Robbing the Cradle

He was the first person I saw when I arrived. Or rather, he was the first I noticed. He wasn’t extraordinarily handsome and far from “hot,” but there was a charm that radiated off him like a seismic wave. His wide, doe eyes and the uncertainty within them showed his youth. Soft, bouncing, brown curls framed his face and enticed me to touch them…to pull them. Beneath his button nose was a sparse mustache clearly aimed at presenting himself as more mature than he actually was.

I fixed my sights on him, knowing it was wrong to be attracted to the groom’s little brother, but unable to deny the urge to discover every part of his slender frame. His innocence constantly begged to be corrupted and my mind exploded with ideas of what secrets he held behind that soft smile and black tux. It’d be a very difficult wedding weekend as I walked beside him, clinked glasses with him, and constantly craved to be with him.

Two glorious days passed where every possible moment was spent together. During the culminating outdoor ceremony, caught in the glow of the falling sun, I fully realized his adorableness. His eyes, large and caring, finally squinted as the harsh yellow-orange hues met them. His hair danced about his cheeks in response to the gentle fall breeze. He wasn’t hot, no - maybe he was too tender to be considered as such -but he was gorgeous. As he unknowingly stood there across from me, I felt my body begin to betray me by heating uncontrollably with desire. I had to have him.

We retired from the formalities of the wedding during the reception where he took his tuxedo jacket off and laid it very intentionally on an empty chair next to mine. It was a casual, open seating arrangement. We’d be sitting together for dinner.

I allowed my mind to imagine what it would be like to sneak a hand under the table and make him climax halfway through appetizers, the way they always depict it in the movies. I wanted to have control of his body, the same way he had unwittingly taken control of mine earlier. Instead, I brushed against him as I reached for a napkin, dropping a compliment about his arms being surprisingly built through his white shirt. Coaxing me, he gently said “go ahead,” as if offering a scared animal a snack, and invited me to take a feel. Coaxing? Or teasing? He was flirting with me. He knew what he was doing. The secret had expired. He knew he had me.

Drinks flowed freely all night long and he preferred them sugary and tropical, like a first time drinker. A quick calculation put him at 24 years old – seven years my junior. Oof! I thought maybe his alcoholic preferences reflected his sexual ones…sweet…novice. Oppositely, he drank his cocktails strong and aggressively, pounding them back as if on a mission. I watched his lips wrap around the glass with each sip and although I was as brittle as glass in that moment, I longed to swap places with it.

Before long, I stole his tie and allowed it to sloppily hang untied from my neck. As if he read my mind, he tugged it and pulled me in close. Our cheeks touched and I smelt the sweet aroma of pineapple juice from his exhale. I finally felt the softness of his curls I had been so longing to touch and I grew aroused thinking of how his lips, so close to mine, might taste. “Let me take you home,” I said while biting my lip and wishing it was his. He didn’t object.

His coy innocence resurfaced as we stepped into the foyer. I suppose he didn’t expect that I was referring to my home and not his. But despite the weight of this newfound realization, I had barely gotten in the door before he grabbed me. I ignored the sexual tension as if we were just friends. I ignored his very clear intentions as if I had no interest in meeting them with my own. I wanted the tension to build and I wanted to savor this impending experience.

He plopped on the oversized bed and I slowly undressed myself in front of him before inviting him to do the same. I watched him watching me and I noticed his now too-small groomsman pants lifting at the crotch. I dropped into bed, allowing my hand to sweep past his erection. He grinned like an idiot before asking me if I’d take him home in the morning.

He had no choice.

I leaned over, dismissing all discretion, and kissed him. It wasn’t a normal kiss. It was a long, passionate, epic kiss built from two days of anticipation. It lasted as long as I had waited to have it and it surely didn’t disappoint. I bit his bottom lip as I pulled away, his eyes still closed and his body still processing the gift it had received. Then, with lightning fast speed, he sprung from his position, straddled me, and began unbuttoning his dress shirt; the same shirt through which I had caressed his unexpectedly strong arms. I allowed him to enjoy this control for a moment as I took a respite from the intensity I was feeling to observe. His body was faultless, impossibly perfect as if it had been sketched by an artist. He was also wildly erect and I caught a glimpse of his throbbing veiny manhood before my vision was obscured by a pillow he had flipped me onto.

He was much larger than his frame would indicate and I momentarily grew nervous about my capacity to take all of him. Yet, I gazed into his expectant eyes and muttered a breathless “please” before he entered me. After time, I grew less sensitive to his size and found myself overwhelmed by pure euphoria. He worked my body unrelentingly as if he was indefatigable, removing as much of himself as possible before shocking my body with another long, hard stroke. With every thrust, I looked back and saw his hair tossing about his now sweaty shoulders. Switching positions, his arms wrapped around my neck as he drew me in for another kiss. Then, wrapping my legs around his waist, I gestured for the couch before he hoisted me off the bed, lips interlocked all the while.

Still straddling him, he lowered me onto the couch and I carefully examined his facial expressions as I slowly descended on him. Ecstasy. When I had taken all of him, my cheeks collected on his thighs and I allowed a brief moment to relax into the fullness of him. Then, grabbing handfuls of my body with Herculean strength, he lifted me up slightly before quickly allowing me to fall back down on his member. We mutually delighted in this and I began to ride him rhythmically, enjoying the sound of our skin clapping together in syncopation.

Throwing his head back to release a massive groan, I took advantage of his curls which had now fallen down his back, primed for my grasp. With a fist fit for a fight, I collected a handful of hair and tugged his head back just enough to reveal his neck. It was mine for the taking and I kissed, licked, and sucked it to his ultimate delight. My tongue was an irreverent toddler, exploring every corner without regard. With every new level of passion uncovered, he would hug my body more tightly and anchor me to him. We were one.

Through heavy, labored gasps he faintly muttered my name and I knew he was preparing to climax. Taking his hands in my own, I held them above his head as I continued to ride him slowly and deliberately. “Cum for me,” I said. His face showcased an indescribable expression that seemed to combine complete satisfaction and disappointment that our experience was coming to a close.

He erupted like a fire hydrant, released a clumsily loud grunt, and held me close. Exhaustion and delight covered his kind face. Still perched atop him, I planted a gentle kiss on his lips. Mmmm. Sweet. Pineapple.

He collapsed forward as if a plea to be put to bed and I obliged. He was tired. After all, I had robbed the cradle. And I’d do it again in the morning.