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You have always wanted to sleep with an older woman. It's been a fantasy of yours since you were a teenager, and when you finally reached legal drinking age, you started prowling local lesbian bars hoping to hook up with some. You’ve had no luck so far, though. Most older women are put off by the age gap, but you have a good feeling about tonight.
You head to your favorite lesbian bar, stopping to present your ID to the staff out front. Despite being a regular, you still get carded every time. Perhaps it’s your height. The bar is fairly lively today. Women of various backgrounds and appearances mingle and flirt cheerfully. The atmosphere is relaxed and comfortable, you feel safe here. But you’re not here to mingle tonight. You’re here to hunt.
You sit and order a drink, a craft ale from some local brewery. Sipping it, you scan the room for a potential partner. You lock eyes with an older woman across the bar. Much older. She looks like she could even be in her fifties. Jackpot. She flashes a beckoning smile at you. She has bright white hair and dark skin, and she's wearing a purple-pink leather jacket over a black tank top and jeans. She's everything you ever wanted.
You walk over to her, trying not to look too nervous as you approach. You see her dark purple eyes look you over from head to toe. She seems satisfied with what she sees.
“Hi,” you say, “What’s your name?”
“Rose,” the woman says, “Rose Lalonde.”
“That’s a lovely name. My name is-”
“I’m going to be perfectly frank with you, I don't care about your name. I just finished with a lengthy and bitter divorce process and I'm just looking for some action. Would you like to come back to my place?”
You agree with palpable enthusiasm. It's the most excited you've been in some time.
Rose lives in a small, sparsely decorated studio apartment. It's dull but tidy. The furniture consists of a bed, a table with a single chair, empty but for a laptop, and a small bookcase. You notice several copies of the same book on it.
“Forgive the sparse furnishings,” she says. “Most of my things are still with my ex. She keeps promising to send them over but of course she’s always busy.” Rose laughs mockingly.
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma'am,” you say.
“Please, call me Rose.”
“I thought you didn't wanna do names?”
“I didn't want your name. You can say mine.”
“Okay.”
Rose giggles and wraps her arms around you. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren't you?” she says smiling, running fingers through your hair. She's shorter than you, and needs to stand on her toes when she plants a kiss on your lips. “You look just like her,” she whispers into your mouth.
You lean in to kiss her more deeply, letting your tongues meet. You keep your eyes open, and so does she. Her deep, lavender eyes gaze listlessly into yours, slathered in black eyeshadow that can't quite cover up her gentle but noticeable crow’s feet. She's so beautiful it hurts.
She pulls away from you. Says, “your technique leaves a lot to be desired. I might be able to help with that, assuming you're better at taking advice than my ex.”
“You sure bring her up a lot,” you say, hoping you masked your irritation successfully.
“Forgive me, the wound is still fresh. Not that I regret it, it was the best decision we ever made. But it was such a messy business.” She looks away, lost in thought, or perhaps working to bury an emotion.
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“Oh it's quite alright.” She runs her hands through your hair and cups your face. “You’ll take care of me, right?”
You kiss her again. Her mouth tastes like cheap vodka. You wrap your arms around her and hold her tight to yourself, feeling her warmth. Her eyes roll back and flutter closed as you run your tongue over hers.
She breaks away and begins kissing your neck, sucking and biting roughly at your skin. You moan from the pressure of it. She cups your breast in her hand and fondles you through your shirt. You gasp as she bites hard on your neck.
“Rose,” you whisper into her ear. She shudders with excitement.
She presses you to sit on the bed and kneels before you, undoing your belt and pulling your pants down. She lingers at the sight of your panties, looking hungry, but conflicted.
Suddenly she stands up and turns away from you with her face in her hands. “Oh what am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? You're young enough to be my daughter. This is wrong.” Her shoulders begin to shake.
Your irritation mounts. You were just getting into it and now she's getting cold feet all of a sudden? You stand up and walk over to her.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Rose continues. “I should be with her. I should be in her arms. I should be in her bed. I shouldn't be trying to fuck some kid. This is all her fault.”
You put your arm around her shoulder, and she relaxes slightly. “Hey, it's okay,” you say. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I’m happy to be here. I want this. I promise I really want this.”
She turns to you. Tears sting the corners of her beautiful eyes. “You mean it?” she asks.
“I mean it.” Truth be told, you just want her to stop crying and fuck you already.
She kisses you again, softly this time. Tears roll gently down her cheeks. You caress her head, whispering that it's okay between kisses. Slowly she calms down again, and wipes her tears. You stand there with her in your arms for a while, her head resting on your chest.
Finally, Rose says, tentatively, “Can you… Would you please spit in my mouth?”
You blink in confusion for a moment, taken aback by the brazenness of the request. Then you put your hand to Rose's chin and hold her face up to look at you. You gather some saliva in your mouth. Rose closes her eyes and holds her tongue out. You spit, letting the saliva dribble weakly onto her tongue. Rose takes it in, savors it, and swallows.
“Thank you,” she says.
This done, you begin to slip off her pink leather jacket, exposing her slim shoulders in her black tank top. You caress her shoulder with your lips, then bite down firmly. Rose shudders and moans into your ear.
You pull at her shirt, untucking it from her waistband and run your hands under it, feeling her skin, feeling her breasts, pinching at her hardening nipples. She tightens her arms around you. Her breath is shaking.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I need this.”
You grab her face by the cheeks and spit in her mouth again. She chokes on it a little and coughs. She tries to keep it subdued but it quickly grows into a fit. She doubles over, coughing into her closed fist, before gathering herself. “Sorry about that. I wasn't ready that time.”
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“I’m fine, I'm fine.” She smiles at you and rests her arms on your shoulders. “You’re amazing.”
“Thanks,” you say, flatly.
“I have another strange request,” Rose says, looking down, avoiding your eyes.
“What is it?”
“Can I call you mom?”
This hits you like a freight train. You thought if anything she'd want to call you by her ex's name. This might've been more than you bargained for.
“I’ve put you off, haven't I?” Rose says. “I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“No, it's fine,” you say. “I just wasn't expecting this. You're so much older than me. I should be calling you mom, if anything.”
“It would help.”
“You really want to that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, then. Call me whatever you like.” The things you do for pussy.
“Thank you, mom.”
You cringe internally at that, but keep it from showing outwardly. Rose looks pleased. Despite how weird it makes you feel, there is some satisfaction in the pleasure you bring her.
You unbuckle her belt and slip down her pants, exposing her purple panties. They have the same emblem of a ghost that her jacket does. Is this some brand you weren’t aware of? Did she get them custom made? They look strangely childish on her, wrapped around her aging skin. It endears her to you. Makes her less intimidating. You almost don’t want to take them off.
But you do, of course. You hook your thumbs under the fabric at her hips, pull the waistband with your index and middle fingers, and slowly slide them down her legs. She stands exposed before you. You press your lips first to her hairy mound above her dripping pussy. Her pubes tickle your face. She jitters adorably at your touch. Your hands wrap around her hips and grope her naked ass while you work your way down to her glistening lips. You press your tongue to the surface, tasting her sweat and wetness. She lets out a soft whimper.
You bring your fingers to her and spread her open, exposing her inner labia. You run your tongue along it and she jumps at the sensation. She is very sensitive. Your tongue reaches her clit. You feel her tense up as you press your tongue into it and begin to message it. With your other hand, you tease her pussy, running your fingers along the outer edge. She moans pathetically and drips onto the carpet.
You’re about to press a finger in when she says “wait.”
You pause and look up at her. Rose puts a hand on your head and pushes you from her crotch.
“I want to suck your tits while you finger me. Is that okay, mom?”
You wince visibly that time. It hasn’t gotten any less weird.
“Sure thing!” you say, giving an awkward thumbs up.
You sit on the bed and take off your shirt. Rose sits on your lap and begins fondling your breasts roughly. You let out an involuntary grunt as she squeezes them. She takes your hand and guides it down to her wet cunt. You rub it gently as she takes your nipple into her mouth and starts sucking hard. You push a finger into her.
She’s very aggressive about it. She sucks sharply, as if trying to get every last drop she can out of you. It hurts.
You put your finger to work, thrusting away until she loosens enough for you to push another one in.
Rose lets go of your nipple. To your surprise, you feel a drop of milk drip out from it. She actually got you lactating. “Am I a good girl, mom? Have I been good?” She looks up at you with eyes desperate and pleading. There’s genuine hurt in them.
“Yes, of course, Rose. You’ve been a very good girl.” You thrust another finger into her and caress the back of her head. “A very, very good girl.”
Tears form in her eyes. She takes your nipple again. She sucks unsteadily between moans, and writhes at your aggressive fingering. Her hips instinctively buck away from the intense feeling but you stay on her and keep up the pressure.
Her lips let go of your nipple and she starts moaning loudly into your breast.
“Mom!” she yells. “Mom, I’m close.”
“Good,” you say. “Good girl.”
She wraps her arms around you and practically screams as she convulses in orgasm. She clenches around your fingers, coating them in hot, wet cum.
She stays like that for a long time, panting in your arms. She twitches as you pull out of her. You hold your hand up and admire the glistening clear fluid dripping from your fingers.
You lay with Rose under the covers, arms wrapped around each other, bodies pressed together. There’s comfort in her warmth.
You feel her start to tremble. She’s crying. She pulls you in tighter, and you feel her tears and snot wetting your bare chest. She sobs into you for what must be close to an hour before she finally stops and falls asleep. When you’re sure she won’t wake up, you slowly pull away from her and get out of bed.
You’ve dressed yourself discreetly and are about to walk out the front door when you hear her stir behind you.
“You know, if you want to leave, you can just say so. I know you have no further business with me.”
“Sorry,” you say. “I have to get home. I- uhh…”
“Spare me the excuses, I said it’s fine.” Rose shuffles out of bed and walks naked over to her bookshelf. “Before you go, though, allow me to grant you a little parting gift.”
She comes over to you and hands you a cheap feeling paperback, The Complacency of the Learned . It looks like some kind of hackneyed fantasy novel. You spot her name on the cover. You turn it over and look inside the back cover. There’s a black and white photo of her, posing in a dark turtleneck, looking contemplatively out of an open window. She’s wearing fashionable glasses.
“Give it a read,” she says, smiling at you. “You won’t regret it, trust me. And if you enjoy it, please leave a good review online. It helps a lot!”
You smile awkwardly at her and nod. You say nothing further in your rush to get out.
It’s raining outside when you emerge onto the street. You glance down at the book again.
Then, you drop it into a nearby trashcan and walk briskly down the dark street.