Ladies ...

I'm 50 years old and married. Things aren't what they once were at home. Passions fade. Time and entropy take their toll. And we end up domestic roommates.

I'm seeking extramarital intimacy. Discretion is appreciated and ensured.

I'm an attractive guy, white, very tall, slender. I'm clean cut, Irish heritage, good hair, nice eyes.

I live in Delaware County, close to the Philadelphia border, just outside of Havertown.

I'm looking for a woman who truly appreciates a proper pussy worshiping. It's what I love to do. It's what gives me the greatest pleasure. It's my passion.

Reciprocation isn't necessary. I'd rather focus on your pleasure.

For example:

A woman I worked with years ago used to wear thigh-high black stockings with a short skirt. We were staying in the same hotel that week. And when she sat next to me at the bar one night, she told me that she caught me admiring her outfit.

"Guilty as charged," I said. "And I hope I wasn't leering. I try to avoid that."

"You weren't leering at all," she replied, followed by, "Are you a leg man?"

"I'm an inner thigh man," I admitted.

After a moment or two of quality banter, she invited me up to her room. She pulled the office chair out from under the desk area, sat down, smiled at me, gestured to the floor in front of her and said, "Sit here."

I obliged. The position put me eye level with her thighs, which she then parted. The hem of her skirt fell between her thighs to obscure a more intimate view.

She scooted forward on the chair, leaned back a little, then rolled forward until my head was between her inner thighs and my face was perhaps 12 inches from the obscured region I couldn't take my eyes off of.

She brought her thighs together and held my head in place. She tangled her fingers in my thick thatch of curly brown hair, tilted my head upward to face her, then smiled at me.

With one hand, she pulled the hem of her skirt out of the way to reveal herself - a curly tuft of black hair above her lovely labia - then returned her hand to my hair.

She parted her thighs ever so slightly, scooted forward in the chair a little more and rolled the chair a little closer. My nose was inches from her labia. Her scent filled my soul.

"Please me," she said. And as she pulled my face into her, my face slowly parted her glistening labia.

I savored her. I teased and tasted her. I reveled in her wetness, the scent of her desire, the texture of her labia, the feel of her clitoris, the depth of her sex. She undulated against my face, now glazed by her dampness.

As she approached orgasm, her undulations became more urgent. She said, "Follow me," then in a graceful, fluid move, guided my head backwards, lifted herself from the chair, eased my head onto the floor and straddled my face. Her skirt covered my head. My universe was her soft, sensual core. And she began gliding back and forth across my face. The sound of her moistened labia sliding across my chin, my lips, my tongue and my nose a delightful, erotic accompaniment to the sound of her quickening sighs.

When she climaxed, she brought her thighs together, straightened, arched her back and let out a passionate cry of delight. She was literally dripping with pleasure. My face was buried in her satisfaction. And she pulsed and quivered and clutched for a few moments before she released me.

She slid back, slowly, Her skirt uncovered a smiling, gleeful face covered with her pleasure.

She smiled again and said, "You did well."

And now, I want to do that again.

Write if you'd like to know a little more about me.