Dinner and Necrophilia

Well, I hadn't expected to enjoy Saturday night's dinner party but - much to my surprise - I did! The food was excellent and it was great to spend time with so many friends, some of whom I've known for almost thirty years, right back to when we were young and invincible in the eighties.

There was a down-side to the evening, but I'll get to that later.

Firstly, I'll tell you more about Pam - our hostess. She's in her early forties and has been a widow for more than ten years now. She's attractive and has a nice figure in an Audrey Hepburn sort of way. In other words, slim, big brown eyes and absolutely no need to wear a bra!

What struck me most about this party (aside from the delicious chateaubriand) was that so many guests turned up carrying CD's. As I was soon to discover, Pam's music "collection" consisted of around 50 CD's and they were all either classical music or bel canto opera (both of which I quite like, but neither of which lends itself to rollicking after-dinner dancing.) Hence the bring-along CD's. Very practical. And all I brought along was a healthy appetite and a small bunch of roses!

We ate al fresco on the back patio. It was a cool night but there was warmth from an outdoor gasolier. Once the food had been consumed and the dishes all cleared away, our "DJ" for the night - one of my oldest friends, Vic - started up the music for some dancing. It's amazing to me that Vic is still alive - he has diabetes, a benign (but growing) brain tumour and recently-diagnosed leukaemia! - but he was happy to watch on while others danced.

I'm no spring chicken, but a fair number of guests were older than me and were obviously eager to dance in ways I've only seen in movies. There was The Twist, The Madison, old-fashioned jive/rock & roll, you name it. And then came disco - all of us bobbing about to Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, the BeeGees - once again, you name it. The last two disco songs of the night were "It's Raining Men" - I wore a wry smile inwardly at that one - and "La Vida Loca". After that, most of us collapsed with exhaustion and/or heatstroke!

As the numbers started to thin - people in their sixties seem to need their beds around midnight - I discovered Pam's late husband's vinyl collection. A veritable treasure trove. And she gave me the OK to get the turntable spinning. I was in seventh heaven. Lots of Getz and Gilberto; some really moody Janis Ian and Nancy Wilson; and a shitload of Sinatra and Tony Bennett when they were at their peak. Perfect for slow-dancing, which is what we did until, eventually, only Pam and I remained.

From the nods, smiles and winks some people gave me as they left, I could see that, yet again, this had been the plan all along.

Well, I scarcely knew this woman but I'm not one to let my friends down. I decided to let things drift and see where we ended up.

Firstly, as I'm always reminding my teenage son, I believe helping with the dishes can act as an aphrodisiac for some women. It promotes a degree of physical proximity, it can be easily accompanied by small-talk and, of course, it's overwhelmingly practical too!

The dishes done, we adjourned to the living room for coffee, brandy and more conversation. This is a smart lady and we had a lively chat about politics, travel, movies and even sport. At no stage, however, did I get a vibe that this was someone looking for sex. Companionship, yes. Probably even marriage. But there was no hint of anything remotely sensual beneath the intelligent, accomplished and well-groomed exterior. The trouble of course was that I - warmed by the brandy and the proximity of a female with a pulse - did harbour a naughty thought or two!

I put an old Patsy Cline LP on the turntable and, switching off all but one lamp, I moved in for "the kill". Hand outstretched I moved her from the sofa and we began to slow dance while Patsy wailed about being "Crazy" and how sad it was that "She's Still Got You".

Pam is not a fluid dancer. She holds herself somewhat stiffly. Ruthless man that I am, I introduced her hip to something else that was dancing somewhat stiffly ... in my pants! She doesn't pull away, but she is hardly welcoming either. My hands slide down to cup the cheeks of her arse. She doesn't recoil in horror, but she doesn't push towards me either. I kiss her cheeks, then her lips. Reluctantly it seems, she allows my tongue to enter but there is no thrusting tongue in return.

Suddenly, almost abruptly: "Would you like to stay the night or do you have to get home for the kids?"

"My kids never stir before noon on a Sunday and, yes, I'd love to stay the night."

I was undressed and in her bed within a few minutes. She, meanwhile, took a shower - I wondered whether I was meant to join her - and seemed to spend an eternity in the bathroom. When she finally emerged she was wearing what I think is called a peignoir or a negligee. Hard to tell if this was sexy because I only got a glimpse before she killed all the lights and slid into bed.

I tried everything to make that woman come alive. Kissing didn't seem to inspire her, fondling and kissing her breasts had no impact, and when my hand moved down to her cunt it felt as dry as the Sahara Desert. So I did the right thing - I went down there determined to give that pussy the tonguing of its life and get those juices flowing.

No joy. She pulls my head back towards hers. I ask if everything's OK. She assures me things are fine but her late husband had never "done that" and she wasn't comfortable with it. So there went any plans I'd had to manouevre us into a 69 position so she could pay some lip service to my equipment too. So far, she hadn't even laid a hand on my dick so, in terms of a blow job, it seemed safe to assume she'd never "done that" either.

Oh well, to hell with it. Obviously - on her back and perfectly still - she's only accustomed to missionary. And that's what she got. Dry, brutal, deep missionary till I'd blown my wad.

I rolled off and seriously considered finding some chalk so I could draw an outline around her body! It was like fucking a corpse. I had become a necrophiliac!

(to be continued)

Comments

Sex with someone who does not move in bed is the WORST! My ex-husband was like that. Husband number two is a wild man for me in bed and its fantastic. I am so sorry your date was so horrible. I wonder if her husband was like my ex and she never had anyone teach her anything in bed?
 
Believe it or not there are thousands of woman that were stuck in a "dead sex first marriages" with 1 minute men. Yes it was a big day if the sex lasted 4 minutes in my house for 11 long years! I never had the big "O" unless I was alone! So I think poor Pam needs a cool sexy sex teacher? I think this is why HBO TV's new series "HUNG" is so popular with ladies 35 to 50 years of age! I am blessed at the age of 42 with being with my Anthony. I thank all the ladies he was with before me because he sure knows a ton and has a nice big one. I can not wait for your blogs second post. Your writing is great. Can I add you as a friend?
 
Great description of a not so great situation. Yes, a vigorous dry fuck gets you off. Depending on whether you end up with road burns, it's better than a hand job, but, being tolerated in bed does not lead one to vigorously pursue repeat opportunities. At least you got in, and she got help with the dishes. I wonder what her report to all the friends with the knowing nods, smiles and winks will be.
 

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