A Five Star Weekend with Melody

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I was for many years an inveterate skirt chaser. Looking back, I think I enjoyed the chase more than the fuck that inevitably came as a result. More often then not, I ‘got lucky’ when I wasn’t really looking very hard. All too often, trolling around looking to get laid ended in disappointment.

As my divorce was getting finalized, I would often have my kids and they loved to play with the children of one of my wife’s friends, a recently divorced young professional named Melody. Melody was in her late 20’s or early 30’s and was a Morgan Fairchild type blond with a smile that could light up a room, fantastic legs and a butt made in heaven. She was a runner and in fantastic condition. I once gave her a ride home during a downpour as she was out on her daily run, and her drenched running shorts and tee shirt created an instant reaction between my legs.

Her husband had left her for a girl that worked for him, and I never thought he had made a very good trade. On the other hand, trying to understand other couples and their relationships is a lost cause. I had first seen her at a kid’s birthday party, and often saw her running in her nylon running shorts and tight tee in our quiet neighborhood. I actually danced with her at a New Years’ eve party and shared a light kiss at midnight. We were mildly flirtatious but she was my wife’s friend and we were a close knit and gossip ridden neighborhood.

I’m sure she sided with my wife over the divorce but unlike many of the neighborhood wives, she was never rude to me, but certainly a little detached. Toward the end of my married life, she was dating and would often stop by to chat with my wife, sometimes with that freshly fucked look and smell. After the divorce, my wife and I both moved; my ex moved about 100 miles away and I moved to a small house barely a mile from the old neighborhood.

Melody wasn’t enjoying the dating scene. She looked better than ever, had always been a head turner, and attracted doctors and such looking for a trophy wife—which she began to realize was not what she wanted. More and more she came to understand that being a trophy was at the core of the demise of her first marriage. When my kids were with me, they would often spend time at her house and vice versa. There were never any sparks, but as time passed, we became more cordial as my divorce faded into the background.

We were on the same kid schedule in terms of which parents has the kids this when. I always felt that had we not lived in the same neighborhood and had I not been married to a, ‘friend’ something would have happened; there was always an underlying, smoldering attraction that had never gone past that New Years’ Eve kiss. A divorced woman living in a young family neighborhood begins to become less intimate with the wives in that neighborhood, particularly when she is several levels hotter than the others and all the young husbands are stealing looks at her finely sculpted young body. It began very innocently.

I went over to pick up my kids who were showering and cleaning up after an afternoon in Melody’s pool. She was doing some paperwork at the kitchen table when I arrived. I knocked on the screen door and she shouted for me to come in, I had called a few minutes earlier, and she told me the kids would be ready to go shortly. She was wearing those hot clinging running shorts and the tight tee she so often wore and I couldn’t help stealing a glance at those long, smooth, well tanned legs. Women always know when you are checking them out; I’d learned that over and over, but couldn’t help myself.

She smiled broadly, the old Melody smile; she offered me a beer. We moved to the family room. I sat on an overstuffed chair and she plopped down on the sofa, all legs and smooth, feminine, well sculpted muscles. No bra, I quickly noted and she was still young enough not to really need one. Tousled, sun bleached blond hair, wide set piercing blue eyes, that Julia Roberts smile; with not a hint of makeup, bare feet and that tight runner’s body, she was the vision of stunning young womanhood.

“Divorce sucks, doesn’t it?” She laughed.

“It’s a real bitch.” I replied.

“Everyone in the neighborhood always thought you and Pam were the perfect couple. As other marriages started to fall apart, no one could imagine yours would.” She said.

“It really didn’t happen overnight, never does, but you know that.” I responded.

“Dating again really sucks.” She said.

“I couldn’t agree more; there seems to be a lot more nutty singles out there than I remember.” We could hear the kids giggling and moving toward the front of the house.

“Let’s get together some night for dinner or a drink and compare notes.” I said, in a manner that I hoped didn’t sound like I was hitting on her or asking for a date.

“Let’s do that.” She responded, almost seriously. “I don’t go anywhere during the week; work has me pretty exhausted by the time I get home. “Remember Sadies? They have a great Saturday breakfast and a killer canlı bahis şirketleri bloody Mary. How about breakfast next Saturday?”

Breakfast. Okay. I had been thinking about dinner and a little close dancing, but breakfast was certainly a place to start.

“We’re both early risers, as I remember, mind picking me up around 7:30?” She said.

I agreed. My kids came out and we headed off to do what divorced fathers and their kids do on those weekends. They would be going back to their mother that evening.

Sadie’s was a very casual beachy kind of place just a few miles down the road. It was just breakfast. There was not a chance in hell that we were going to just jump in the sack. I was absolutely not going to get in this tight young blonde’s pants…but I thought about the delights in those hot little pants all week.

I picked Melody up for breakfast a little before 7:30 the following Saturday. She had already been out on her morning run, had just showered and had let her hair air dry, but having astounding hair, it always looked as if she had worked for hours to get that look. She was wearing a short—very short—khaki skirt, no hose, sandals and a tee, no bra, as usual. No jewelry, no makeup, air dried hair, no perfume, just fresh scrubbed and gorgeous.

At breakfast it was incredibly relaxed. She shared some funny anecdotes about some of the bozos she had been dating, I did the same. She kidded me about one particular bimbo she had seen me with at another local beach restaurant, I chided her about a doctor, who I happened to know, who had taken her to some charity event.

“So, do you have big plans this weekend?” She asked.

“Our breakfast together was the high point.” I quietly replied.

She blushed a little, something I’d never seen her do. “Same here.” She softly responded. “Do you want to go for a drive before we both get so blitzed on these bloodies that we have to call a taxi?”

“Where to?” I asked.

“Let’s just take the coast highway and see were we end up.” She responded

I had recently bought a rag top, not a sports car, really, just one of those sporty mid sized convertibles that come back into fashion every few years. I paid the bill and we headed south. It was a gorgeous spring day, warm but not to hot. The road we chose ran through a series of beach towns, then opened up into a more pristine setting, but never losing sight of the water. We stopped once at a beach known for great shelling and collected some samples. We removed our shoes and walked in the surf. We talked a lot, mostly about the future and what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives. She had a great job and clearly was looking for a man to spend the rest of her life with who was not part of corporate America but wouldn’t be threatened by her six figure earning power.

A school teacher, she thought. She had once been one. A guy with lots of time and a love for kids. Maybe another kid or two. Someone who wasn’t blown away by her trophy looks. Someone who would just love and understand her and bring her back to earth when she came home from the corporate battle grounds. She knew that wasn’t me, hell I was deeply immersed in that corporate shit, hated it much of the time, but was addicted to the dollars.

I told her that I didn’t see more kids, but I wasn’t totally against it. I also said I wasn’t ready for marriage again at that moment. We were both intense, hard chargers and laughed that while that might be great in the bedroom, we both needed a partner that would bring us back down to earth on a daily basis.

Neither of us was sizing the other up as a potential life partner, we knew that. As we became more open, the conversation turned to sex. I suggested that I was sick of women using sex as a tool, or mistaking it for love or romance, tired of dating divorced or single women attempting to use their pussies to bag a husband.

She replied that she found it irritatingly amusing that men she had dated wanted to put her on a pedestal, were almost tentative when it came to fucking, as if her body and pussy were some sort of holy temple.

“It’s like they’re afraid I’ll break. I’m just looking for a guy who very regularly throws me on the bed and fucks me lustily, but then doesn’t get caught up in this trophy shit in public. I feel as if I’m being displayed as the latest scientific achievement. I want to be respected and loved, not treated like a prize game fish.” She chuckled. “Don’t be in awe of me, but don’t try to treat me like crap, either. Love me, love my kids, treat me as an equal and fuck my brains out on a regular basis.”

Somehow, our talk got even more explicit, but not suggestive. It was almost like a couple of buddies.

“I am absolutely amazed at how many guys haven’t got a clue when it comes to going down on a woman.” She stated. This was getting interesting.

“I can’t understand how some of these jerk doctors I’ve dated got through freshman anatomy. It’s as if they learned to canlı kaçak iddaa muff dive from, ‘Muff Diving for Dummies’. I love to have my little cunt eaten, but it’s not an ice cream cone and we’re not removing the old finish from a piece of furniture.”

“Well, most of the women I’ve gone out with couldn’t give a decent blow job if their life depended on it. They take the term, ‘sucking cock’ literally…and the teeth…” I trailed off.

“Giving good head is an art form.” She coyly responded. “But I do not enjoy having my mouth fucked. It’s gotten so bad that I had to tell one guy, ‘Look, don’t fuck up a perfectly good blow job. Don’t thrust into my mouth, don’t push my head down on your cock, just lie there, perfectly still and let me suck you dick, and for God’s sake, don’t tell me when you’re getting ready to cum, I’ll know and you interjection will spoil the moment.’ The last guy I did that to, in spite of the fact that I absolutely know it was the best BJ he’d ever gotten, never asked me out again. I guess I was too, ‘forward’ for him. I also can’t stand a man who thinks it sexy to shove his friggen’ dry finger up my butt. I like a little anal play as much as the next girl, but for Christ’s sake!”

“I had a young lady do that to me a few weeks ago, and it just killed the mood, and my hard on.” I responded, laughing.

” I like my breasts stroked, bottom up not top down, softly, lovingly, cup them, nuzzle them, not too long, but I don’t like to have them mauled, I hate having my nipples pinched—they’re very sensitive—and please, stop sucking them as if you didn’t get enough breast feeding as a baby! I love to kiss. I want a man to kiss every inch of my body. There is nothing sexier than having a man move his mouth, teasingly, slowly down my body, ending up you know where and actually making love to my, ‘nether’ region, not trying to remove my, ah, pubic hair. And why do so many guys I date instantly want to get a finger in my snatch, and then demonstrate their best bowling grip?”

I laughed so hard at that one I almost fell down. “So many women I’ve known want you to cum, quickly, as if they want to get this nastiness over with so we can make wedding plans. And a few have no idea how sensitive a man’s cock—and particularly his nuts—are. I needed an ice bag after one such encounter. Fucking, the actual act of penetration, is great, but it’s all that touching, smelling and anticipating that makes the whole thing so special. “

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but how was your sex life with Pam? I mean she always used to drop little hints that there weren’t any problems in that department and that you both fucked a lot.”

“It was fine. We had a decent sex life. Her pussy was sweet, I could always make her cum, we got more adventurous as years went on, a little light bondage, a little spanking, anal in the latter years, which she really enjoyed, I know, because she always came with me in her ass, but she would never admit it. She never really gave very good head; her mouth was small, her teeth got in the way and she just never really got into it, never lost the gag reflex. Pammy always wanted to be an actress. She had several personas and I was pretty sure none of them were real. Two things killed out marriage, first, I grew, and she didn’t. At 30, she did things that were really cute to me when she was 20, but irritated the hell out of me ten years later. I did things that pissed her off, but she just kept them inside. Secondly, and I know this sound like pop psychology, but she never resolved her intimacy problems with her parents. We could have hot, outrageous sex, but it was as if she was on stage, and in the end there just wasn’t the warmth, the intimacy I craved. I started fooling around, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized it wasn’t sex I was looking for, it was intimacy. She never got it. She thought if I just fuck him a couple of times a day, he’ll love me. How about you and Don?”

“Painfully similar. Don could always get it up. I taught him to lick pussy to my satisfaction. I dragged him into some more adventurous activities in the final years, but I think anal repulsed him. He wouldn’t kiss me if my mouth was sticky with his spunk. He rinsed his mouth after going down on me, and never did an ATM, and didn’t enjoy me rimming his ass. He’d stay hard and fuck me. I’d usually cum, but it was if he was going through the motions. I have no idea what that little slut he married brought out in him, but I’m a reasonably attractive, sexy woman with a pretty strong libido and more and more, he seemed to need a couple of drinks to get interested and I was always the one initiating the action. It was as if he was doing his duty and looking back, I don’t think there was ever a hint of intimacy in our entire marriage, and he would stiffen whenever I would hug him in public. He had some mother problems. His mom still runs his life. I can’t remember how we ever became a couple.”

We got back in the car, ending up canlı kaçak bahis an hour or so later at a coastal island resort area which was just on the edge of off season, so pretty deserted. We both remembered that they made outstanding Pina coladas, completely from scratch and decided we needed a couple. We settled into a small table overlooking the ocean, only one other couple was in the bar, and the bar tender walked over to take our order. We raved about the Coladas we had had there, and he indicated they were as good as ever. He asked if we were staying at the hotel, I guess assuming that we would put the drinks on our room tab.

Melody chucked, and replied. “I wish, but last time I checked you guys get $300 a night for a beach front room!”

“Folks, as you can see from the beach and the bar, this is the first serious off-season weekend. I know the manager would be please to have an attractive young couple such as yourselves stay with us, would you like me to check?” He asked.

Before I could answer, Melody chimed in. “Sure, what the hell, why not. ‘You up for it, Jim”? I nodded.

The bar tender disappeared, and Melody said. “You said you didn’t have plans. We can pick up whatever toiletries we need on the strip, and they have some great beachy clothing stores within walking distance. It’ll be fun. If, ‘something happens’, so be it. If it doesn’t and we just have a good time for the next couple of days enjoying the surf, the beach and the excellent food down here, that’s okay, too, isn’t it?”

“It sounds like fun.” I replied, hoping in my heart that something would happen.

The bartender returned. “As I expected we do have a special rate. It’s $99 a night, includes breakfast and would be in one of our best ocean front rooms, and you can stay as late as you like on Sunday. If you want to just fill out this registration card, and give me a credit card, I’ll take care of it and retrieve your keys.”

I started to scribble our names on the card, and as I paused at the name section, Melody again chimed in.

Reaching over to cover my hand she said. “Forget your new wife’s name already dear?”

So I registered us as Melody and Jim and my last name, since that was what was on the credit card.

“Let’s go buy some stuff.” Said Melody. And we started to walk down to the little shopping village. Shopping was fun. She wanted me to get some things first, helping me pick out a bathing suit, shorts, and some linen trousers with a nice shirt. Next we went to a swim shop, where she modeled bathing suits, including a two piece thong number that hardly hid her gorgeous tits and left her stunning ass completely exposed. She chose several, all designed to display her treasures at their finest. She bought some shorts and midriff revealing tops, and finally, a dressier, but stunning sun dress that clearly said, ‘nothing to hide’. She bought no underwear, or bras.

“Who needs ’em? You won’t tell anybody, will you.? I didn’t think so.” She playful stated.

Finally we went into a little drug store. We picked up hygiene essentials, toothpaste, floss and tooth brushes. We went down the condom aisle. She commented. “We don’t need these, no matter, ‘what happens’, do we?”

“I hate ’em.” I replied.

“But we might need this, never know.” She devilishly commented as she picked up a brand name, high end lubricant and a bottle of massage oil.

Then some sun screen, back for razors and cream, Q-Tips, and we figured we were done. She ran back for a three pack of Fleets disposable oil enemas and slapped them down on the counter.

“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” She smirked.

Back to the hotel with our trophies. The room was astounding. Neither of us thought this was the standard $300, room. It was huge. A gigantic California King, gas fireplace, massive walk in shower, second sitting room and, in that room, overlooking the ocean, a hot tub, already filled, heated and bubbling, that would be very comfortable for two, and had all the latest gadgets. A chilled pitcher of our favorite tropical confection with some tea sandwiches.

We hung up our clothes, arranged our toiletries in the bathroom and she proceeded to crank up the shower, which actually had several separate shower heads and a hand held massager.

“Jim, I’m thinking a couple more drinks in the hot tub. I’ve done enough beach walking for a while and need to get rid of the sand, and probably have had enough sun. We’ve been so absolutely candid and open with each other, let’s not spoil it now. Get naked, get your butt in here and let’s make, ‘something happen’ like we both know we need to.”

And with that she had peeled off her top, skinned out of her shorts and panties, the last she would wear that weekend, kicked off her sandals and walked into the shower streams. I followed suit in a two second.

It was lust, but somehow tender lust. We washed each other from head to toe; washed each others hair. Here was a delightful, bright young woman who had already told me exactly what she liked, and I had told her of my desires. I stepped out and grabbed the massage oil and we oiled each others bodies. I cradled her pussy with my palm, softly nuzzled her breasts, kissed her eye lids, gently licked her ear lobes.

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