My Desire For Older Men


I’ve never had what you might call conventional taste in men. While my school-friends were talking about the guys in the year above, I was thinking about their big brothers and when my Uni girlfriends were placing bets on which of the guys was the best fuck, I was lusting after the tutors.

I had a couple of boyfriends at Uni, but nothing serious and they didn’t work out. The problem for me was that they didn’t feel like men; they didn’t have experience etched into their faces and they didn’t last long enough in bed. My theory is you can’t teach an old dog new tricks because he doesn’t need to learn them.

My first job on leaving Uni was working in a bank. It wasn’t what I hoped, but I did get to see a load of hot older guys when I was working the cashier desk. One guy in particular caught my eye: about forty-five with greying hair and a pair of blue eyes that twinkled knowingly whenever I served him. And no wedding ring.

I know I shouldn’t, but I checked out his details on the customer database and found out where he lived, which was near work, so I started hanging out in a bar near his house. One evening, he came in on his own. I caught his eye as he was buying a drink and he nodded his acknowledgement. After a while, I got up the courage to say hallo and we ended up chatting late into the night.

“Well, I’d better be going,” Dave said, with his trademark twinkle.

“Can I walk you home?” I asked.

“Frightened I might get into trouble?”

“Frightened you might not,” I replied, the wine making me a little cocky.

Dave looked at me, with his piercing blue eyes and took my hand. By the time we got to his place, I was so horny I was ready to burst. Dave led me up to his room and I found out that the old ones really are the best ones.

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