Bowling Night

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Perhaps one of the most sensual and erotic experiences I ever had occurred nearly twenty years ago now. But the memory of it remains with me to this day.

Back then I worked with a woman named Lucille. I was in my early thirty’s at that time, and Lucille was some twenty or so years older than I was. But the age difference hardly mattered between us, we got along famously, and I looked forward to seeing and working with her on a daily basis. At first there was nothing at all sexual even mentioned between us, she had a very ‘rigid’ upbringing, and things of that nature weren’t easily discussed amongst coworkers anyway, especially between us. But as our friendship grew, I learned more and more of Lucille’s personal life, and for her, it had been a very difficult one. We had worked together for several years before we’d even gotten to a ‘familiar’ personal working level, but as Lucille was easy to talk to, and sometimes even to confide in, we grew even closer and eventually began to share with one another things that were occurring in our lives outside of the workplace.

Our Company sponsored a weekly Bowling League, and I had signed on to bowl, as had Lucille, which surprised me a little bit. But I soon after learned from her, that it was basically her one and only night away from the ‘boring’ and uneventful life that she was leading at home after work. So for her, it was an outlet and gave her something to look forward to each week. As it turned out, she and I ended up on the same team so that made it equally special for both of us, it was a way to further continue our association and friendship away from work.

Lucille was a tall woman, just over six feet. And though she certainly didn’t have all the curves in all the right places anymore, she was a very attractive mature looking woman, and still had (though of course I hadn’t seen) fairly large full breasts. On the rare occasion she actually wore something that even hinted at a bit of cleavage, I found myself more than admiring that tantalizing sweet bit of flesh that was seen.

The place where we bowled at had an underground parking garage. Nearly everyone parked in the lot just outside the front entrance, but a few of us used the garage. I did, primarily because I had a fairly new car, and it kept down the incidental ‘dings’ from occurring in my doors. Lucille also preferred parking in the garage, as she didn’t care to have to walk out to her car later on in the evening after it had gotten dark.

There were a few spots in the parking lot, which weren’t very well lit. However, as I has teased her, there were also a few spots in the garage which had lights out that hadn’t been replaced either, but she nearly always managed to park close to the door anyway, so a poorly lit basement garage didn’t really bother her any.

We’d been bowling for several weeks already when on one particular night I knew by Lucille’s overall attitude that something was bothering her. She wouldn’t talk to me about it however, so we continued to bowl, but I knew that something was wrong, as she wasn’t her same old normal self. My suspicions were confirmed when we as a group, always went into the bar for a few drinks afterwards, announced that she was going home early instead. I stayed long enough for one drink myself, but as it just didn’t feel the same without Lucille there amongst us, I soon decided to make an early night of it too. I walked down the stairway to the garage and immediately noticed that Lucille’s car was still there, and oddly enough that she had parked in one of the few areas where the lights hadn’t been replaced, throwing a great deal of shadow over where her car was sitting. I immediately grew concerned as this was rather odd, and immediately went to her car and tapped on the passenger side window. It was obvious she had been crying, but upon seeing me, her face brightened a little and she reached over unlocking the door so I could get in.

“Lucille, what’s wrong?” I asked slipping into the passenger seat, closing the door.

She just shook her head, though thankfully the tears had finally stopped. I waited patiently sitting beside her there on the front seat of her car, knowing that ‘if’ and when she was able to, she’d tell me what it was that was bothering her. After a considerable amount of time, she finally did.

“Brad, I really hate to burden you with my problems, but honestly, I don’t have anyone I can even possibly imagine talking to about this. Certainly no one in my family would understand, and would no doubt be ‘shocked’ if I even told them. I’m not even sure I can honestly talk to you about any of this either without totally embarrassing myself, but if I don’t talk to someone, I think I’ll end up going crazy!”

She’d certainly said a mouthful, but it was evident that if it was important enough to actually sit and wait for me, which is what she’d obviously decided to do, then I was more than willing to listen, and I told her so.

“Just promise me you’ll listen without saying anything, without passing judgment on me because I’m Escort Kız probably going to say some things that might surprise you. And worse, if you interrupt or stop me before I’m finished, I might not be able to even look at you again let alone finish what I want to say to you.”

“Ok Lucille, I promise.”

Lucille relaxed somewhat having heard that, and settled back in her seat though she no longer looked at me. Closing her eyes, she began.

“You already know a little bit about my ‘life’ at home, but what we’ve never discussed really is the sexual part of it as well. And this is what I guess is finally starting to get to me. I’ve been married now for thirty years. Our Anniversary was last weekend, and to celebrate it, I ended up cooking dinner like it was any other night of the week. My husband bought me what he thought was a sexy nightgown, but to me looked “Whorey” and completely out of character for anything I’d enjoy having or even wearing. Now don’t get me wrong Brad, I consider myself to be a very sexual woman, and to be honest, I’ve done things I’d be too embarrassed to even admit to you that I’ve done. But, as hard as I have tried to be the wife, woman, lover that my husband has wanted me to be, it’s the way he treats me when ‘he’ wants sex that I find degrading and totally unacceptable anymore. Needless to say, I refused to wear his ‘fuck-gown’ as he called it and we ended up fighting on our Anniversary instead of doing anything else.”

I continued to sit there listening to her. I had certainly known that her marriage wasn’t perfect, after all, who’s was really? Even mine was on a roller coaster of good and bad days it seemed like lately, but I had no idea how difficult a time it truly had been for her either. And one ‘big’ thing, in all the time we’d worked together, I had never heard Lucille say anything harsher than damn or hell the whole time we’d known one another, so hearing her use the word ‘fuck’ even if it was in a description of something, she had always previously said “The ‘F’ word, and not even that unless it was absolutely necessary to whatever was being discussed. Obviously, this was another one of those very rare moments when she knew that actually saying the word would have more impact and underline the seriousness of the situation for me.

Although I remained completely silent except for the brief and occasional “Uh huhs”, just to let her know I was really listening, Lucille still refused to look at me, for the most part keeping her eyes closed though she did open them on occasion staring out the front windshield of the car as though she could see whatever it was she was trying to tell me about as though it were actually happening all over again.

I knew that it was hard for her to even be sharing with me the things she was, Lucille was revealing to me a part of her that she hadn’t obviously shared or discussed with anyone. So I continued to sit silently, listening and waiting for the time, if one even came, where I would or even could offer any advice, or at the very least, offer sympathy if nothing else.

Once again she ‘warned’ me, told me that if anything she was telling me made me uncomfortable, to just say so, and she’d stop. I of course, wasn’t about to, regardless of anything she said.

“I know that this may shock you Brad, but in all the years we’ve been married, I’ve never had an orgasm with him when we’ve had sex. It certainly feels good yes, but ‘he’, ‘it’ doesn’t last long enough for me, and frankly, he doesn’t seem to care if I ever have or haven’t either! The only time I’ve been able to is when I’ve touched myself.”

This revelation, for that’s truly what it was, didn’t surprise me so much that this is what she’d been dealing with, more than I was honestly surprised, yet also flattered in a way that she could actually come right out and tell me all this as candidly as she had, though again, she still hadn’t looked in my direction and I knew she was fighting off the tears which would have begun pouring down her face had she done so.

“What about oral sex?” I managed to ask just as candidly as she’d been doing. We were after all beyond the point of no return here if we were going to speak frankly and honestly about her home life situation.

“And that’s another story altogether! I’ve ‘done’ him. But he’s never reciprocated to me. Say’s that a ‘man’ shouldn’t have to do something like that to please a woman, and that only dykes and queer-boys would do things like that.”

Even I had to laugh at that one, from what I was hearing her husband was one of the “old” boys in a very old fashioned way of thinking. But unfortunately, they did exist, and she was obviously married to one.

“I actually enjoy oral sex, I mean doing it for him. But it’s something I’ve never personally experienced myself, and I am now getting to the point where I resent that fact, and because of it, refused to do it to him ever again unless he did. All I got from him out of that one was a total lack of interest either way. And that confused me, as well as hurt me. I began to wonder if I was even a very sexual woman, even attractive to him any more, or any other man for that matter!”

I still wasn’t sure what if anything I could say or do that would help, short of telling her to get a divorce or something and find herself another husband, but she’d already indicated that divorce was out of the question because of her family and so called friends, that she’d be ostracized if she even attempted to do anything like this.

“So why don’t you have an affair then?” I told her. Not fully realizing that for her, this was something someone couldn’t simply run and out do.

“I’ve thought about that. You have no idea how often! But there isn’t anyone I know, or have met who I’d even consider doing something like that with.”

For the first time Lucille turned and looked directly towards me, “Until lately,” She let that last comment hang there in the air for a moment, letting it sink in. “Brad,” she began softly, slowly, “I’ve really struggled with even telling you about any of this. After all, I’m considerably older than you are, and I certainly know I’m no spring chicken either. I worried and fretted over even discussing half of this with you because you’re about the only real friend I have that I could dare discuss any of this with in the first place. The more I thought about at least sharing some of this stuff with you, the more I thought about wanting to be with you as well. And so that’s what’s been bothering me more than anything the past few days, even more so than my feelings and situation with my own husband. Then, tonight at bowling, it all just seemed to come crashing down on me, and I decided to tell you what I was feeling and to hell with anything else. So, now that I’ve told you, are you shocked? Do you hate me? What?”

I answered her by sliding over to sit by her, and kissed her all in one sudden surprising motion. Lucille and I kissed and intertwined our tongues inside one another’s mouths for an incredibly long period of time. I’m not even sure how long it was that we simply did this, but at one point, I felt her hand on mine, and felt it as she lifted it up to place it upon one of those marvelous full breasts of hers. I know she was nervous about sitting here in the garage in the event someone we might know would come down and find us. There were few cars however, and none that I knew of belonging to anyone we worked with. I told her to keep an eye on the door to the garage and to alert me if anyone opened it. I know she was wondering what it was I was suggesting and why, but then as I bent to undo the buttons on her blouse, she finally understood.

Though I certainly wasn’t about to remove her blouse, especially under the circumstances, just seeing her bra-clad breasts showing more cleavage now than I had ever seen before had me stiffening in a hurry, though I certainly wasn’t about to share that with her either. After I had finished undoing her blouse, Lucille leaned forward un-tucking it from her pants, then reached around and beneath her blouse, undoing her bra herself.

Lucille may have been in her early to mid fifty’s, but the moment her bra fell away completely exposing those full mature looking breasts, all I could do was sit there and stare at them for a moment, disbelief I am sure clearly etched in my face that I was actually looking at her marvelous tits for the very first time.

“Touch me, please Brad, touch me,” she whispered softly. I did. Cupping each of them within my hands, I hefted them upwards, they were heavy and full, yet soft, pliant and warm to the touch as I continued to sit there kneading her flesh like a contented kitten. Even when I released them momentarily, I was just as content to continue to look at them, the way they rested against her chest so sensuously, the full rounded curvature of each, and though certainly not ‘perky’, though I couldn’t imagine them ever having been so in the first place for as large as they both were, but they still maintained a gentle upwards sloping, gathering towards the still firm, very hard erect little points that became her nipples.

Even these were a simple treasure all by themselves. Lucille’s nipples were a true rosy-red in color, areola no larger than dollar sized perhaps, but capped by two of the thickest, hardest little tit-nips I’d ever seen! For the briefest of moments, I could see in her face that she was becoming self-conscious about them, a slight flush spreading across her face that I could still see even in the shadowed light we were sitting in. Before she could cover them with her hands, which I realized at once that she was about to do, I leaned forward, capturing one of those delicious protrusions with my lips, my hand and fingers likewise reclaiming the other.

I heard her moan, felt her hands suddenly pressing against my head, her fingers all but digging into my scalp as I first suckled one tit, then the other, alternating back and forth between them, by hands, fingers doing the same whenever I traded off. I heard her moan even deeper then, and went from gently sucking her, to tonguing her hard little points with my tongue, flicking them rapidly back and forth, once again trading, exchanging the sensation from fast to slow and back again.

“Oh my God, your tongue,” she groaned, moaning the words even as she spoke them, breathless, excited, aroused beyond imagining. “Is that…is that how you lick a woman’s…a woman’s…” “Cunt?” I said mouthing her nipple, sucking it even as I spoke the obscene word. And don’t tell me how or why I chose to say that instead of pussy, or twat, or even vagina. She needed to hear the word, needed to hear it being used, said, lovingly, excitedly, needfully. Lucille needed to hear my own lust, my own desire for her in its use; no other word or description at that particular moment would have accomplished doing that.

“Yes. Cunt!” She gasped, hearing as she spoke, her own wanton need and desire, letting the heat of her excitement freeing herself enough to say it, and say it without self recrimination in having done so. “Cunt,” she spoke saying it again, though more softly letting the word melt inside her mouth like a heavenly treat being tasted for the first time.

“Though I like saying pussy too,” I told her. “I like the way it sounds, like something sweet, tasty, delicious.”

“Oh yes, pussy,” she said, letting the word roll off the tip of her tongue as though her nipple had suddenly become her pussy, and that I was licking it instead of her nipple.

“I wish I was doing this…” as I flicked her nipple with my tongue, “to your pussy Lucille.”

Her breasts as I said, so soft, so pliant, as I now cupped one with two hands, I held, not quite pinching two tiny folds of flesh near her nipple, forcing it if anything to harden even more fully than it already was, extending itself outwards towards me. “If this was your clit,” I told her, once again flicking that hard little nubbin, still firmly holding the surrounding flesh of her breast in my hands, between my fingers as though they were the very folds of her puffy swollen labia themselves. I sucked her again, softly, pulling on her tit with my mouth, holding it there, and then rolling it with my tongue as she moaned audibly, loudly into my ear as she bent her head next to mine.

Suddenly I felt her hands on me, pushing me away from her. I thought momentarily I had gone too far, said or done too much and had frightened her back into some senseless guilty reality.

“I know I told you I had never experienced that,” she hesitated, her breath still raspy as she fought for control. “But I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Shh,” I said placing the tip of my finger to her lips. “Right now, there’s nothing in the world that I want to do more,” I said simply.

I looked around the garage; it would be safe enough with one or two minor adjustments. I didn’t dare suggest going anyplace else. Number one, I didn’t happen to know of any place at the moment that we could go. And number two, I was afraid if we postponed this moment in time, we would never gain it back again. Lucille was fragile, vulnerable, if I ruined the moment, the mood, I knew it could cause her a great deal of suffering and grief afterwards if this deteriorated into something less than magical for her. Even if we’d postponed it opting for a more comfortable setting, I somehow sensed that Lucille would convince herself it was wrong, that it was something she was asking, forcing me to do something I might otherwise not have wanted to do.

We were already taking a risk here as it was. Our mutual excitement, the element of danger that had intensified that, coupled with the sudden lack of inhibitions she was now showing wasn’t something I wanted to chance losing again.

Lucille drove a fairly expensive wide-bodied car with a very large and comfy looking back seat. “Get in the back,” I told her, almost demanding rather than asking her as I didn’t want any fear or hesitation getting in the way. She opened her driver side door, looking quickly about as she did, then opened the door behind her slipping in quickly as the overhead light came on revealing her disheveled appearance momentarily. As she had done this, I had slid over into the driver’ seat, started the car then backed it out of the parking spot she was in. Down at the far end there were few if any other cars, this particular area even darker than where we were now as the cement wall in the corner of the garage shut out any additional light from outside. Backing the car in rather than pulling it forward, gave us additional security, privacy and forewarning should anyone approach.

And though all of this took only a few precious moments, I worried that while doing so, Lucille would indeed begin to have second thoughts, reservations about what the two of us were about to do, not to mention of where we were about to do it. Satisfied how I had parked the car, I glanced into the back seat expecting to see her. Not until I actually looked over the seat itself and saw her lying there did I realize that she had completely removed her clothing, using both her blouse and skirt as a pillow now, which she had folded up and placed behind her head.

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