(This is part one of many parts, and as such, it’s not for everyone. It’s for those with an attention span.)
My marriage was falling apart.. I kept hoping for a rebound, hoping that she’d snap out of her funk, but as the years approached a decade, I was losing patience. I’d tried everything, being kind and understanding, being aloof and standoffish, being demanding and stern, but she kept distancing herself from me. Time after time I heard, “You’re just not important to me.” I couldn’t believe my ears the first time I heard it, but after the seventh or eighth time in a couple of years, I realized it wasn’t a one-off. And I became lonely, very lonely.
So I posted something on Craigslist, as our rift approached the second half of a decade. A last ditch effort to keep myself sane while staying in my marriage.
“Man, I wish I were 10 years younger! FUNNY ad, and I hope you find someone.”
Well, I answered, asking how old she was and why the age difference was a problem for her, and we ended up chatting back and forth and trading info about each other pretty quickly.
A few emails later, I asked her “What’s your situation, what are you looking for, can you fit on my lap, and, most importantly, what’s the one thing in your purse that you hope no one ever finds?”
And she laughed, and dished out an amazing flirty line, “The one thing in my purse?? Well, can I tell you about my pink lace panties? If interested- let me know.”
Well, of course, I was interested. :)
So we continued to email and flirt. Eventually exchanged pictures to see who we were talking to, and it turns out she was pretty sexy. She didn’t feel good about herself, had gained some weight when she got divorced, so was ‘curvier’ than she was used to, but those curves were well distributed, and she was definitely prettier than she gave herself credit for.
We flirted more, she discovered that we had similar tastes in certain activities, and our exchanges became more and more graphic. Her husband actually didn’t care for blow jobs, while she LOVED them. We exchanged a few more pictures, a little racier. She saw a bulge or two, maybe some very explicit contours through some thin underwear, I saw some cleavage, some bare legs, a sheer t-shirt. She discovered just how turned on I was about her skin.
And she teased about meeting. And about kissing. And then about meeting, and kissing, but not teasing.
We finally decided that we wanted to meet, and she invited me over to her apartment. There was an explicit promise of some kissing, as we discussed the importance of kissing and how awful it was to have been married to someone who didn’t like kissing. And there was the implication of potentially more than kissing, obviously.
But I was very nervous – I didn’t know who she was, really, if she was playing some sort of elaborate scam. I had heard all sorts of horror stories about meeting someone and then waking up the next morning without your kidneys.
And still being married, I was very cautious about my own identity, so I kept my phone hidden and we only corresponded through email. But eventually we set a date, and I drove to her place. I was convinced (paranoia strictly my own) that I was being set up, so I drove past her place several times, looking for unusual signs, checking to see if I was being followed or watched, all those things you read about in spy novels.
All the while, though, as I’m searching for malfeasance in this scenario, I’m aware of a very meaty throbbing in my jeans. The lure and potential of whatever physical interplay may happen was just as paramount in my mind.
So eventually I decided it was OK, and pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. Parked well away from her front door, walked nonchalantly to her unit (convinced that there was a big sign on my back announcing my less-than-pure intentions), and rang the bell. She buzzed me in, and just before I opened the door, I made one last check, straightening out my sweater, adjusting my crotch so that the bulge wasn’t overt, but at the same time, for someone who was looking, it would clearly be there, announcing my interest. Then I walked in, and looked up the stairs. There she was, standing at the top of the second floor landing, her apartment door open, a come hither look on her face.
I didn’t know what to expect, but my expectations were exceeded. She had a quiet smile, her hair brushed away from her face, her complexion even more young looking than her pictures had suggested. Jeans and a maroon, semi-form fitting cotton sweater, her figure was apparent, but not ostentatiously on display. She *was* as attractive as her pictures, perhaps even more.
Walking up, her eyes followed me with each step. As I approached, she stepped back, inviting me in, and closed the door behind me. My Spidey-Sense was on high alert, did she have a partner waiting in the back bedroom with a baseball bat? Too paranoid? I preferred to think of it as being reasonably cautious. But seeing her eyes, it was clear that she was just as nervous as I was. As the door shut, she turned to face me, bare feet made her four or five inches shorter than me. Looking up, without saying a word, she put her arms around my neck and gave me the softest, warmest, most inviting kiss.
I felt her arms around me, her mouth on mine, and as we kissed, she pressed against me.
It’d been quite a while since someone kissed and hugged me with that passion, and I responded in kind. Gently at first, then a little tighter, and I became aware of her curves, of her body underneath her clothes. That’s when she started moaning, pressing against me harder, aching to become just as aware as I was.
Our lips explored each other, just our lips, chastely, trying not to offend each other, wondering what each other had in mind. Then our mouths opened a bit, tentatively, carefully. After several more kisses, our tongues gently met, and we began exploring more passionately.
As our mouths became more engaged, so did our bodies. I was completely aware of her breasts pressed against my chest, aching for me to be close to her. And of her shifting her hips up and into me, exploring, wanting to discover just how aroused I was.
We stood there for probably 15 minutes, just kissing and hugging, finally taking a break to catch our breath. After I turned down the offer of something to drink, she invited me to the couch in the living room….
What to think? We had talked about kissing, about sex with our spouses, about how she loved blowjobs and her (soon to be ex)husband didn’t.. what man doesn’t like THAT? But we hadn’t really been explicit about what WE might do, other than ‘we should really meet one day….’
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/bo4vy4/surviving_my_first_craiglist_encounter_f_pt_1_long
great story and lead up hope to hear more