“Fuu–!” was all I could muster before his mouth was on mine, his tongue teasing my own again inside my mouth. The weight of him pressed me deeper than I’ve ever been in any mattress, and the strength of those hot, penetrating fingers and their come-hither motion across my most delicious parts already had me at the precipice of a climax that had been building since the moment he told me his mother took a champagne cork to the back of the skull.
Even through the cacophony of primal sexual gratification that overtook me at that moment, there was enough of a rational mind left to wonder, *just how the fuck did all this happen?*
My name is Jen. I’m a white American female; 36 and unattached at the time of this story, which occurred about six years ago (that makes me 42 now, math champs). Never married, no kids. My occupation both then and now involves traveling to major cities throughout the Midwestern US acting as a kind of liaison/negotiator between my employer and the various city governments in that region. My day-to-day is a lot of traveling and working lunches/hotel lobby drinks/just *talkingtalkingtalking* with various city government officials and trying to think of new and clever ways to tell them, “ha, yeah, no.” I take care of myself and I like to think that I look young for my age. If you need a celebrity-I-most-resemble for the film inside your head, I used to get Hope Davis a lot, but then Hope Davis played Hillary Clinton–OLD Hillary Clinton–so then I started insisting that they probably just meant to say Laura Linney instead.