosmopolitan urban area, so yelp was surprisingly helpful. I picked a place with good reviews and set out.

I saw HER almost immediately after arriving – maybe mid-20s, latinx, 5’7”, wiry, tomboyish, but undeniably stunning. She has one of those short, but deliberately messy hairstyles where her locks are draped effortlessly across one eye, while the left side of her head is basically buzzed. She was wearing a purple, plaid flannel shirt, saddle shoes (squee), and tight jeans that showed off a lean frame and hips that could belong to a teenage boy. My first thought was, “I’m going to ask that gorgeous extra from a mid-90s Weezer video to marry me.” My second thought was, “Gravity hates my tits, I could be this girl’s boring aunt, and I look like someone who thinks tribadism is some kind of cult.” I took a tentative seat at the bar and tried not to look at her.

My efforts did not last. There were women everywhere, but I couldn’t stop stealing glances. The glances became gazes. The gazes became gawks. It was almost like I was trying to process how this beautiful creature who I’d actually been yearning for my whole adult life was A)actually in the same room as me and B)part of the same species as me. I was apparently as subtle as a heart attack, because all of a sudden, she was next to me, looking at me with a quizzical, but I think charmed, expression.

“Hey there. I’m Abby,” she said, and extended her hand. It was such a simple interaction, and so devoid of fanfare that I was caught off guard. I don’t know if I expected pick up lines or banter, but I always sort of assumed that bar pick ups required some sort of protracted sexual jousting, and I ended up sort of staring at her hand like it was attached to a tentacle on some curious monster. Eventually, I awkwardly grasped it with both hands and sputtered, “I’m Hiyun-“ (now wait for it) “I didn’t mean to stare. I’m new here.” Luckily, she was kind, confident, and self-assured. After a bit of a giggle, she mused, “We’ve all been the new gal at one time or other. I’ll take care of you.”

I melted. Here was this girl who, I came to find out, was only two years older than my daughter, who was touching me, talking to me, taking me under her wing seemingly without judgment. I was jumping ahead of myself, of course (just wait @ – that’s a theme) For the rest of the conversation, her hand never left mine, and I never wanted it to. She looked at me with such care, and, at one point took to running her fingers lightly across my back and rubbing my shoulders gently as I unburdened myself to her. I’m not usually the kind of person that opens up quickly or completely, but fuck, I wanted this woman to know me, and I wanted her to WANT me, so I took a chance. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and I started looking around, a bit nervously, not sure what to say. That was when she kissed me for the first time.

Her lips pressed against mine gently at first, and I giggled as her bangs tickled my nose. There was no asking for permission, but it was clearly consensual. When I felt her tongue brush against and then part my lips, I felt heat rise in my cheeks and an electricity branch outward from my solar plexus. Instinctively, I reached up with a hand and cupped her cheek, which was satiny smooth, and traced a finger down her sharp athlete’s jawline. I leaned in to the kiss, pressing my breasts against her chest and feeling dainty twin mounds press back. My eyes closed, and I felt myself inhale sharply as she put an arm around my waist and drew me closer. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening. I wanted to scream out and tell the world how much I wanted this androgynous goddess, but I’m pretty sure the show we were putting on did the trick.

I felt drunk, woozy, terrified, and love struck, as she withdrew for a moment and leaned close to my ear to ask if I wanted to go home with her. My ever-present ASMR triggered, and I shivered visibly, but managed to tell her that yes, I wanted nothing so much as that. Again, there was no discussion of the logistics, and it was only after she had wordlessly taken me by the hand, led me to her car, and gotten on the road that I realized I had left my own car at the bar.

There is a dish at Olive Garden called “Tour of Italy.” The rest of our night could have easily been dubbed, “Tour of Pussy.” I had never been with someone who seemed to know so implicitly what I wanted and who was so sexually generous as to meet my every desire. When we got to her room, I lay down on the bed and begin tugging at my panties with all the romance of a drunken trucker, at which point she grabbed both of my hands, pushed them down on the bed beside my head, kissed lightly from my collarbone to my cheek, and playfully scolded, “Stop it. That’s my job.” She proceeded to undress me until I was bare, and she was completely clothed. The whole time, I could barely move, only nominally aware of just how profoundly aroused I was.

When she kissed down my belly for the first time, I had the dumbest thought – “This is the point of no return. I’m officially gay now,” which was almost immediately replaced with a loud, visceral, involuntary moan. I had been eaten out before, but never like this. Her tongue teased, but never meandered. She licked purposefully, but took time to caress my inner thigh and take my lips in her mouth, sucking gently. I felt my hips rise to meet her, and my thighs become tight even before the eruption came. Like an idiot, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, and I didn’t know what was appropriate for me to say, so I gripped the bedclothes tightly and clamped my mouth shut, stifling my will to cry out. When the first orgasm tore through me with a shudder, my legs closed on either side of her head, and my eyes rolled back in my head with delicious release.

It was my first day at school, but I knew it wouldn’t be my last. The night was still (relatively young). It’s super late, though, and this is already far longer than I meant it to be. If people like, I will continue with part two tomorrow.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8z8niq/ff_im_42_a_late_bloomer_and_just_had_sex_with_a