The Sphinx

There are times when it seems that only men under 30 are interested in me. They tune in and watch eagerly as I work myself. Some of them could stare at me for hours, and say the loveliest and kinkiest things, although a bit naive.  I wonder if they have mother issues, or believe that older women are better in bed, or younger women nowadays simply fuck differently.

In real life I would not date any of them. I like men of my own age. I have already satisfied the younger men fantasy that many women over 40 have and I don´t cling to fantasies, I just want to know if they feel good, and if they do, if I would like to add them to my routine.

All in all, I am a very traditional lady.


Then yesterday I saw this kid, 28 but looking younger, and when he came he exploded with genuine happiness, simply because I paid him some attention. It wasn´t sex only, it was having someone show interest on him. His eyes lit up, and he could not stop smiling, and he started to blurt out things about himself in an English even more broken than mine.

His looks were a little eastern European, and I was right, he was, extremely shy, years without real sex, and without girl friend and motherless. There it was in neon letters all over his forehead: guy´s got issues.  He needed therapy, urgently, not a sex site. Not a dating site. He needed someone who could actually help him, not me, a woman continents away.

All I could do was have him stop bouncing, tell him to relax and think of anything else but his own body and bask in this feeling, forgetting his name, his problems, his “not problems”, and let physical release wash over him, so he could be more comfortable.

Then his cam froze and I left his room. He came into my room as a beaten puppy, and I got worried. Not just because of him, but because of me. I know what stalkers feel like, I know what it feels to have a crazy ex-boyfriend threatening you. It is beyond description. And I learned the hard way that you have to back off from people who show signs of mental instability, specially when there is this penchant for affective disorders. The signs are almost always there, we don´t see because we don´t want.

That coming from someone with a mood disorder is harsh.

“Kid” was cute. It is hard to tell height from a screen, but he seemed average, thin but firm, nice thighs and a sweet tushy, a slightly above average cock, cut, so shapely that my cunt pulses in response to the memory. Unlike most women, I am such a sensualist, that I can be as visual as a man. Brown eyes, dark, almost as dark as mine, and brown hair, cropped short. Square jaws and if he exercised and pumped iron, he would become the prototype of eastern European bad boy, instead of a sweet puppy.

'Why, Oedipus! That woman is old enough to be your mother!'

I am not a hypocrite, kids like that are kind of sexy, however fucking him in real life would be an act of tenderness, of caring, more than passion, it would be giving a lot more than taking. I´d embrace a Jocasta side that I don´t really have.




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