The Magic Bean (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

Apologies for the absence; trying to publish four times a week was wearing on me. I think once a week, perhaps twice, will let me keep more of my sanity and let the series play out over a longer time.

I’m in a coffeehouse as I write this, which has made me muse about how many of these tales have caffeine running through their veins.

This one, for example — and unlike almost all the other stories, I can pin down the date of first contact. It was the 25th of August, in 2014, when I opened an email from someone who liked something I’d written. That led to a back-and-forth exchange, which turned into banter with intent, and the next day, we were seated at a table maybe six feet from where I’m writing this.

She was 32 to my 51: short streaked blonde hair, soft sinful curves and a wide aquamarine gaze, the sort that gives rise to the phrase “A man could drown in your eyes.”

The conversation struck sparks, and an hour after the first hello we were behind the coffeehouse — in broad daylight and perhaps a mile and a half from my house, mind you — kissing like there wasn’t another soul on the planet who might see us.

That’s where it started — and, she assured me, it wouldn’t go any further than that. She was married as well, and she didn’t want things to get out of hand. Somehow, though, they kept getting a bit more and more out of hand in two-steps-forward, one-step back form. She played with me on a walking trail in a park. We hugged a chaste goodbye. I slipped my hand inside her shirt while we were kissing and she happened to mention that she was home alone most afternoons and was her husband’s only ride home. She emailed me: “We can have coffee but we really can’t do anything more.”

That went on for a few weeks, and one day we were — well, back in this very coffeehouse. I’d walked here, it being a beautiful late-summer day, and she drove. (She lived maybe five blocks from my house, I should note. That’ll come into play later, several times.) The conversation started back up along those sparky lines, and before too long I passed her a note:

*Do you want to get out of here and go to the park?*

She did.

Maybe a half hour after that, we were as out of sight as possible on a picnic table in one of the shelters, and I had my hand inside her jeans and my fingers inside her, teasing out the tail end of her orgasm as she moaned and held on tight. I decided to see if we could take things a step further this time, instead of going backward again.

“You know, we could probably have your place to ourselves for a couple of hours if we left now.”

“You really want to come over?”

I slipped my fingers out of her, gave her clit another stroke along the way.

“I think it could be a lot of fun.”

The whole time, driving to her place, she kept looking over and saying “You’re going to *fuck* me.” I wasn’t sure if she was psyching herself up or making sure I knew she wanted to do this. It didn’t matter, either way. I *was* going to fuck her.

She took me to what I always guessed was a guest bedroom, sun-filled and with a high double bed in the middle of the room. The second we got inside, we started undressing each other frantically. When she was naked, I sat her down on the edge of the bed, eased her back, opened her legs and knelt on the floor.

If she’d been wet in the park, she was absolutely dripping by now. I gave her clit a few exploratory licks and then took it into my mouth, lashing it hard with my tongue. At the same time, I slipped two fingers into her pussy. She wasn’t a screamer, by the strictest definition, but the rising and repeated “Ahhhhh!” sounds told me I was on the right track. I redoubled my efforts on her clit, sucking and licking it fast and hard, and slipped yet another finger into her ass.

Her legs tightened around my neck — hard — and her hips lifted off the bed. Her “Ahhhhhh!” turned into a burst of whimpering and then a groaning “Oh, fuck …”, and she grabbed the back of my head and flooded my face.

I thought she’d need a bit to recuperate, but she sat up and started tugging at my arm.

“Fuck me,” she kept saying. “*Fuck* me.”

She had condoms in the nightstand. Once that was taken care of, she lay down and opened her legs again, raising them as I moved into her. As quick and hard as she’d liked the pace of the oral, I had a feeling she wanted to keep that train running, so I lifted her legs over my shoulders, looked deep in those gem-green eyes of hers and drove as deep as I could into her with every stroke.

That proved to be the right decision. She wrapped her legs tight around me, dug her fingertips into my upper arm and let out another string of those “Aaaaah!” noises — only shorter and sharper this time. She was right. There would be times when we’d make long slow love later in our relationship, but in that moment I was fucking her for all both of us were worth.

Of course, with my brain playing its usual pranks, that’s when I thought *God, she’s going to have to do a lot of laundry and room freshening before she goes to get him.* That made me laugh a bit, which made my cock twitch inside her, and apparently that hit some kind of spot because the whimpers and the “Oh, fuck” chant started up again, and she clenched down on me and soaked both me and the bed one more time, and I completely lost track of my own name and exploded.

Somehow, we managed to get in one more round — this time with her riding me and soaking the other half of the bed –before I had to borrow her shower and walk home, giving her time to clean up before she had to go get him.

For the next seven months, there were no steps back. Some highlights:

– We met at another park on a fall afternoon but couldn’t find a place secluded enough to get it on — so she drove back to her house and I followed on foot, walking in to find her naked only from the waist down, fingers frantically working in her pussy, stopping only when I slid into her.

– One winter Saturday morning, while both of our spouses were occupied, I went over with a pair of thigh-high wool socks for her and she wore only those for the next two hours while we coupled unhurriedly, almost sleepily.

– Another night, this one warm for early spring, she picked me up from a nighttime walk and we wound up in a frantic quickie on the floor of the church gymnasium.

And then, it ended. I went through a crisis later that spring; I won’t go into causes, but the effect was that it ended what we had. We did talk, months later, about rekindling things, but by then too much time had gone by.

I haven’t seen her since then. I keep wondering if I will. Every once in a while, sometimes at night, I’ll walk down that street, and I see something familiar hanging over the side door that tells me she’s still there.

Five blocks and a world away — but that’s the way it goes sometimes. And now my coffee is empty, and it’s time to get on with the afternoon.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ci87yu/the_magic_bean_true_story_xpost_from