The first time I remember showing my cock off I was in 8th grade and I decided to show it off to some of my classmates while we were on a day trip to celebrate graduation. Did I get into some trouble with the mom chaperones, but oddly they didn’t rat me out. I guess the “catholic guilty” of the late 80s was enough to straighten me out, they figured. Of course, a couple of my other classmates were a little interested now that they heard what I possessed inside the pants. I never did show out of fear of being in big trouble at home and in school. Eventually, the fuss over what was inside subsided, and life returned to normal as it could get for an awkward teenage boy with a hyperactive sex drive.

As the years went by and I moved out of state, life continued to be rather average. I had a few crushes and danced with a few girls to the point where I got aroused. A few of them enjoyed the attention and held me closer and ground against me, but there were some who felt awkward, waited for the music to end, and went their own way. It was all good – I didn’t want them to feel strange, so I never pursued it. I understood “no means no” better than most my age, and I suppose it was to my benefit. Of course, as time went on, I kept growing as a man and a person, learning new ways to be happy and, ultimately, having my first intimate experience with a woman. That, in and of itself, was a magical experience and I continue, to this day, to try to duplicate that, to no avail.

Eventually, I would marry but over time it would become boring, sad and stale. I would stray, several times in one months at times, never the same lover. Until I was in my mid 30s, I was exclusively enjoying women, but at one point I began to wonder about an attraction to men I once held. I knew deep down I had bisexual tendencies, even wanting to pleasure a few male college friends of mine, but I knew it was neither socially acceptable, nor was it feasible. I did, however, find myself in the company of men over time, enjoy them, pleasuring them, bringing them to insane orgasms at times and, at others, bringing me to the same thing. A few of my closest friends knew, but not my wife. Instead, I told some friends who I could trust, always telling them a slightly different story, making sure it would never get back to me unless it was just the right person with a certain detail. It never happened. My plan was good and my secret safe.

Over time I would become bored with meeting men and just having random sex. It lost its appeal, but not because of the forbidden fruit. My desire to have sex had swung back to women, and I was feeling dry and barren. It was though I had forsaken the long strong drive I had to bed a female, but it was also the byproduct of my concerns that I would be considered deviant by many. The cultural imperatives for affairs had radically shifted, and older men who weren’t “sugar daddies” had been largely relegated to the ranks of “personas non grata.” With that in mind, I began to focus on my writing and just trying to find joy in things which did require an immense amount of risk. Still, I fantasize about women who I knew, and allowed images and voices to entire my brain which were unrecognizable, but somehow turned me on.

The day I met her was not unlike any other day. I was sitting in the store, enjoying a coffee. In fact, I distinctly remember that this was a buy-one, get-one special so I sat for many hours, writing as I am now. I found it perplexing that she would sit at my table, diagonal from me. There was nobody else there, save a few men on game consoles playing a variety of puzzle and adventure programs. Though I had been writing, I was fast approaching the point where I usually couldn’t write anymore. False starts and distractions from social media usually befell my best efforts. However, today she sat across from me, smiling quizzically. I could not, for all my life, recall who this person was, but she bore a striking resemblance to someone I knew once. After a few moments, she apparently decided it to was time to break the ice.

“Hi,” she said, a soft but full voice was hers. “Hows the coffee here?”

Odd pickup line, I mused, but worth a try. “It’s decent. It’s a corporate coffee shop, so you get the best you can expect.”

She took a sip, grimaced slightly, then sipped again. “Yeah, a bit on the bitter side. Is it usually like that?”

“You must have gotten the dark roast,” I replied, trying to make some conversation. “here’s a tip – put some chocolate powder in it. That usually takes the edge off the bite.”

She nodded, still smiling. “So, come here often?”

Really, I thought. She didn’t just use the oldest pick-up line on earth. There are a million different ones she could have tried and pulled our that old deal? I shook my head, chuckling. She feigned offense. “What?”

I put my glasses to the tip of my nose. “Do you have any idea how much of an oldie that line is?”

“I guess I dated myself, huh,” she giggled. “Hi, I’m Miranda. Mira for short.”

“Cade,” I answered. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she said. “Now, I know this sounds forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you.”

My eye cocked a bit on that one. Memories of girls in school teasing me came to mind more than a few times. Still, I took the bait. “Okay, what would make a pretty woman notice me?”

“You look familiar,” she remarked. “Like someone I knew years ago.”

“Funny, I because I was actually thinking the same thing. I went to school up north in Pennsylvania. You?”

Her eyes perked up a little. It was as though a sparkle of hope entered her soul. “Yes I did. Berwick Prep.”

“No way,” I said, half jokingly. “I rode the bus with a lot of kids from Berwick Prep.”

No she just sat back, aggravated I had checkmated her attempt at flirtation. “Well, I only went there til 9th grade then we moved.”

I became a little more mocking, “To where? Florida?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she snorted. “But back then I didn’t go by Mira. My parents called me Randa and I hated that name, so I told everyone to call me Randi.”

At that very moment, I sprayed coffee all over my computer. Something had connected. The only Randi I knew in high school was beautiful, had devilishly brown eyes like this woman had, and a radiant face. As I cleaned my laptop monitor, my gaze drifted to her face and I realized who it is was. “Randi Talero?”

“Ok,” she edged back on her seat a little bit. “I haven’t used that name since two marriages ago. Who are you?”

“You may remember me, but not as Cade,” I cleared my throat. “Cade is my middle name and I began going by that after college. My first name is Noah. It was a pretty common…”

“Holy shit,” she shrieked! “Noah Rollins! Omg, no wonder you looked so familiar. You look great! I can’t believe it’s you.”

After a few moment of mutual excitement, we both caught up with each others lives. It was a rather magical afternoon of conversation and comradery. She told me all about her two marriages, the men who had decided they were tired of being “bossed” around by her and not willing to be partners, while also revealing some of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her last husband and a few boyfriends. She had no kids, which was just fine with her because she wanted to focus on her design and photography career. Her work was featured in several magazines under the Mira Cullen name, which was her current one she kept since her last marriage and the fact she had multiple branding associations with it made keeping easier to swallow. Of course, I told her about my rather humdrum, dull life and attempts to be a writer which had been dashed multiple times. Eventually, we both came to the conclusion that our lives were both dulls and exciting in their own ways.

“So Noah,” she grinned. “You live locally?” I knew where she was going but had to defuse, “yeah, but not alone.”

“Judging by that ring on your finger, I figured,” she said. “I’m staying at the Fairfield down the street. We can go back there and catch up.”

That didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out. We made our way back over to her hotel. It was a rather nice place, nearly brand new and had an integrated room key system which allowed her to turn on some relaxing music when we walked in the door. Tossing her jacket and purse on the bed, she sat in the large club chair by the window after grabbing a beer from the mini fridge. Accepting the one she offered me, I sat in the swivel chair by the desk, facing her. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Just relax, Noah,” she chuckled. “I won’t bite.”

I allowed myself to slouch a little bit, feeling something stir which hadn’t in many months. I could feel some desire, something I wasn’t accustomed to, and so blushed as a result. “My apologies,” I said as I sat up to hide things.

Randi laughed heartily. “There’s not need to apologize, Noah. I know I’m an attractive woman. I don’t flaunt it, nor so I hide it. I just know I am, so I enjoy it, and I do enjoy the attention it brings. Now you are a very handsome man, and you should never be ashamed of the gifts you enjoy,” her eyes drifted down to my manhood. “I do remember that from high school, you know.”

“Oh lord,” I sighed, shaking my head.

Randi was baffled by my shame. “Why are you embarrassed? You have no reason to be.” She took a quick sip and smirked. “Trust me, many men I know would kill to have what you have and it still work at our age.”

“I suppose so,” I chuckled, my gaze drifting to her bustline, which was average but still quite perky. “I have to admit, age didn’t harm you at all with regards to you, you know.”

She just smirked and waved off my attempts at euphemism. “My titties? Yeah, I call them that. Don’t sweat it. Breasts, boobs, tits, cans. Call em what you want. They’re a part of me, and I love them. Just like I love my pussy, twat, or hole, whatever you wanna call that. Slang is slang, Noah. Nothing wrong with using it. I mean seriously, you’ve got a massive cock, and I don’t mind saying that.”

I laughed at her honestly. It was quite refreshing. “I’m just not used to hearing a woman say those words. I mean, I hear my wife say ‘fuck’ all the time, but not the other stuff.”

“Why not?” Randi expounded. “Shit, you’ve got a penis, or a cock, wood, rod, dumbstick, manhood, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. It’s what makes you a man, as far as you identify. Either way, I like look at it. And yes, for the record, I am a size queen – I like big cocks an I cannot lie.”

That one got me laughing quite loud. “Sorry, sorry. I know I can get…”

“Loud,” She nodded, taking yet another drink. We were both relaxed by each other. “Look lets make this easy. I’ll get naked and so will you. Eventually, we’ll get used to it, or we will fuck each other’s brains out.”

Okay, I thought. That’s a novel idea, and coming from a woman. I had quite a few chauvinistic notions of how a woman should behave, it turned out. Nonetheless, I disrobed, and so did Randi. She was down to her bra, a blue number with matching blue bikini panties. I couldn’t help but stand there in awe of her beauty. “Randi, can we stop a minute?”

I was fulling aroused and forgot about it. My manhood strained furiously against my green briefs, so much so that my waistband pulled away slightly from my belly. When I noticed that I immediately sat down, but she wasn’t willing to play on a uneven field. “Oh no, if we are gonna take a minute to talk, you better stand so I can look at you as well.”

“Well,” I stood up slowly. “The truth is I love what we are doing. It is a major turnon.”

“Uh huh,” she grinned, l looking her brown eyes on mine. “But.” “Not really a but,” I remarked. “I was just wondering if I could take a few minutes and just drink it in. You know, appreciate the artwork.”

She threw her head back laughing. Not exactly the response I expected from the woman who looked like an underwear model standing before me. Indeed, she did a small belly and her hips were a little wider than I recalled from high school, but her shoulder length razored hair and full maroon lips absolutely set the whole ensemble off. Her chest was ample, but not overly done, and her bra did a masterful job of supporting and painting a mesmerizing picture of sexiness.