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It was with relief, when I scanned the bar upon entry, that there were no familiar faces to be seen. I would have found it dreadful to be constrained to sit with people I hadn’t seen in six years and be forced to make small talk.

No, I wanted to come out on my own terms. The Mad Hatter’s had a psychedelic party mood. Colourful murals in the style of the 1970s decorated the walls, with a red vinyl floor beneath the feet, and a black ceiling with fluorescent lights overhead. I had only heard about the place from older friends and siblings of friends, never having been of age to frequent when living in the town.
The first band was up on the corner stage, kaleidoscopic forms projected behind them. I stood, mesmerized, watching for some time. Someone squeezed my forearm, and I turned my head to discover Mr. Reavy looking damn fine with a black dress shirt and purple tie, beaming down at me.

“Mandy, you came! Can I get you a drink? Musicians get a discount!” He looked at me with his head cocked, palms pointed up into a shrug as if to say, how can you pass that up?

“Sure. I’ll have what you’re having.” I smiled up at him and pointed to the drink he had in hand.

“Are you sure? It’s a local cocktail with a powerful punch. Vodka. Lots of it.” He grinned at me.

“I’ll try it.”

He came back moments later and I began nursing my drink, becoming a little self-conscious of my sexy little number: a velvety green button-up mini dress with a plunging V-neck. This, paired with beige block heel pumps that showcased my long slender legs. I knew I looked pretty killer. Maybe I had over-fucking-done it in my carnal delirium, begging for Mr. Reavy to give it to me in the shower. I could feel my face getting hot.

As if he sensed my discomfort, Mr. Reavy put a hand on my lower back. To my surprise, I instantly felt at ease. Like I was his date. We sipped our drinks and watched the band—I lost track of time completely and leaned into his hand more and more. I wished for him to venture south, but Mr. Reavy was perfectly gentlemanly. Damn it! But it only strengthened my resolve. It was clear to me now, I burned for Mr. Reavy. And I would have him—tonight.

A while later, Mr. Reavy said he had to go back to the green room and get ready to go on stage. The turnover was quick, and pretty soon his band was rocking out on some originals. The alcohol effect was probably at its peak, but the music was also sounding really good to my ears. While the vocals were spot-on, my eyes were riveted on Mr. Reavy’s agile fingers on his bass guitar.

I fetched myself another drink to keep myself on this wonderful high, and noticed then that there was an empty seat at a table toward the front. It was even kind of in line with Mr. Reavy! I walk-danced over to the seat and unapologetically sat down next to some strangers. They didn’t bat an eye anyway. Mr. Reavy’s eyes lifted to discover me at the place where we had stood together—with his arm around me. But he didn’t discover me at the old spot. His eyes scanned the room. I’m here, I’m here. Finally, his eyes made contact with mine. I gave him a flirtatious smile and let my legs separate slightly. I was getting very impatient for Mr. Reavy to finish his set.

I had a plan. I got up to get myself a third tasty cocktail.

—

As I had gone to fetch myself drink (after drink) at the bar, I noticed a sign indicating that there were tours given of the basement. Maybe it was an old brewery? The stairs were cordoned off, but apart from that, the bottom level looked good to go and accessible, albeit dark. Being in a dark basement with Mr. Reavy sounded good to me. Maybe he could explain the mechanics of brewing while I fumbled with his fly.

I had removed the rope off one of the hooks so that it wasn’t barred off. Now anyone could go down there and claim they didn’t know any better—although I hoped we wouldn’t get caught!
I glowed, thinking to myself what a thrill it was, to know that his wife was out of the picture, that our path was clear on that front, and also that I was of age and could choose to have a legal, adult relationship with this older man. But what exhilarated me the most was that being in his presence—even now, as a 24-year-old woman—brought me those same lusty, forbidden feelings I harboured for him when I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen … It’s like they never went away.

As I expected, Mr. Reavy came to discover me immediately after his set. I giddily gushed over his performance, which made him burst into a grin. I wanted to make him burst in other methods. It was time. I pulled him by the hand toward the stairwell leading to the dark basement.

The only threat right now was his refusal—which I was doubting very much in my confident, drunken state—or getting caught getting kinky in the basement. The latter would make for an intriguing situation, to say the least.

We reached the stairs; I pulled Mr. Reavy down the first steps. He resisted slightly now, but I gave him no choice but to follow me down.

“What-what are you doing?” Mr. Reavy asked with a laugh. Good, he wasn’t upset, and sounded up for some fun. When he laughed he was a young, carefree man. But the fact that he was old was what turned me on.

“They tell me … they tell me there are tours given here,” I said, panting slightly as I tried hard not to trip down in my heels in my slightly inebriated state.

“Well … yes, during daytime hours, I am sure they do.” His voice was only slightly pleading. Mr. Reavy’s hand was heavy like lead, but still, he followed me in my descent.

He halted at the bottom of the stairs. I let go of his hand and continued forward slowly. The moon shone through a small window at the other end, letting in just a bit of light. Just enough light to see his juicy goods. I decided to dive right into it.

“You know,” I said lasciviously, “I have long fantasized about moments like these.” I let that hang in the air to see how he’d interpret it.

“How do you mean?” Mr. Reavy asked softly.

“Well …” My voice was husky. I swallowed. “I’m all for living in the moment. Carpe Diem. YOLO. You know? What could we do with this opportunity of being in a forbidden place?”

The alcohol was making the words flow. But I hadn’t been too specific yet. This, I could do with body language. I took a few seductive steps toward the window, knowing full well my wide sinuous backside would be nicely highlighted in the light trickling in. I rolled up my mini dress suggestively, over my thighs, over my hips, revealing to Mr. Reavy my gorgeous butt cheeks, and thong #2 of the day. He stammered incomprehensibly as I continued to walk slowly toward the window with my rolled-up dress, my bubbly ass jaunting forward for his visual consumption.

But the stone floor was uneven and I lost my footing. Straight away, Mr. Reavy lunged forward to catch me, but it was already too late by the time he set off. I fell forward hard, skinning my knee. Fuck! I almost cried out but stifled it. With a bit of luck I could use the fall to my benefit. My mini dress clung to me, my ass still exposed, and Mr. Reavy was enveloping me; I could feel his breath on my neck. I was in that cat-cow pose and I milked it.

“What’s your game here, Ms. Morrissey,” Mr. Reavy breathed. Holy shit, he called me Ms. Morrissey, as he used to in class all those years ago! His hand had come to rest on my hip, and I half expected him to return me to a state of modesty and roll down my dress. But his hand didn’t move, only rested on my side.

“I think you know what I want.” My voice was a bit shaky, but I persisted, “What I’ve wanted for a long time. And now there is literally nothing standing in our way.”

Mr. Reavy sighed deeply but didn’t say anything. “Look,” I said. “You were amazing on that stage. Can you blame my hormones? Practically speaking, Mr. Reavy, I’m hot and bothered, and you’re a newly single man with desires, too. It’s only natural, is it not?” Just like I had practiced in my mind; tying in the science for the hot nerdy guy.

I turned myself around on the hard floor to face him, resting my ass on my dress but consciously keeping my legs open. I noticed Mr. Reavy glance down quickly at my crotch before his eyes met mine.

“What … is happening to me,” I whispered.

“I think—I think your body is having a physiological response,” Mr. Reavy said.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“That doesn’t mean we should … Are you—have you—are you …” Mr. Reavy swallowed as he took a moment to contemplate how to ask the question.

I took the bull by the horns, imagining the question he wanted to put to me. “I won’t be a virgin when you’ll be done with me.”

Mr. Reavy’s eyes widened. He rubbed his stubbled cheek, seemingly at a loss. “Ms. Morrissey …”

“Mr. Reavy …” I looked at him with a bit-lip grin. “Let me touch you.”

“You can’t expect me to steal your virginity, not an old man like—”

“—Shhhh.” My fingers found the top button of his jeans and hastily unfastened it before he could reason his way out. With urgency I rolled his pants and briefs down in one go, even though I was met with some resistance: his cock, rigid, unfurled from his clothing and sprung upwards, to my utter pleasure. It seemed to have lots of life in it yet.

I was so impressed at his size and hardness considering his reticence—I couldn’t help but gasp. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, a softness to his lips inviting me to continue. I caressed his warm hardness gently, and despite the next band having started loudly above us, I could hear the vibration of his moans coursing through his body as my hands worked on him.

His balls were big and hard too, and while my hand pumped his dick, I lowered my mouth into his scrotum and did some licking. He smelled so good, so clean, so masculine. The first contact with my tongue nearly caused Mr. Reavy’s knees to buckle from underneath him. His hands gripped my hair as if to steady himself. I continued to tease him, moistening his sack with my warm mouth.
“Ms. Morrissey,” he muttered in a scolding tone. But clearly, he was loving every minute of it.
“I’ve been wanting your cock since I was fifteen, Mr. Reavy.”

“Don’t—don’t say that.” But my words must have had some effect on him: his cock stiffened, so I began pumping faster and faster, until his final moan, and his spray of semen came barreling down my throat. Good God! I may have been a virgin but this wasn’t my first hand job. Mr. Reavy apparently had lots of virility left. The only thing that could have made it better was if it had lasted ten times longer. I wanted him so much.

But I’d get another chance. I’d make sure of it.

​

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NSFW: yes

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